Her smile flickered into being again, softer this time. “I should like to see the sea.”
“Ye will,”he almost said. The thought surprised him enough that he shifted, uncomfortable.
The questions went on. About the shape of the hall, the names of the nearby villages, whether there were many children about,what crops grew best in rocky soil. Each answer drew another question, like tugging a knot that only tightened with each pull.
He felt his temper begin to fray, not in any hot way, but with a weary rasp, like rope over stone.
“Ariella,” he said at last.
She broke off mid question about the kitchen and blinked. “Aye?”
“Sit.”
She blinked again. “Sit?”
“Aye,” he said. He gestured toward the hearth. “By the fire.”
She hesitated, glancing from him to the flames, then back. “Have I said something wrong?”
“Nay,” he answered. “But if this is to work, we need to set some ground between us. Sit, and we will speak plain.”
Her curiosity flared at once, bright as ever. She gathered her skirts and went to the hearth, lowering herself onto the small bench there. The firelight wrapped around her, throwing her features into warm relief.
He remained standing for a moment, looking at her. His wife. Lady of his keep. The shield between two clans and an old enemy.
It still felt unreal. Yet it was done.
He sat opposite her, his back to the rough stones of the wall, the flames between them.
“Very well,” she said, hands folded in her lap. “Let us speak plain.”
He had expected her to bridle. To bristle at the suggestion of rules as if he were some judge listing the terms of her confinement.
Instead she leaned forward slightly, eyes intent, as if he had just placed a map between them and invited her to study it.
“Ye said ground,” she prompted. “What sort of ground.”
He curled his hands around his knees, keeping his posture loose, his tone steady. “This marriage was nae planned. Nae like this. Ye ken that.”
“Aye,” she said. There was no bitterness in the word. Only truth.
“We will both need space,” he continued. “And… order. If we are to make it work. So. I would set a few rules to start with.”
“Rules,” she repeated. “For me?”
“For us,” he corrected. “If I have expectations of ye, ye are free to have expectations of me in return.”
Her brows rose at that. He saw surprise there, and something like cautious interest. “Very well. What are yer rules, Laird.”
“First,” he said, ignoring the way the title sat between them, heavier than it had in the hall. “Nay talk of me past.”
She tilted her head. “At all?”
“At all,” he said. “What is done is done. It serves none to pick over old wounds.”
She studied him, gaze searching, then nodded slowly. “If that is what ye wish.”
“It is.”
