“Congratulations, Flynn Ye did well.”
Flynn laughed softly at that, clearly pleased though trying not to show it too much.
Ian raised a hand toward a passing servant. “Lad,” he called, and the young man hurried over with a bow.
“Bring out the best bottle of whisky from the stores and bring it to me.”
The servant nodded quickly. “Aye, me Laird,” he said before disappearing toward the kitchens.
Ian turned back to Flynn with a satisfied look. “We must celebrate this with a drink.”
Flynn lifted a brow with mock reluctance. “If I must, then I must.”
Then he added more quietly, “We kept it to ourselves for now. Melissa wanted to wait a wee while, though I think she may have told Lady McGuire already.”
Ian’s hand clenched slightly upon the table at the mention of Arianna.
Before he could respond, the noise of the hall shifted.
It did not fall silent entirely, but the voices softened as people glanced toward the great doors. Ian followed their gaze instinctively. Arianna had entered the hall.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow. He noticed the way the torchlight caught in the waves of her hair. He saw the gentle sway of her gown as she walked through. There was a grace in her step that drew the eye without her seeming to notice.
His heart thudded heavily in his chest.
God help me… she grows more beautiful every day.
Ian forced himself to look away. If he stared any longer, every man in the hall might notice the hunger in his gaze. Arianna approached the dais and stopped.
“Good evening, Ian,” she said softly.
Ian lifted his eyes only briefly and gave a polite nod. “Aye, good evening,” he answered.
His short response felt like a coward’s shield placed between them. He kept his gaze upon the table rather than her face.
Ach. She is here. Do not touch her. Not.
Arianna flinched. The small reply stung far more than anger ever could have. Arianna lowered herself into her seat beside Ian, her fingers folding carefully in her lap.
Does he truly care so little?Has he regretted the carriage so deeply?
A dull ache began forming behind her temples, pulsing slowly like a warning she could not ignore. Servants soon entered carrying wide platters and steaming bowls, setting them along the tables with practiced ease. The smell of roasted fish drifted through the hall, mingling with the rich scent of barley stew. Oat bannocks were stacked high beside roasted root vegetables, while wheels of cheese and jugs of ale appeared at every bench.
The clan quickly fell upon the meal with laughter and cheerful noise. Arianna forced herself to take a small bite of fish, though she scarcely tasted it. Her attention kept drifting toward the man seated beside her.
Ian spoke easily with Flynn next to him.
A moment later, he turned to a warrior behind the dais and answered a question about patrols. When Flynn muttered something that sounded like a jest, Ian even allowed a small smile to touch his mouth.
He speaks to everyone but me. Perhaps he truly regrets touching me. Does he think me shameless for yielding so easily?
Her cheeks warmed with the memory, embarrassment slowly hardening into something sharper. She kept her gaze lowered for a time, but each moment of his silence made the irritation grow stronger. The hall buzzed with life around them, yet she felt strangely invisible within it.
Then Flynn said something that made Ian chuckle quietly beside her.
That small laugh snapped the final thread of Arianna’s patience.
“Ye seem in good spirits tonight, husband.” She turned toward him, her voice low but edged with steel.
