If circumstances were different, she might have actually wanted to be part of this family.
They were loud, warm, and full of life in a way the Munro keep had never been. No heavy silences hanging like chains. No waiting for her father’s temper to snap like a whip. Here, there was laughter in the halls. Sisters who teased each other without fear. People who seemed to care for one another not because of power or bloodlines, but because they chose to.
For the briefest, traitorous moment, she wondered what it would be like to stay. To live in a place where kindness wasn’t a weakness. Where she wasn’t a bargaining chip or a burden. Where she could build something of her own instead of being sold off like cattle.
But circumstances weren't different. And by the time the festival arrived, she might have her chance to escape.
"Tell me more about this festival," she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. "What should I expect?"
Catherine launched into an animated description of past festivals, the music, the dancing, the competitions between villages. Michael added his own stories, making Liliane laugh despite herself when he described Tòrr's disastrous attempt at the caber toss two years prior.
"He threw it backward," Catherine giggled. "Nearly took out three clansmen."
"It was the wind," Michael defended. "Anyone could have made that mistake."
As they talked and laughed, Liliane found herself relaxing into the conversation. Michael was easy to talk to, his humor gentle and self-deprecating. Catherine was irrepressible, her energy infectious. Even serious Sofia unbent enough to share a few stories.
This was what family could be, she realized. This warmth, this acceptance, this sense of belonging. And she was planning to abandon all of it.
The thought should have made her feel guilty. Instead, it only reinforced her determination. These people were kind, but they weren't hers. They were Tòrr's family, bound to him by blood and loyalty. She was an outsider, a political acquisition, a problem to be managed.
Nessa was her family. Nessa was who mattered.
"Ye look thoughtful," Michael observed, breaking into her reverie.
"Just tired," she lied. "It's been... an eventful few days."
"That's puttin’ it mildly." He grinned at her. "But ye're handlin’ it well. Better than most would, I'd wager."
"Am I?"
"Aye. Ye havenae killed Tòrr yet. That shows remarkable restraint."
Liliane couldn't help but smile. "The day is young."
"Fair point." Michael leaned back in his chair.
"Wife. A word, if ye please."
Liliane's stomach dropped. "Now?"
"Aye. Now."
She stood on unsteady legs, acutely aware of his siblings still watching. "Very well."
Tòrr led her to a small alcove off the main corridor, far enough from the hall for privacy but not so far that she felt truly isolated.
“Ye seem tae be enjoyin’ yerself,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the stone wall. His voice was deceptively casual, but there was a tightness beneath it. “Laughin’, talkin’, all smiles after givin’ me hell last night.”
Her brows shot up. “Hell? I asked ye tae stay out of the bed and ye agreed.”
“Aye. And ye were quite pleased tae see me there.” His mouth curved, though it wasn’t exactly a smile. “Yet this mornin’, ye’re all sunshine with Michael.”
She folded her arms. “He’s easy tae talk tae.”
Tòrr’s gaze sharpened. “Easier than me?”
She tilted her chin, meeting his look head-on. “Well, he didnae tie me up and force me tae marry him.”
