“How do ye ken? Ye havenae even met him properly yet.”
Mairie’s voice softened. “Iris, I watched ye throw away five years with Malcolm because he dinnae respect ye. Daenae throw away what could be a lifetime of happiness with Elijah because ye’re too afraid to take a chance.”
“But what about Lydia?”
“Lydia is Lydia, and ye are ye. Stop comparin’ yerself to her. Ye’re both beautiful in different ways, but more importantly, ye’re both different people with different strengths.” Mairie gripped her shoulders. “Do ye really think a man like Elijah Craig would have said those things to ye if he dinnae mean them? A man that powerful, that important, he doesnae need to flatter anyone. If he said ye’re beautiful, it’s because he believes it.”
Iris wanted to argue, but the logic was sound. Elijah had no reason to lie to her, no reason to say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t trying to secure a betrothal or win her favor; she was already his wife.
Iris was quiet, letting the words sink in. “When did ye get so wise about marriage?”
“I’m nae wise about marriage; I’ve never been married meself. But I am wise about ye.” Mairie squeezed her hands again. “Ye’ve spent yer whole life believin’ ye werenae good enough. Maybe it’s time to start believin’ ye are.”
“I daenae ken if I can.”
“Then fake it until ye do. That’s what confidence is, really, pretendin’ ye believe in yerself until one day ye realize ye actually do.”
“But I feel so awkward around him now. Like I daenae ken what to say or how to act.”
"Come on," Mairie said, standing and brushing off her skirts. "Ye need to stop broodin' and do somethin' with all this pent-up frustration."
"Like what?"
"Like throwin' knives. Ye always said it helped ye think clearly." Mairie's eyes sparkled. "Besides, I want to see if ye're as good as ye claim."
Twenty minutes later, they stood in a quiet corner of the practice yard, well away from where the men were training. Iris pulled her knife from its hidden sheath, the familiar weight of it grounding her.
"See that post there?" She pointed to a wooden support about fifteen feet away. "Watch."
The knife flew from her hand, embedding itself dead center with a satisfying thunk.
"Again," Mairie encouraged.
Iris threw again. And again. Each throw released some of the anger and hurt coiled in her chest. With each blade that hit its mark, she felt a little more like herself—strong, capable, not the rejected wife Elijah had made her feel like.
"Better?" Mairie asked after the sixth throw.
"Aye." Iris retrieved her knives, sliding them back into their sheaths. "Much better."
“Good. Now let me tell ye that the way ye feel is normal! Of course, things are goin’ to be awkward for a bit.” Mairie laughed. “But that will be fixed easily enough.”
“How?”
“By spendin’ time with him. By talkin’ to him about how ye feel. By lettin’ yerself believe that maybe, just maybe, ye deserve to be wanted.”
Iris felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. Maybe Mairie was right. Maybe instead of questioning Elijah’s every word, she should just... try to believe him.
But what if I let meself love him, and he changes his mind?
"But I feel so awkward around him now. Like I daenae ken what to say or how to act."
"That's normal! Of course, things are goin' to be awkward for a bit." Mairie laughed. "But that will be fixed easily enough."
"How?"
"By spendin' time with him. By talkin' to him about how ye feel. By lettin' yerself believe that maybe, just maybe, ye deserve to be wanted."
Iris felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. Maybe Mairie was right. Maybe instead of questioning Elijah's every word, she should just... try to believe him.
