The board relaxed a little. At some point, a maid spilled a drop near the salt. She flinched, then saw Erica’s hand rise to steady the trencher and breathed again.
This was what normalcy should look like, and yet it was anything but.
“Ye came across the pass without trouble, Lady Bryden,” Grandmamma said, her voice mild. “That road has a long memory.”
“Aye,” Lady Bryden said. “We took it slow.”
“Well, I always say better slow than dead.”
“Ye are kind to say so.”
Alex let the light talk run without interjecting. He carried on with meat and bread and emptying a cup on a schedule while keeping his face even. He did not let his eye slide to the doorway to check for new eyes or touch his jaw.
Grandmamma, on the other hand, chose her time. She folded her hands and set them on the board neatly, then looked down the length of it as if speaking to the hall rather than to two people.
“So,” she said. “When are ye planning to wed?”
The table stilled, and the knives paused. A cup settled on wood and stayed in Calum’s hand.
Alex reached for his own cup and bought himself a breath. He did not answer a question he had not set. The heat in his neck was old, the kind that came when a plan met a wall.
“And will there be a betrothal cèilidh?” Grandmamma added, all ease. “Folk like a dance if they can eat after.”
Erica went very still. He did not look at her fully. He saw enough in the line of her shoulders. He had known she could carry the story, but he had not planned for his own house to press this fast.
“Nay,” Erica said. Too quick.
The word hit wrong. A shift ran the length of the table. It was small. It was felt. Suspicion sharpened in the gap.
Erica dropped her gaze to the knife by her plate, then raised it again, trying to catch up. “There is nay need for such fuss,” she said, softer.
It did not land well.
Grandmamma’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but inthought.
The captain who had toasted the house took a slow sip, and Calum’s mouth pulled tight, then eased. The girls looked from one face to another with the quick instinct of children who live in rooms where quiet questions change what happens next.
“I would like to collect flowers for the wedding,” Katie announced brightly, as if a simple solution could set the board right.
The line of tension cut, clean and deep.
Erica paled, then pushed back from the table so smoothly that it took a second to read it as retreat.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need a moment.”
No one moved to stop her. That would have made it worse.
Alex watched as she stood up and stepped away. She walked to the arch without hurry. She did not look at him.She did not even look at the door.
He watched her go, feeling the tightness in his chest gain a new weight.
The lie had always been his to carry. Watching it sit on her like that set the cost in a different place. The room pressed in with a different kind of noise.
He set his cup down and did not let the sound ring. He did not look at Grandmamma. He did not look at Calum. He kept his face steady while he counted the steps to the arch.
Then he rose to his feet, unable to bear it anymore.
“Ye shall need to excuse me as well.”
