“Good. Ye look like a man who can face a clan and nae blink.”
“Icouldface a clan,” Jack scoffed. “It was one woman who turned me stomach wrong side out.”
Duncan chuckled under his breath. “A fine admission for a wedding morning. I am certain Emma will be thrilled to hear that.”
“Keep it to yerself.”
“Me lips are sealed,” Duncan said, and then ruined it with a grin.
They fell into the last small tasks. Jack tucked a cuff, and Duncan straightened a seam while the light moved up the wall inch by inch.
“Any word from the north road?” Jack asked.
“None.”
“From the Buchanans?”
“Nay riders yet.”
“Good,” Jack said. The word felt thin this time.
Duncan pressed a knife into Jack’s hand. “For the belt.”
Jack sheathed it. “I willnae need it.”
“Ye always say that,” Duncan pointed out. “And ye are always wrong.”
Jack drew a breath and let it out slowly. “If I carry steel to a wedding, folks will talk.”
“Folks talk for far less anyway,” Duncan said. “Wear it.”
Jack nodded eventually and wore it.
He turned to the small mirror. The man in the glass looked ready enough for a wedding. Hopefully, Emma was just as ready.
Duncan watched him in the mirror. “She likes ye best when ye look like yerself.”
“This is meself.”
“Good to ken. Now, let us get this over with. People are waiting for ye at the Great Hall.”
Jack dropped his gaze. “I wish I could silence this feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“I daenae ken,” Jack sighed. “I just daenae ken why I keep feeling like I am betraying Moira.”
Duncan reached for the doorknob. “Moira tried to kill ye, Braither. Trust me when I say that ye cannae have made a much better choice than Emma.”
“Wise counsel,” Jack said. “From a daft braither.”
A smile crossed Duncan’s face as they left the room.
The corridor smelled of fresh roses. A maid with a broom stepped aside and bowed, and two other maids walked past with garlands on their arms. One peeked at Jack, blushed, and nearly dropped the greenery. Duncan caught it and handed it back with a flourish. The girl giggled and fled.
“Terrifying,” Duncan muttered. “That face of yers.”
“Walk,” Jack grunted.
