Chapter 16
The candles guttered low, and the smell of stew and smoke lingered. Warmth spread across Kristen’s face as every head swiveled toward her.
Lachlan had asked for her thoughts. The words still hung in the air like a bell that had not finished ringing.
She blinked, startled. Neil was around; there was no reason why her opinion should be sought anymore. She could also tell from the look on his face that he did not like it at all.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“Why would ye ask her?” Neil asked.
His voice cut clean across the hall. It was not a shout. It did not need to be.
Murmurs died down once again. Spoons lowered. A cup halted mid-air and did not move again.
Kristen felt the air thicken, and her stomach sank. She placed a palm on the table to steady herself. In truth, she had been expecting this. However, she had not thought it would happen with a hundred eyes on them.
Lachlan did not flinch. He turned his head, met his brother’s stare, and held it. “Because she’s been here when ye werenae.”
The words ripped through the ripped hall like the first crack in a frozen lake. No one dared to breathe loudly.
Kristen did not look at Neil right away. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were too still, and she wanted to curl them more than anything. But then she thought better of it. She looked up at last.
Neil set his glass down on the table. His jaw locked, and a small muscle jumped near his ear. The candle beside him shivered as if it too felt the strain.
“That isnae what he meant,” Kristen said, the words tumbling out before she could weigh them. “He only meant that I have seen how the people might react; that is all.”
Her voice sounded steady to her own ears. She hoped it sounded the same to theirs. The last thing she wanted was trouble.
She tried again, her voice softer. “Folks are weary, me Laird. They will be glad to dance. They will be kinder if we tell the truth about the bairns while music is playing.”
A few faces relaxed. Davina’s eyes warmed. Finn stared at Kristen as if the sound of her voice could fix the world.
Neil’s eyes did not leave her. They pinned her where she sat, making her hands clench.
“Is that what ye think of the ceilidh, then, Kristen?” he asked.
He did not call her lass. He did not call her wife. He used her name. That was worse.
The hall fell silent once again, a feat that now seemed threatening more than anything. She hated being in the middle of this. Ever since Neil returned, she had wanted nothing more than for him to reassume his position like he did today.
However, five years would not let the others stop looking to her.
Once again, heads turned toward her. Kristen felt the heat of the candles on her cheek.
She felt the cool edge of the table under her skin.
She felt the small weight of Anna against her side and the brush of Finn’s sleeve at her elbow as he leaned close to be near her shoulder. She drew each breath with care.
“Aye. A cèilidh shows the clan its own face,” she said, trying to keep the words plain.
“It tells folks that we can stand in one hall and eat and sing. It tells them that the Laird is home. If we speak about the children there, they will hear it with warm food in their bellies. They will mind the music and be gentle.”
Her voice wanted to waver on gentle, but she would not let it.
She continued, a little quieter. “And if those who want to hurt us still listen at our doors, they will ken that we arenae afraid.”
A murmur rose, quick and low, then settled.
Neil did not blink. His eyes were dark. His shoulders were tense.
Kristen wished she could look anywhere else. Instead, she looked right back.
“I daenae think we should boast,” she said. “I think we should be humble. We can speak a truth that does nay harm. The villagers can hold a truth like that.”
A woman near the end of the table put a hand on her husband’s sleeve and nodded as if the words had filled a small hole in her chest. Davina gave the smallest nod, steady and proud.
Kristen could feel the tension in the hall pressing down on her. She had given as much as she dared with Neil’s eyes fixed on her face like iron.
“Thank ye,” she finished, unclenching her hands.
Silence deepened rather than broke. It felt like a test the hall meant to hold for one breath longer, to see who would look away first.
Maggie shifted under the bench and thumped her tail once. The sound was too loud in the hush.
Neil’s cup sat by his hand, forgotten. He leaned forward, not enough for the hall to read his expression, but enough for Kristen to feel the pull of it. She held his eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady.
It did nothing to stop her pulse from thundering in her ears.