The final scene ended with music and dancing, the knight and girl sharing a triumphant bow as the dragon stumbled offstage in mock defeat.
The square erupted in applause and whistles.
Arianna rose slightly from the bench, clapping until her palms tingled. “That was wonderful,” she breathed.
Ian stood beside her, a faint smile softening his usually stern expression.
“Ye were lost in it,” he observed.
She turned to him, eyes shining. “For a moment, I forgot everything.”
“And now?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then met his gaze steadily. “Now I remember,” she said, though her voice held no fear.
The actors began mingling with the crowd, children rushing forward to touch the dragon’s painted scales.
Arianna watched them with a tender smile. “It’s good,” she murmured, “to have laughter in the village.”
“Aye,” Ian agreed. His hand found hers once more, steady and warm.
She looked down at their joined hands and felt coins in them.
“What's this?” she asked.
“Go ahead and pay those actors for their fine job. It will mean much coming from Lady McGuire,” he said.
She felt warmth move through her, and she immediately went to the actors and placed coins in their hats. They bowed with gratitude.
The crowd slowly thinned, though the warmth of the performance still hummed in Arianna’s chest. She moved back to Ian's side and held the yellow flower beneath her nose and breathed in its faint sweetness. “’Tis a simple thing,” she murmured, “yet it feels like treasure.”
Ian watched her closely. “Ye deserve treasures far finer than that,” he said.
She arched a brow. “And will ye conjure them from yer sleeve as well?”
“If that magician will teach me, mayhap.” His hand remained wrapped around hers, steady and possessive, and she felt the weight of it in more ways than one.
She thought of the clever girl in the play, bold and unafraid to demand her place. “Do ye think folk truly change so easily?” she asked. “From brute to hero?”
Ian’s thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles. “Nay easily,” he replied. “But with the right reason, aye.”
She swallowed, sensing more beneath his words than he openly spoke.
I must not trust him yet. For there might be more I am not seeing, just as in the play, people hide their truth behind a mask… or an eyepatch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Iken well enough I am no handsome man, nor gentle-featured, nor easy to love.
His jaw was too hard, his brow too stern, and years of command had carved severity into him. Yet he had seen the way her breath caught when he stood too close, the way her gaze sometimes lingered. And once this outing was done, he meant to remind her, thoroughly, that whatever else he lacked, he could make her tremble and beg beneath him.
Ian watched Arianna. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright as lantern flame, and she looked unburdened. He found he liked that look on her more than he ought to admit. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply stand and study the joy upon her face.
“Well then, wife,” he said, folding his arms, “what would ye like to do next?”
She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “I must admit,” she said, eyes dancing, “all this excitement has me workin’ up hunger.”
Ian groaned low in his throat. “Aye,” he replied, voice dipping, “me too.”
