As the music quickened, a stout baker thrust a small sugared bun toward Neil. “For the Laird.”
Neil took it, then held it out to Kristen. “If I get sick before the night’s end, it’ll be yer fault.”
She broke the bun in half, bit into it, and closed her eyes for a heartbeat as the sugar and spice melted on her tongue. When she looked up, he was watching her mouth.
For a moment, the noise around them faded.
He cleared his throat. “Sweet enough for ye, me Lady?”
“Aye,” she said, steady again. “And sweet enough for ye too, even if ye’ll never admit it.”
He huffed a laugh. “I’ll survive.”
They moved together, and the crowd shifted around them like a slow tide. Every now and then, the space would shrink, and Neil’s hand would settle on the small of her back to guide her through. It felt natural. It felt as if he expected her to let him do it.
She did.
“Try this,” a girl called, holding up a steaming cup. “Cider.”
Kristen took a sip and passed it to Neil. He drank and handed it back.
“That I can stand,” he said.
“High praise, indeed,” she teased.
A pair of old men argued cheerfully over which fiddler had the best bow arm. Two little girls hopped along the edge of the dance floor and tried to match the steps.
Maggie would have liked the chaos.
Kristen pictured the dog’s tail sweeping benches and her nose finding every dropped crust. The thought made her smile.
Neil narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Only thinking that Maggie would be stealing the buns already.”
“Aye, she would.” There was warmth in his tone that she had not heard before.
They stopped near a table where a woman was selling small ribbons and tin brooches hammered into thistles and stags. Kristen lifted a ribbon that reminded her of the shade of the lake at twilight and then set it down. Her eyes kept finding the dancers, the shifting flames, the breadth of the man beside her.
“Do ye want it?” Neil asked.
“For Anna.” That made it safe. “But she will yank it out of her hair before the first tune ends.”
“Buy two,” he urged. “Ye did buy two strips for Finn back at the dressmaker’s, did ye nae?”
Kristen looked at him. “That is a practical thought.”
He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I have them on occasion.”
She paid for two ribbons and tucked them into her pocket, then stepped back into the crowd. It would be easy to pretend that this was ordinary. A wife and husband out among their people, sharing food, touching only when necessary.
It would be so easy that she could cry.
A fiddler struck a bright tune, and the sword dancers began again, blades ringing as heels kissed steel and never slipped. The torches popped and hissed.
Neil stood with his arms loose and his attention focused on the revelry. Still, when someone bumped Kristen from the side, he gripped her elbow and steadied her.
“Ye all right?” he asked.
