Page 24 of Promised to the Wicked Laird

"Ye sound surprised."

"I'm nae surprised." Fearchar's eyes stayed on her, on the way she'd crouched again beside an elderly man whose hands shook too badly to hold his own cup, steadying it for him without making a spectacle of the kindness. "I'm paying attention. There's a difference."

Duncan grinned into his ale and said nothing more, which Fearchar appreciated, because he wasn't entirely certain what his own face was doing right now and would rather not have it pointed out to him.

She'd been raised, by her own account, believing none of this would ever fall to her. Groomed for accounts and household matters, never for the particular weight of standing in front of a hall full of frightened, grieving people and making each of them feel, in the space of thirty seconds, like someone had finally noticed what they'd lost. And yet here she was, doing exactly that, table after table, with none of the practiced formality he'd have expected from a woman thrown into the role without warning.

He'd stood across council tables from lairds twice her age who couldn't manage half of what she was doing right now without visibly performing it.

The musicians in the corner struck up something livelier, pipes and a low drum, finding their rhythm, and the hall's mood shifted with it, tables shoving back to clear space for dancing. Fearchar set down his cup and crossed the room, catching Nandag mid-conversation with Mairi near the hearth.

"Might I steal me own wife fer a dance," he said, "or has the whole clan already claimed every hour of her evening?"

Nandag glanced at Mairi, who waved her off with an unsubtle grin, and turned back to him with her chin lifted, a familiar challenge in her eyes even now. "I'm nae certain I trust a man who dances the way he fights. Ye'll likely put me through a wall by the second turn."

"I'm considerably gentler with dancing partners than I am with Robert's guards."

"That's a low bar, Chisholm."

"Take the risk anyway."

She hesitated, just a beat, and then set her hand in his, and Fearchar felt something settle in his chest at the simple weight of it that had nothing to do with the wedding cord from earlier and everything to do with the fact that she'd chosen it herself, freely, with no priest or parchment standing between the offer and the taking of it.

He led her out onto the floor as the drum found its pace, and the clan cleared space around them, a ring of watching faces, torchlight catching the gold thread in her gown as they turned.

"I wasnae exaggerating," she said, after the first turn, breathless and laughing despite herself. "Ye dae dance like ye fight."

"Ye're still standing, arenae ye?"

"Barely."

"I'll take barely." He turned her again, drawing her closer than the step strictly required, and felt her hand tighten briefly against his shoulder before she caught herself and eased it.

"The whole hall's watching us."

"They watched us marry an hour past. This is a good deal less interesting by comparison."

"I suppose." Her mouth curved, teasing despite the color rising faintly at her throat. "Ye seemed rather invested in making a spectacle of the kiss."

"That was fer me own benefit, nae theirs."

"Ye're insufferable."

"Ye've told me that already. Twice, I believe, since yesterday."

"I intend tae keep telling ye, until it takes."

The music slowed, the drum easing into something quieter, and the space between them narrowed without either of them deciding it should, her hand settling more naturally against his shoulder, his own resting lower at her waist than the earlier turns had allowed. The teasing didn't stop exactly, only softened, the words coming slower, with longer pauses stretched between them that neither one seemed in any hurry to fill.

"Ye did well taenight," Fearchar said, quieter now, the hall's noise fading somewhere behind the sound of her breathing close to his. "With the clan. I watched ye at every table."

"I noticed ye watching."

"Did ye?"

"Ye're nae subtle, Chisholm." But she said it soft, no bite left in it at all, her eyes holding his through the slow turn of the dance. "I only did what needed daeing. Anyone would have."

"Nae everyone would have. Nae like that." He turned her once more, drawing her fractionally closer than before, close enough that the torchlight caught the flush still lingering high on her cheeks. "Ye've a gift fer it, lass. I'd nae have expected it, given everything ye told me about being the overlooked daughter, and I find meself glad tae have been wrong about it."