Page 45 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
Duncan narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look particularly surprised, only… only mournful. “Tell me, then.”
Callum drew in a breath. He’d known since he arrived at the Keep that he had to tell his cousin. He doubted that Duncan would tell his parents, not if he swore him to secrecy. The burden was too much for Callum to bear alone. He was getting tired.
“Our betrothal isnae what ye think,” he said heavily. “Listen to this.”
Duncan stayed quiet while Callum told the whole story, starting from his encounter with Ava in MacCarthy land, all the way to their argument that morning. After some hesitation, he told Duncan about the night he’d spent with Ava, too.
No details, of course.
Duncan pressed his lips together when Callum said that. “It was a mistake to lie with her,” he said gently when Callum had finished. “If ye want only to be friends, it was cruel.”
Callum closed his eyes. “I ken. I hate meself for it, Duncan.”
“Well, ye shouldnae. Callum, I’m nay fool. I see how ye look at her. I ken ye have feelings for her.”
That was more or less what Tammy and Arthur had said to Callum earlier that morning. He’d convinced himself that they were only seeing what they expected to see—love between a happy, betrothed couple.
Duncan, however, would tell the truth, no matter how hurtful it was.
In this case, it hurt Callum more than he could possibly tell. He didn’t wanthope.
“I cannae marry her,” he said roughly. “So, what is the point of having feelings?”
“And why can ye nae marry her?”
Callum bounced to his feet, feeling irritation prickle. “Ye ken why!”
“Actually, Callum, no, I dinnae. I dinnae ken why. I can never tell what’s going on in yer head, and I have nay idea why ye have decided to torture yerself. Why are ye undeserving of happiness? Of love? I can understand ye nae wanting to marry some woman ye dinnae even ken, some alliance lady foisted on ye by the council. I understand being picky, but now that ye have met Ava and have feelings for her, why could ye nae have a future together?”
“Because,” Callum said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. “Because me faither was a jealous, possessive murderer who killed his own wife in fear of losing her!”
Duncan fell silent at that.
“And what’s more,” Callum continued, his voice wobbling, “he was ready to lose me, too. Me faither intended for me maither and me to die in that fire he set. He didnae care who else died either. I dinnae believe, for one moment, that his suspicions about me maither were real. He let his paranoia and jealousy get the better of him and could have burned the whole Keep to the ground. If Uncle Marcus hadnae been there, I would have died. Maybe we all would have died.”
Duncan’s mouth tightened.
Callum knew this was a sensitive subject for him, too. Of course, it was—he could have lost his own father, too.
“Ye arenae yer faither,” Duncan said, slowly and pointedly. “Just because ye look like him, doesnae mean ye are him. Ye are nothing like him, Callum! Everyone says so.”
Callum shook his head. “I feel jealousy, too. Sometimes, it’s powerful. How do I ken I’m nae like him? It’s his blood in me veins, is it nae?”
Duncan got to his feet, moving around so that Callum was forced to look him in the eye. “Aye, but ye have yer maither’s blood, too. Ye dinnae have to be exactly like one or other of yer parents. Ye are yerself, Callum. Ye can decide what ye do with yer life. Ye have a temper, too, yet ye keep it in check. Life isnae set out for us with no way of changing it. Just… just choose to be different, that’s all.”
Callum turned his back to him, shaking his head. “Me faither was mad. So mad that his own braither had to kill him. Mad enough to try burning his wife and son alive. With Maither, he succeeded. I willnae risk it, Duncan.”
“Ye believe ye would murder yer wife if she betrayed ye? Ye truly believe ye would do that?”
Callum raked a hand through his hair. “I wouldnae do that, of course nae. But I’m afraid, Duncan. I’mafraid. And even if the madness hasnae passed to me, what about me children? What if they’re like their grandfaither? I can control meself, but not me children. Nay, it’s too great a risk.”
He pushed roughly past his cousin, moving over to the fire. He began to set up kindling, more out of desire for something to do than from the room being cold.
Duncan had always had a way of making Callum confront the truth, exposing himself in a way that was not comfortable or pleasant.
“Ye are making yerself suffer because of yer faither’s mistakes,” Duncan said, low and quiet. “He might as well have killed ye because ye dinnae let yerself live.”
Callum sucked in a breath, focusing all his attention on the pile of wood in front of him. Flames leaped up, eating the dry wood, warming his face.
