The next two days passed like smoke. Every time Kristen entered a room, Neil would leave it. When she brought the children to breakfast, Lachlan would mention that the Laird had eaten earlier. At supper, Davina would touch her arm and say that he had been called away. At night, his side of the bed would be cold and empty, a quiet strip of linen that felt like a decision.
Kristen poured herself into tasks she could hold in both hands. She checked on the kitchens, counted sacks of oats, tasted the stew, and sent maids to the dairy for more butter. Every time her mind drifted toward the last look Neil had given her, she reached for a list and made another note. When the lists were finished, she made new ones.
Evenings drew her feet toward the tower. She did not climb the stairs. She only stood at the bottom, listening for a tread that never came, then turned away as if she had never paused there at all.
On the second night, Lachlan found her in the corridor near the nursery, where Maggie lay across the threshold like a broad black-and-white guard. He smiled a little and kept his voice quiet.
“He is still adjusting, lass. Give him time. He will come to himself.”
She returned the smile the way one returns a borrowed shawl. “Aye, I ken.”
Later, lying awake with the candle snuffed and the keep hushed, she stared at the ceiling and counted her breaths. The thought came without her permission, quick and sharp.
What if he doesnae come to himself?
The castle swelled with life as the cèilidh drew nearer. The maids bustled about with lengths of ribbon, laughing when Maggie chased the ends. Two of the laundresses argued cheerfully about which greenery kept its color longest in the heat of the hall.
Smoke drifted from the fireplace in steady ribbons, sweet with peat. The musicians arrived with cases bound in leather, their faces bright from the road. A piper tried a low note in the courtyard, then a higher one, and both slid into the morning like a promise.
Anticipation hung in the air, and Kristen could not be more grateful for it.
She helped where hands would help, despite protests from maids and guards. She climbed ladders and tucked boughs of fir over the central beams, then tucked more on the other side so the corner looked even.
She checked the holes on the floor and asked for a fresh scatter of clay toward the doors where damp boots would make a mess. She set a small tray aside for Finn and Anna with honey cakes and slices of apple, and asked the cook for a spoonful of the spiced nut paste they loved. The cook teased her for hoarding and then slipped two spoonfuls onto the dish.
In her chamber, she opened the chest where the dressmaker’s bundles lay. She lifted the blue dress she had chosen three mornings ago and laid it across the bed. The fabric was a deep blue, not bright, like the lake during a peaceful day. She smoothed the bodice, traced the embroidery with one finger, and tried to convince herself it was a sensible choice.
Blue was the clan’s color, so it was a proper fit.Nothing more.
“Foolish,” she muttered under her breath, almost kindly. “Looking bonny willnae change a thing.”
Even so, she smoothed the dress again. Her hands did not feel steady.
She tried to braid her hair and gave up when the strands would not lie flat. She brushed it loose and let it fall over her shoulders, then pulled it into a knot at the back of her neck so it would notcatch on the laces. When she set the ribbon, her fingers shook, and she had to try twice to make the bow lie neatly.
It didn’t matter. The guests would start arriving soon.She needed to be ready for them.
By the time the first guests stepped through the great doors, the hall had been transformed into a warm, bright space.
Torches flickered in iron sconces along the walls. Fresh greenery crowned the beams. Banners hung from the rafters. The fireplace roared and cast a golden glow across the tables.
Fiddlers tuned their instruments at the far end and struck a few cheerful notes, then laughed at their own mistakes and tried again. Children wove between skirts and boots with streamers like tails, the small ones already breathless from running. Men laid out bread and carved roasted meat. Women set bowls of berries where quick hands could reach.
Kristen walked in with her chin high, her skirts swishing across the floor. She had done this a hundred times—lifting a room with order and welcome. Tonight, her steps felt careful, as if she had crossed a narrow beam and the air on both sides waited for the smallest misstep.
She greeted guests, thanked them for coming, and praised whatever gift they had brought for her or the children, necessary or not. She smiled when Davina squeezed her fingers and said she looked lovely.
The smile stayed where it belonged, buther heart did not.
Neil was nowhere to be found.
Will he come?
She laid that hope flat like a folded cloth.
Maybe he had stepped out of her life and shut the door without a sound?
The music swelled and settled, and voices rose and mingled. A man near the door laughed too loudly, and another shushed him with a grin.
