"Eat, me lady!" Agnes appeared again, setting down a plate piled high with food. "Ye're too thin. We need tae fatten ye up proper."
"I'm nae thin."
"Ye're practically a wraith! Here, try the lamb. And the bread, I made it meself this mornin'. And the berries too."
"Agnes," Tòrr interrupted, his tone fond. "Ye're smotherin' her."
"Someone needs tae make sure she eats, she looks half-starved."
"I've been feedin' her perfectly well."
"Have ye?" Agnes squinted at Liliane. "She's got shadows under her eyes. Nae sleepin' proper either, I'd wager."
Liliane's face burned as half the table turned to look at her.
"I sleep fine," she managed.
"Hmm." Agnes looked unconvinced. "Well, eat anyway. Food cures most ills, me maither used tae say."
As the afternoon wore on, the formality of the gathering dissolved into genuine celebration. Musicians struck up lively tunes, dancers took to the cleared space in the square's center, and children wove between adults with sticky hands and gleeful shouts.
"Dance with me, Da!" a small girl demanded, tugging on her father's sleeve.
"Aye, aye, give me a moment."
"Now, Da! Afore the music stops!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd as the man allowed himself to be dragged into the dancing.
"Remember when we were that demandin’?" Catherine asked, grinning at her sisters.
"We're still that demandin’," Alyson replied. "We've just gotten better at it."
Liliane found herself laughing despite her nerves, caught up in the easy warmth of the moment. And when Tòrr's hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently, she didn't pull away.
"See?" he murmured. "Nae so terrible, is it?"
"It's... nice," she admitted.
"High praise from ye."
Before she could respond, an old woman approached their table, leaning heavily on a carved stick.
"Laird MacDonald," she said in a voice that carried surprising strength. "When are ye goin' tae dance with yer bride proper?"
The crowd's attention swiveled toward them.
"Dance?" Tòrr shifted uncomfortably.
"The laird must dance!" someone called from the crowd. "It's tradition!"
"Aye! Tradition!" Others took up the chant. "Dance! Dance!"
Tòrr hesitated.
“Aye, but ye’re the laird!” someone shouted. “The people want tae see ye lead!”
Michael grinned across the table. “Go on, Tòrr. Prove ye’ve still got both feet.”
