Tankards were raised. The hall quieted in waves.
Old Fergus stood slowly, leaning on his cane but looking stronger than he had in months.
“To Malgrave,” he called.
“To Malgrave!” the hall echoed.
“To the Laird, who kept us steady.”
Kayden inclined his head slightly.
“And to the Lady, who kept us alive.”
The cheer that followed was louder.
Kayden did not move, but something tightened low in his chest. Lilliana flushed crimson, clearly unprepared for the public acknowledgment. She glanced at him, searching.
He stepped forward. That small movement silenced the murmurs.
“Me clan,” he said, voice carrying easily across stone and timber. “Lady McGill did what she was called to do. As did ye.” He paused, then added deliberately, “She is the Lady of Clan McGill in deed as well as name.”
There was no hesitation in the answering roar.
Lilliana’s eyes widened slightly at his words. He had never said it publicly before.
Jacob leaned in again. “Ye have just made it impossible for yerself to scowl at her in public ever again.”
“Silence,” Kayden muttered.
The music resumed faster, celebratory. Someone shoved a tankard into Kayden’s free hand. Someone else clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle bone. Then Lilliana appeared in front of him, breathless and glowing.
“My Laird,” she said sweetly, offering her hand. “You have yet to dance.”
“I daenae?—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” Her chin lifted in challenge.
Several clansmen noticed and began chanting, “Dance! Dance!”
Jacob raised both arms in encouragement. “Aye, Cousin, show us yer courtly English steps.”
Kayden shot him a warning look but allowed himself to be pulled into the circle.
The steps were not complicated, but they were fast. Lilliana guided him at first, her fingers warm in his. When he missed a step, she laughed, not mocking but delighted.
“Ye are doing this on purpose,” he accused under his breath.
“Of course I am.”
He adjusted quickly, finding the rhythm.
Soon they were spinning in time with the others, boots striking stone together. The energy of the hall surged through him. It was not tension or vigilance, but something dangerously close to joy.
When the dance ended, she remained close.
“You see?” she said softly. “You are not made of stone.”
“Aye,” he replied, voice low. “I am learning.”
