Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Straighten yer shoulders, lass. Let them see their lady."
Elinor's hand tightened on David's arm as they approached the great hall. She could hear the noise already, voices raised in conversation, laughter, the clatter of dishes being set on tables. The sounds of a clan gathering for their evening meal.
"I am straight," she muttered.
"Aye. But ye're tense as a bowstring." His voice was low, meant only for her ears. "They can smell fear, ye ken."
"That's very reassuring."
"I'm nay tryin' tae reassure ye. I'm tellin' ye the truth." He paused at the entrance, turning to face her. "These are me people, Elinor. Most of them are good folk. But some will test ye. Question ye. Try tae see if ye're worthy of bein' their lady."
"And if they decide I'm not?"
"Then they'll learn tae live with disappointment." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Because ye're me wife. Lady of Keppoch. And that's nae changin', whether they like it or nae."
The certainty in his voice steadied her. She nodded once, sharply, and let him lead her into the hall.
The noise didn't stop when they entered, but it shifted. Conversations became quieter, more furtive. Heads turned. Eyes tracked their progress toward the high table at the far end of the room.
Elinor kept her chin lifted, her expression neutral. She'd learned years ago how to walk through hostile rooms. How to pretend she didn't notice the stares, the whispers, the judgment written on every face.
Some of the clansmen offered polite bows as they passed. A woman near the hearth curtsied, her smile genuine. But others purposefully looked away, busying themselves with their meals or their conversations, unwilling to acknowledge her.
An Englishwoman. In their hall. At their laird's side.
Elinor could almost hear the words. David led her to the high table, pulling out her chair before taking his own seat beside her.
The gesture was automatic, practiced, the kind of courtesy a man showed his wife.
But Elinor noticed the way his jaw was tight, the way his eyes swept the hall with sharp assessment.
He'd noticed the averted gazes too.
Servants brought trays of roasted meat, fresh bread, vegetables in rich gravy, and cheese that smelled divine.
Elinor's stomach clenched with hunger, but she forced herself to wait.
Take measured, ladylike portions. Eat slowly, carefully, the way you've been taught.
Around them, the hall gradually returned to its normal rhythm. Conversations resumed at full volume. Laughter rang out from the lower tables. But Elinor could feel the undercurrent of attention still focused on her. Watching. Judging.
"Me lady."
The voice came from her left. Elinor turned to find an older man standing a few paces away. He was perhaps sixty, with iron-grey hair and a face weathered by years of Highland winters. His expression was not hostile, exactly, but not welcoming either.
"Aye?" David's voice held a note of warning.
"I was just wonderin'," the man continued, his eyes fixed on Elinor, "about the new Lady MacDonald's lineage. We ken she's English, aye. But what family daes she come from? What alliances daes this marriage bring tae the clan?"
The hall went quiet. Not completely silent, but quiet enough that nearby conversations faltered. Quiet enough that people leaned in to hear the answer.
Elinor felt heat creep up her neck. She opened her mouth to respond—to explain about her father's estate, about the Royse family's history—but David spoke first.
"Her lineage," he said, his voice carrying across the suddenly attentive hall, "is MacDonald."
The man blinked.
"She's a MacDonald now." David's tone was pleasant, conversational, but there was steel beneath it "That's the only lineage that matters in this hall. The only name that matters. Dae ye understand me, or dae ye have other questions?"
The older man hesitated, clearly wanting to press the issue. But something in David's eyes made him think better of it.
"Aye, me laird. I mean, nay, I dinnae," he said finally. "I understand."
"Good." David's gaze swept the hall, making sure everyone heard what came next.
"Let me be clear for anyone who's wonderin'.
Lady Elinor is me wife. Lady of Keppoch.
Yer lady. Whatever family she came from, whatever name she bore before, it daesnae matter.
She's a MacDonald now. And anyone who has a problem with that can bring it tae me directly. "
Silence held for a heartbeat. Then two.
Then a woman near the back called out, "Welcome, me lady!" Her voice was warm.
Others joined in. Not everyone, Elinor could still see some faces that remained carefully neutral, some eyes that refused to meet hers. But enough. Enough voices raised in welcome, enough smiles offered, to shift the atmosphere from hostile to merely uncertain.
"Thank ye," Elinor called back, pitching her voice to carry. "I'm honored to be here. To be part of Clan MacDonald."
The words felt strange in her mouth. Foreign. But also, surprisingly true.
David's hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently before releasing. A brief touch, barely a moment, but it steadied her.
He stood up for me. In front of his entire clan, he defended me.
The meal continued. Conversations resumed, louder now, as though the brief confrontation had broken some invisible barrier. Elinor found herself relaxing slightly, letting herself enjoy the food.
And there was so much food.
Roasted venison, rich and tender. Fresh bread with butter that actually tasted like butter, not the rancid substitute her father's cook had used.
Vegetables that hadn't been boiled to grey mush.
Cheese that was sharp and flavorful. And desserts, actual desserts, sweet and indulgent and completely unnecessary.
Elinor tried to maintain her composure, eat slowly, carefully, the way a lady should.
But God, she was hungry.
Not just physically, though she was that too. But hungry in a deeper way. For flavor. For abundance. For the simple pleasure of eating without calculating how long it needed to last, without worrying that it might be the only meal she'd get that day.
She reached for another piece of bread, then another slice of cheese. Her plate kept emptying, and she kept refilling it, trying to be subtle about it. Trying not to look like she was starving.
Beside her, David said nothing. But she could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye.
She flushed, setting down her fork. "I'm sorry. I'm eating too much."
"Nay." His voice was quiet, meant only for her. "Eat as much as ye want, lass. There's plenty."
"It's not ladylike."
"It's perfectly polite tae enjoy a meal." His tone was firm. "Especially when ye've been travelin' fer days and likely havenae had a proper meal in longer than that."
Elinor's throat tightened. He knew. Of course he knew. He'd seen her at the inn, devouring her food like she'd never see another plate. He'd noticed her hunger even when she'd tried to hide it.
"And it's me pleasure, if I'm bein' honest. Ye should see yer face when ye taste somethin' ye like. Like ye've just discovered the sun rises in the east."
Despite herself, Elinor smiled. "The food is very good."
"Aye. Cook will be pleased tae hear it." He reached for his own cup, taking a long drink. "Ye should tell her so tomorrow. She'll appreciate it."
The rest of the meal passed more easily.
People approached the high table to introduce themselves, some warmly, others with polite reserve. Elinor did her best to remember names, to smile appropriately, to play the part of the gracious new lady.
But she was exhausted by the time David finally stood, offering her his arm.
"Walk with me," he said. "The gardens. Fresh air will dae ye good."
She took his arm gratefully, letting him lead her out of the hall and through a side door she hadn't noticed before.
The garden beyond was unexpected.
Elinor had seen gardens before, her father's estate had once had them, though they'd long since gone to seed. Overgrown tangles of weeds where flowers should have been. Crumbling stone paths. Fountains that no longer worked.
This was nothing like that.
Even in late autumn, even with winter approaching, these gardens were beautiful.
The paths were clear and well-maintained.
The flower beds, though mostly empty at that time of year, were neatly edged and obviously cared for.
And in the center, a small fountain still trickled, the sound of water peaceful in the evening quiet.
"It's lovely," she said softly.
David's expression was unreadable in the fading light.
"Me maither's project. She loved gardens.
Spent hours out here, plantin' and weedin' and designin' new sections.
" His voice was distant, remembering. "When I was a lad, I used tae help her.
Well, 'help' is generous. Mostly I just followed her around and got in the way. "
Elinor felt her chest tighten. "She sounds wonderful."
"She was." He was quiet for a moment. "When I became laird, the gardens had gone tae ruin. Me uncle had nay interest in maintainin' them. So one of the first things I did was have them restored. Brought in gardeners who kent what they were daein'. Made sure they were cared fer properly."
"That's… " Elinor struggled for words. "That's a beautiful way tae honor your mother’s memory."
David's jaw tightened. "It's only a garden."
But it wasn't. Elinor could hear it in his voice. See it in the way his eyes tracked over the carefully maintained paths, the way his hand brushed against a stone bench they passed.
This garden was more than plants and water features. It was a connection to someone he'd lost. A way of keeping her alive, even after she was gone.
"What happened to her?" Elinor asked gently.
David's entire body went rigid. "That's nae a topic fer discussion."
"I apologize. I didn't mean to pry. I only wanted to ken— "
"I said it's nae a topic fer discussion." His voice was cold now. Final. The tone of a laird giving an order, not a husband talking to his wife.
Elinor bit her lip, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. Whatever had happened to David's mother, it was clearly a wound that hadn't healed. One he wasn't ready to share.
She changed tactics. "My father never let me have hobbies."
David glanced at her, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "What?"
"Hobbies. Interests. Things that were just mine." She ran her hand along the edge of the fountain as they passed. "He said they were frivolous. That a lady's only concern should be making herself marriageable and managing a household. Anything else was a waste of time."
"That's… " David stopped himself, but she could see the anger flickering across his face. "That's a poor way tae raise a daughter."
Then he paused.
"Ye ken ye could try any trade appropriate fer yer station. As lady of the castle, ye can spend yer time as ye wish."
"Do you mean it?"
"I dinnae say things I dinnae mean, lass."
"Then… " She hesitated, suddenly uncertain. "Could I really? Try different things? See what I enjoy?"
David stopped walking, turning to face her fully. His expression was serious, but not unkind.
"Ye're Lady of Keppoch now. Ye've responsibilities, aye—managin' the household, organizin' the Cèilidh, representin' the clan when needed.
But beyond that?" He shrugged. "Yer time is yer own.
If ye want tae learn healin', work with Cook in the kitchens, try yer hand at weavin' or paintin' or whatever else interests ye—ye've me blessing. "
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." His mouth quirked slightly. "Though I'd ask ye tae avoid anythin' that involves sharp objects until I ken ye're nae likely tae stab me with them."
Despite herself, Elinor laughed. "I make no promises."
"Fair enough."
Elinor felt something warm bloom in her chest. Gratitude.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For standing up for me at dinner. For—" She gestured vaguely. "For all of this."
"Ye're me wife. It's what I should dae."
"Most husbands wouldn't."
"Then most husbands are fools."
He's a good man. Complicated. Guarded. But good.
And that realization terrified her almost as much as it comforted her.
Because falling for a good man would be so much more dangerous than falling for the cold, calculating purchaser she'd expected.
"David?"
"Aye?"
"Why didn't you tell them? At dinner. About where I came from. My father's debts. The auction." She kept her voice low. "You could have explained. Made them understand why you married me."
David was quiet for a moment. "Because it's nae their business.
And because—" He stopped, seeming to choose his words carefully.
"Because ye're more than the worst things that happened tae ye.
Ye're more than yer faither's failures or his cruelty.
And I'll nay reduce ye tae that story just tae make them comfortable. "
Elinor's breath caught. "That's so thoughtful of you”
"It's the truth." He glanced down at her, his yes unreadable in the torchlight. "Ye're Lady MacDonald now. That's all they need tae ken. The rest is between us."
Between us. As though they were truly a partnership. As though her past and her pain were things he wanted to protect, not exploit.
"I don't know what to say to that," she admitted.
"Then dinnae say anythin'."
The autumn evening had turned properly cold, and her shawl wasn't quite enough.
David shrugged out of his cloak and draped it over her shoulders before she could protest. It was warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him—leather and pine and something else she couldn't quite name.