Neil lingered a pace behind Kristen while the square swelled with music and conversation. Children tugged at her dress and held up ribbons dyed bright as berries. An older woman caught Kristen’s hands in both of hers and spoke with the fierce gratitude of winter survivors.
“I have been meaning to come to ye and express me thanks, me Lady,” she said. “We would have lost half me bread if ye hadnae stepped in.”
Kristen smiled and squeezed her fingers. “It is nothing. Plus, the men did all the work. I only asked.”
“Aye, and ye asked the right way.” The woman kissed her knuckles and stepped back with wet eyes.
Another villager approached. “Me Lady, have ye been given something to eat? I would hate to ken ye have been starving the entire time. We have more meat if ye would?—”
Neil’s eyes widened at the sound ofmeat.He opened his mouth to speak, but Kristen beat him to it.
She nodded her head. “Aye. We’ve had enough to stuff an elephant. I daenae think our stomachs can hold any more.”
She bent to the smallest child, met wide eyes, and listened to a long tale about a lost shoe and a sticky bun. She laughed at the right moments. She remembered names that Neil didn’t even know or hadn’t heard in years.
He watched, and the knot in his chest refused to loosen.
How did she do it? How did she manage to rule these people in a way that made them wantto be near her?
He had left a castle that needed a laird. He had returned to a castle that already had a heart. His clan had become her own while he rotted in a cabin and counted footsteps to know when pain would come.
A girl with a garland of paper flowers skipped up and looped it around Kristen’s wrist. “For luck,” she said.
Kristen bowed solemnly. “Thank ye, lass.”
Neil felt the urge to saythank yeon her behalf, but he did not. He stood still and let the sound of pipes and feet fill the places where words would not go.
The torches hissed. The air tasted of honey and smoke. For the first time in years, he let down his guard a fraction.
A dancer stumbled and recovered. Neil stepped closer without thinking and leaned to Kristen’s ear. “That lad shouldnae be trusted with two blades,” he murmured.
Kristen snorted and clapped once, then caught herself and covered her mouth, her eyes bright. “Be kind,” she whispered. “He is trying.”
Neil suppressed a smile. “He istryingto lose a toe.”
They stood like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, the crowd’s warmth lapping at them in easy waves. He did not move away, and neither did she.
He could feel her breath when she laughed at some small mishap in the dance. He did not know what to do with the steadiness that came from standing so close to her, only that it asked nothing of him and still gave something back.
A man with a tray passed, and Neil grabbed two cups of cider. The villagers shifted again, and a new little circle formed around Kristen.
An old piper with a scar on his chin bowed his head. “Me Lady, the tune for the fourth set was yer request last winter,” he said. “We learned it for ye. Will ye hear it again?”
“If ye please.” Kriten smiled at him as if he had offered her a crown. “And mind ye rest between sets. Ye play like a man half yer age.”
The piper clutched his belly and laughed. “Ye flatter me way too much.”
A young mother with a sleeping babe crept close. “I am certain they can play for as long as it takes,” she whispered.
“Nay, I willnae ask anyone to exceed their limits,” Kristen insisted. “Ye have done enough for tonight.”
“So humble,” the woman murmured, then retreated with soft eyes.
Neil’s chest grew tight, then tighter still. He had seen Kristen fight him. He had seen her flush and snap and lay down rules like stones across a river. He had kissed her and tasted the sharpness she reserved for him.
This was not that. This was steady and simple and kind. This was the peace no one had given him in five years of rope, noise, and pain. This was the peace he did not deserve, and she gave it to others as if it cost her nothing.
“Ye carry a great deal,” he remarked before he could stop himself.
