“Aye,” she said at last, withdrawing her hand. “I’m so grateful ye survived. Unscathed.”
She held his gaze a moment longer. Whatever Thomas Hamilton wished the world to believe, she wanted to remind him that she knew the truth.
“I wish to rest now,” she said.
Thomas nodded quickly, as pale as he was flushed moments ago. “Of course. Of course. You must rest. We’ll see to everything. Nothing will be expected of you—not a thing.”
Isabel’s hand closed around Elena’s arm then, firm and guiding.
“Come,” her mother said. “Let’s get ye warm and dry and fed.”
As she was led away, Elena glanced past Thomas, her gaze instinctively seeking Jacob again. He stood in shadow, beyond the crush of people crowding just inside the door, but she was certain she saw the flicker of a smirk curving his beautiful lips.
BY EARLY EVENING, WHENthe chamber door had once more closed behind a departing servant, Elena felt as though she had been unmade and put back together again by her mother’s hands.
Isabel had overseen it all with her usual efficient authority, ordering the bath, testing the water herself before allowing her daughter in, scrubbing river and road from her skin with firm, careful strokes. Fresh linen and wool had been laid, her hair had been combed by the fire, and bread and broth delivered with Isabel’s caution that Elena not eat too greedily lest she make herself ill. When Elena had been exhausted and overwhelmed by the bustle inside the chamber, Isabel had dismissed the servants one by one, until at last there were only two women left in the room and the quiet hum of the keep beyond the walls.
Now Elena sat near the hearth, wrapped in warmth that felt almost decadent, a cup held between her palms morefor comfort than thirst. The fire burned low and steady, its light catching on stone and tapestry, turning the chamber into something contained and safe.
By now, she had given her mother a full accounting of the last several days, nearly hour by hour, holding almost nothing back. She made no effort to temper her praise of Jacob, speaking plainly of his steadiness, his vigilance, the quiet certainty with which he had carried them through danger.
“Truly, Mother,” she said, meeting Isabel’s gaze, “aside from Father—and perhaps only one or two others—I cannot imagine another man with whom I would have felt so...well protected. I daresay my fear was cleanly cut in half simply by having him beside me.”
Isabel, sitting opposite her before the fire, smiled in a motherly fashion. “He is his father’s son,” she decided. “And yer father’s foster. I will be sure to pass that on to yer father, though I daresay he needs nae further reason to ken Jacob’s worth as a man, nae after delivering ye safely into our arms.”
Elena smiled absently. A moment went by before she spoke again. “Mother,” she said, carefully. “May I ask you something?”
Isabel’s expression softened. “Ye needn’t ask permission for that.”
Elena nodded, her gaze fixed on the fire. “I was contemplating... about what makes a marriage bearable. Or—happy.” She hesitated, then went on. “And whether a woman can be content, truly content, if she canna rely upon her husband to protect her.”
Isabel stilled.
“Protection takes many forms,” Isabel said carefully. “Do you mean strength of arm?”
“I’m nae sure,” Elena answered, a bit evasively. “I suppose I always kent it mattered. That it is... necessary.”
Isabel considered this, her expression thoughtful rather than alarmed. “It matters,” she said honestly. “But it is nae the first thing I would name to construct a solid marriage.”
Elena turned then, surprised. “It’s nae?”
“Nae,” Isabel said. “A man may be strong and still fail ye. He may be brave and yet absent when ye most need him.” She set her cup aside and folded her hands in her lap. “What sustains a marriage—what gives it any chance at peace—is trust. Respect. And honesty.”
“Honesty,” she repeated, too quickly to disguise how it caught her.
Isabel nodded, watchful now. “Aye. A woman can endure many things if she kens where she stands. It is nae danger that undoes us so often as uncertainty.”
“And integrity?” Elena asked.
Her mother’s gaze softened. “That as well—goes hand in hand with honesty, does it nae? A man must be the same in shadow as he is in the light. Ye canna build a life with someone whose truth changes depending on who is watching.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around her cup. She thought of Thomas’s hands—clean, unmarked—his voice pitched to carry, the story shaped so carefully before it had even been asked for. She thought of how quickly he had needed her to agree, that that had been his first concern upon reuniting with her.
“And if a man believes himself honest,” she asked quietly, “but is nae?”
Isabel studied her then, really studied her, obviously trying to read beneath the words. “Then the danger is greater,” she said gently. “Because he will nae ken when he has crossed a line, or care to see the line in the first place.”
The fire popped softly. Elena looked back at the flames, her reflection wavering there. “I dinna want to be ungrateful,” she said. “Or foolish. I ken fear can make men act strangely.”
