Arthur nodded. “They were, and almost all of them looked impressed. And they should be.”
“What do ye mean?”
He shot her a sidelong glance. Marissa was chewing on her bottom lip, wringing her hands in front of her.
Quickly taking in their surroundings, he stopped, pulling her up short. The crowd milled around them, briefly obscuring them from the view of the council.
“They should be impressed,” he said earnestly, “because ye had nay reason to be as kind to that lass as ye were. Most in that situation would have just thanked the wee thing and then sent her on her way. But ye didnae. Ye took yer time with her, made her feel special. That was nay small thing.”
He studied her face. She still looked uncertain, but at least she had stopped fidgeting with her hands, and he took that as a sign that he was getting to her.
“Ye did everythin’ right,” he assured her, making sure to keep his tone steady.
As he spoke, he willed her to listen to him. Sending silent commands in the air between them for his words to seep into her. Praying that they would imbue her with a little bit of courage. Or, if not courage, that they would at least assuage some of her more pervasive worries.
“They watched ye be kind to someone who could do nothin’ for ye,” Arthur continued. “And that is the mark of a good lady. Because how ye treat people who have somethin’ to offer ye means nothin’. It’s how ye treat the commonfolk, how ye treat those that society would deem beneath ye, that says more about yer character than anythin’ else ever could. And in that moment, ye showed them that yer character is good. Do ye hear me?”
Marissa considered his words for a moment. The change was subtle at first. The dropping of her hands to her sides. The straightening of her spine. But it was when she finally stopped anxiously chewing on her bottom lip and her brown eyes flicked to his that Arthur finally knew that he had gotten to her.
He arched an eyebrow. “Are ye ready?”
Marissa held his gaze, her brown eyes twinkling. She nodded once before turning in the direction of the council.
They resumed walking, the crowd parting for them as they made their way to the raised platform.
The center of the courtyard had become a dance floor, bodies throwing themselves to and fro as people celebrated. A few waved at them, giving Marissa the opportunity to wave back.
Arthur watched as his bride-to-be won over his clansfolk with a few, well-placed warm smiles. By the time they reached the platform, the council had stopped whatever they’d been discussing. All five of them had their eyes fixed on Arthur and Marissa, clearly waiting patiently for their arrival.
Marissa executed a quick, respectful bow, before raising her head to look at them. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the esteemed council,” she said in a clear, confident voice. “Thank ye for attendin’ the cèilidh.”
McKellen’s eyes were narrowed on her, but it was Councilman Shaw who spoke.
“Thank ye for the words of welcome, Lady Marissa,” he said, his tone patient and welcoming. “And it was nay trouble at all. We wouldnae miss the opportunity to welcome our new lady into our clan.”
“And what a show ye’ve put on,” McKellen sneered.
Arthur bristled. His hand was still on Marissa’s back, so he felt it when she stiffened.
I willnae let him disrespect her. McKellen will be dinin’ on his teeth if he says somethin’ like that again.
His fingers flexed, trying to inject some of his strength into her. But Marissa quickly proved that she did not need it.
She cocked her head to the side. Arthur risked a glance at her, immediately noting the quizzical look on her lovely features.
“A show?” she echoed, voice filled with mock innocence. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”
“With the lass,” McKellen grumbled. He nodded his head toward the revelers, in the direction they’d all been standing when she’d interacted with Fiona. “What? Did ye ask her to come up and greet ye? Wanted to make a good impression?”
Arthur expected Marissa to become indignant. He certainly would have. He expected her to raise her voice, to insist that she had done no such thing and that it was an insult to even suggest it.
But that was not the approach she took.
Her head remained cocked to the side, a smile dancing on her lips.
“Me apologies, Councilman,” she said, her voice as even and as placating as ever. “But ye must think quite lowly of yer clan if ye think they’d agree to trick ye like that.”
McKellen’s eyes went wide, and he began sputtering. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the other council members, finding varying expressions of surprise and amusement on their faces.
