“She was. In her own way, she taught me more about kindness than me faither ever did.” He refilled both their glasses. “Though I’m nae sure how much of it stuck.”
“More than ye think.” Iris raised her glass, meeting his eyes across the table. “To Cook. May her memory be a blessin’.”
“To Cook.” He drank. “Now yer turn.”
“So, this one time, I threw a knife at me tutor’s portrait, ruinin’ it.”
“Ye really did that?”
They’d settled onto the kitchen floor, backs against the counter, the bottle of whisky between them like a shared secret.
“I was twelve and angry.” Iris drank from her glass, the warmth of the liquor already making her feel pleasantly loose. “He’d just spent an entire afternoon tellin’ me how disappointed me parents were that I wasnae more like Lydia. How I’d never attract a proper husband with me ‘unfortunate tendencies toward independence’.”
“And the knife?”
“Was supposed to go in the target outside, but I was so furious I threw it at his portrait instead.” She grinned at the memory. “Hit him right between the eyes. Ruined a perfectly good paintin’.”
Elijah laughed, a real laugh that transformed his whole face. “What did yer parents do?”
“Locked me in me chambers for a week. Nay food except bread and water. Nay books, nay sewin’, nothin’ to occupy meself with.” The old hurt flickered. “They said I needed to learn proper behavior for a young lady.”
“Christ.” His expression darkened. “Ye were a bairn.”
“Aye. But I was the wrong kind of bairn.” She took another sip. “Lydia would never throw knives at portraits. Lydia was perfect.”
“Lydia sounds borin’.”
Despite herself, Iris laughed. “She’s nae borin’. Just... different from me. Sweet where I’m sharp. Gentle where I’m fierce. Everythin’ a Highland lass is supposed to be.”
He turned to look at her, his dark eyes serious. “Yer parents really said ye’d never attract a proper husband?”
“Among other things.” She drained her glass. “They had a whole list of me failin's. Too tall, too opinionated, too interested in things young ladies shouldnae care about. Nae graceful enough, nae biddable enough, nae pretty enough.”
“They’re idiots.”
“I thought ye already kent that.”
“Aye, but I thought they were just regular idiots. Turns out they’re even bigger idiots than I imagined.” His jaw clenched. “How could any parent look at their child and see only what’s wrong instead of what’s right?”
She let out a loud laugh. “Ye really mean that.”
“Of course, I mean it. Ye’re intelligent, brave, capable of handlin’ responsibilities that would overwhelm most people. Ye managed that festival like ye were born to it, ye’ve won over me entire household in less than a fortnight, and ye’re the first person to ever make me want to be better than I am.” He reached out, his hand settling on her knee. “Any parent who couldnae see yer worth was blind.”
“Careful, husband. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might think ye actually like me.” She covered his hand with hers.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, sharing stories about their respective childhood. By the time the bottle was half empty, Iris felt pleasantly warm and loose, the sharp edges of old hurts softened by whisky and companionship.
“We should go back,” Elijah said finally. “Before someone finds us and starts gossipin’ about the Laird and his Lady drinkin’ in the kitchen like common folk.”
“Let them gossip. I daenae care.” But she stood anyway, slightly unsteady. “Though ye might have to help me up the stairs. Everythin’s a bit spinny.”
“How much did ye drink?”
“I lost count after the fourth glass.” She giggled, actually giggled. “Is this what bein’ drunk feels like? It’s rather pleasant.”
“Aye, until the mornin’ comes and yer head feels like it’s bein’ split open.” But he was smiling as he helped her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get ye to bed before ye fall over.”
They made their way through the dark corridors, Iris leaning heavily on Elijah’s arm and trying not to laugh at absolutely nothing. By the time they reached their chambers, she was exhausted and happy in equal measure.
