Across the square, he locked eyes with Margaret. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then the reel drew him back again, the pattern reclaiming his attention, the music rising sharper as the tempo increased.
The men pushed harder now. So did he. It wasn’t to prove anything, but simply because they did, and he would not be found wanting among his own.
When at last the reel broke, it did so in a burst of laughter and shallow breaths. The circle loosened, while men were clapping shoulders and stepping back.
Cameron approached him again with a cup already in hand, offering it without ceremony.
“Nae bad,” he grinned.
Domhnall took it. “Nay,” he replied, returning the smile.
He drank once, feeling the ale rough and grounding, then lowered the cup. The music continued. The night continued as well, and Domhnall allowed himself to remain within it as a man among his own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The evening had softened into something almost dreamlike.
Lantern lights flickered gently against newly mended beams, while music wove through the square in lilting patterns. The very air itself was warmed by laughter and the quiet satisfaction of survival turned, however briefly, into celebration.
Margaret had not known such a gathering before, one that was so free of pretense and so untouched by the careful performance of court.
Here, gratitude was not arranged. It was felt.
She had been speaking with one of the older women, accepting yet another offering she felt she had no right to refuse, when she felt a light tug at her sleeve.
“Me lady?”
Margaret turned. A small girl was standing beside her, no more than six or seven. She had her hair loosely braided, and her cheeks were still flushed from the evening air. There was a seriousness to her expression that seemed almost at odds with her age.
“Aye, little one?” Margaret said gently, lowering herself slightly so they stood nearer to equal height.
“There’s a gentleman,” the child revealed in a tone that was meant to be solely for her. “He asked if I might bring ye tae him. He wishes tae thank ye properly.”
Margaret’s brows lifted slightly.
“A gentleman?” she repeated.
The girl nodded at once, as though the matter were entirely straightforward.
“Aye. He said he didnae wish tae disturb ye before the others.”
Margaret hesitated. It was not fear that gave her pause, but habit. In court, such a request would have been weighed for implication and for motive. Here, among those people, it seemed far less likely to carry hidden intent.
Still, she glanced instinctively toward where Domhnall had been. He was no longer where she had last seen him. Sheassumed he was no doubt drawn back into conversation or movement, as he had been all evening.
The girl waited, watching her with open expectation.
Margaret smiled softly.
“Very well,” she said. “Ye may show me.”
The child brightened at once, turning with small, eager steps toward the edge of the square. Margaret followed and as she walked, her gaze turned once more toward the gathering before she allowed herself to be led away from it.
The music softened behind them as they moved further from the square, replaced by the quieter sounds of the evening. The wind was shifting lightly through the structures, while the faint rhythm of the sea beyond filled the air around her.
They passed the last of the lanterns, where the light grew dimmer.
“Just there, me lady,” the girl said, pointing ahead toward a narrow space between two buildings, which was partially sheltered and shadowed, removed from the rest.
