Ailsa laughed. “Mirell is trying different recipes. She doesnae believe us when we tell her that they taste good. Perhaps she will believe ye.”
Kristen’s smile touched them all. “We will see ye later. Thank ye.”
The women stepped away, talking fast, already spreading word down the lane.
Kristen looked at Neil, surprise and something warmer flickering in her eyes. He kept his face turned toward the lane and felt the small shift inside him settle like a stone in a riverbed.
They had been invited. He had accepted. And for the first time, he did not feel a door slam shut in his chest. Instead, he felt the village square widen and breathe.
Something about doing this with Kristen made his heart race.Like a boy’s first time falling in love.
20
Kristen stepped further into the square with Neil at her side. The sun had gone down, and dusk was settling across the village like a blanket being spread very slowly by invisible hands.
Small torches burned in iron sconces and threw warm circles on the ground, and families drifted to the edges of the dance floor. Children chased each other and wove between legs, while the air held the smell of woodsmoke and honey and the clean bite of the dawning night.
Kristen moved a little closer to see the sword dancers taking their places. Two blades lay crossed on the ground, silver catching firelight. The young men lifted their chins and began to step, light and quick, their feet threading the narrow spaces.
Neil’s arm grazed hers. The touch was brief, but it sent a thrill through her all the same.
“Ye like this kind of dance?” he asked, his voice low so only she could hear.
“I like anything that keeps lads from breaking ankles,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the pattern of steps. “Though I’ll admit I hold me breath every time they jump.”
He leaned closer to see past a tall man who had shifted in front of them, and the ends of his hair brushed her temple.
She knew she should step away.But she did not.
The dancers swayed and turned, and the crowd clapped along. A mother beside Kristen smiled and lifted her baby to see. Kristen waved at the baby, then tried to concentrate on the music, not the man at her shoulder.
The villagers began to press small treats into their hands. A woman with a tray offered twists of fried dough dusted with sugar.
“Take one, me Lady. And another for the Laird,” she offered, her eyes bright.
“Thank ye.” Kristen passed one to Neil. “Ye’ll like this.”
He bit into it with grave care, as if he were facing an opponent, then made a face. “If I eat more of that, lass, I’ll be sick till spring.”
Kristen covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. “Ye’re hopeless.”
“I prefer meat,” he said. “Or bread that tastes like, ye ken,bread.”
Another villager brought a skewer of roasted bits. Neil took a piece and bit into it. He nodded once.
“That sits better,” he said.
A boy tugged at Kristen’s sleeve and offered a small handful of wild berries. “For ye,” he whispered. “Ye always make Maggie look after the dogs.”
“Do I?” She crouched to his height. “It is kind of ye to notice.” She picked two berries and pressed the rest back. “Share them with yer ma, aye?”
“Aye,” he said, then ran off.
Neil watched her rise. “They ken ye.” It was not a question
“They ken all of us,” she replied, brushing her hands. “But they ken me well enough. I was here.”
He looked past her to the ring of dancers who were now clacking sticks and then back at her. Still, she forced herself to watch the dance. It helped, yet it did not help at all.
