“Aye,” he said, entirely unrepentant.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, though the corners of her lips betrayed her.
“Well?” she pressed. “Am I tae guess, or will ye tell me?”
He extended the letter toward her, though he did not release it immediately.
“The fishing village,” he said.
Margaret’s attention sharpened at once.
“What of it?”
“They have organized a gathering,” he continued, watching her now as closely as she watched him. “In our honor.”
Margaret blinked. She simply stared at him, as though the words had not quite settled into meaning.
“A gathering?” she repeated.
“Aye.”
She took the letter from him then, more slowly this time, unfolding it with care, but her eyes barely skimmed the contents before she looked back up again.
“They wish tae thank us,” she said, though it was clear she did not need the letter to confirm it.
Domhnall inclined his head slightly. “So it would seem.”
Margaret felt a sudden, unexpected swell of emotion, different from before, lighter, but no less strong.
“They didnae have tae,” she said softly.
“Nay,” he agreed. “They did nae.”
Which, perhaps, made it matter more.
Her gaze drifted briefly to the window, as though she could already see the village again, with the repaired boats, the fires burning steady and the people beginning to reclaim what had been nearly taken from them. Then she looked back at him.
“We shall go,” she said at once.
There was no hesitation in her and no weighing of propriety or obligation. There was no question whether they should go.
“Ye would attend?” he asked.
Margaret’s brows lifted slightly, surprised he would even question it.
“Of course I would. They asked us,” she continued, her voice softening, though her conviction did not. “And they are… ours, are they nae?Ourpeople.” The words came more naturally now than they once would have, not as something she had been taught to say, but something she believed.
“Aye,” he said.
Margaret smiled. “I would like to see them again, nae in ruin.”
He said nothing to that, but she knew that her wanting it mattered to him. Margaret folded the letter carefully, more composed now, though the warmth had not left her.
A gathering.
She was thinking of it as something to look forward to. The realization made her pause, but then, she glanced at him again.
“And ye?” she asked lightly. “Will ye endure being thanked so publicly?”
