Thomas’s mouth twitched, amusement tempered with understanding. “A handsome shelf,” he said, then added more seriously, “but I take your meaning.”
“It is no one’s fault,” Elena said, because it was true and because she refused to sound petulant. “It is only...” She searched for the right word and found herself settling on honesty. “At Wolvesly, I ken everyone and they me, and nae one stares.”
He nodded once, as though that made sense to him. “When the meal is done, you’ll be able to slip away from the dais, and might wish to rejoin your kin for a bit.”
Elena’s smile warmed, genuine once more, encouraged by his consideration. “Ye are verra kind to me, Thomas, and I thank ye.”
“Father assures me that keeping my wife content is the surest path to my own happiness,” he said simply, shrugging his lean shoulders.
“Yer da is then the most sensible of men,” she decided, and she laughed quietly, but with real appreciation.
Rain continued to strike the high windows in steady sheets, and when the great doors opened to admit late arrivals, the wind pushed cold air into the hall with them. It was during one such opening—between courses, when the servants were clearing trenchers and the noise dipped—that the room shifted.
“Ah, the Jamison,” mused Lord Hamilton, sending Elena’s gaze sharply and with anticipation to the door.
As the great doors swung open, rain-soaked and brightened by the flickering torchlight, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. Elena's breath caught in her throat as the Jamison family stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the storm.
Gabriel, tall and commanding, entered first, his rugged northern appearance exuding a quiet strength that drew the eye, much as her own father’s presence did. Beside him, Meggie moved with grace, as if her hair and cloak were not plastered to her skin. Elena’s lips parted, not having seen Jacob’s mother in more years than she could count, but recalling Meggie’s kindness and warmth, aware of her own mother’s enduring friendship with Jacob’s mother.
Following closely were David and Malcolm Jamison, the latter much more uncomfortable with so many eyes on him than the former.
Then Jacob Jamison stepped into the hall behind his parents and brothers, and Elena’s body betrayed her before her mind could intervene.
He was rain-darkened and travel-marked, his cloak still fastened at his shoulder, his hair slightly mussed by wind. He was taller than she remembered, broader through the chest andshoulders, closer to the size of his father, and he moved with the certainty of a man comfortable in his own skin. His grace was neither showy nor loud, but simply present in a way that drew the eye whether one meant to look or not.
For a heartbeat, Elena forgot to breathe.
His gaze swept the room—banners, tables, faces—and found the high table with apparent purpose, so quickly it made her stomach tighten. Their eyes met. Neither blinked, and neither looked away in haste either. Recognition passed between them in a brief, clean line—enough that her cheeks warmed —and then he turned his gaze onto Thomas, but only briefly before he bent an ear to something his brother, David, was saying.
Elena kept her face steady, wore no expression at all. She drew a slow breath through her nose and set her hands neatly on her lap as though nothing had happened at all.
Och and shite, she thought, borrowing one of Alexander’s favorite expressions. She most certainly was not over her long-ago crush, she concluded with a flash of irritation at herself that did nothing to steady her pulse.
Lord Hamilton rose from his seat at the high table, his chair scraping against the stone floor. The sound prompted several nearby men to follow suit. With his chin tilted just so and shoulders squared beneath his embroidered doublet, he descended from the dais and crossed the hall toward Gabriel, arms outstretched in welcome. Lady Hamilton followed in his wake, her silk skirts whispering against the bare floors as she made straight for Meggie Jamison who, despite being soaked through from the storm, stood with an effortless elegance that Elena vaguely recalled. With a discreet gesture, Lady Hamilton summoned a servant and murmured instructions, pointing toward a shadowed corridor. Moments later, Meggie followed the servant down that passage, leaving dark footprints on the stone.
Below, Liam MacTavish was already on his feet. Gabriel reached him, and the two men clasped forearms, their greeting filled with joy, unmistakably sincere. Alexander rose as well, grinning, and Michael leaned forward to catch David by the sleeve in a familiar, brotherly way that made Elena’s chest ache with longing. The Jamisons were guided toward the table where her family sat, and suddenly the distance Elena had been suffering became even more pronounced, her family gathered close and now joined by the Jamisons.
Thomas leaned slightly toward her.
“They seem glad of one another,” he said, and there was no resentment in it, naught but observation.
“They are,” Elena replied, smiling absently, her gaze fixed on the happy group.
The meal dragged on, requiring conscious effort to be present as Elena forced her mind to remain at the high table while her gaze and mind kept wandering below. She answered Thomas when spoken to, listened when she could, smiled when the moment demanded it, and all the while her eyes betrayed her. She looked toward the lower table too often, drawn by the ease of her family, by the warmth of Isabel and Meggie together, the latter since returned to the hall, and by the way Liam and Gabriel spoke as though they were already halfway through a conversation begun years ago.
And more than once, she caught Jacob’s gaze lifting toward her again.
Not a stare—never that. Brief glances, there and gone like raindrops on a window. She found herself shifting in her seat, adjusting her sleeves, smoothing her skirt.
At last, Lord Hamilton pushed away his emptied platter and settled back in his chair with a satisfied air. Elena seized the moment, turning to Thomas.
“If you’ll forgive me,” she said, “I should like to speak with Meggie Jamison before the evening carries her off. She will think me neglectful if I wait until tomorrow.”
Thomas’s smile was agreeable. “Go,” he said. “I’ll not keep you from your own.”
The words, so simply given, made Elena like him more, even as she rose with relief. She offered the appropriate nods, stepped down from the dais, and moved into the body of the hall, where the air felt lighter even as the bodies pressed closer.
At the lower table, her father and Gabriel were so deep in conversation they barely registered her approach at first. Liam’s hand was braced on the board, Gabriel angled toward him, the two of them speaking low and intent. Alexander listened with half an ear, as though taking notes in his head, while Michael’s attention flicked to Elena. “I was beginning to ken they’d keep ye perched up there all night.”
