Chapter 36 #2
“Aye,” he nodded, still smiling. “Unless ye wish me sister tae come storming up here in search of us. And I assure ye, she would.”
That image was vivid enough to restore what little composure she could claim.
Elaina drew back at last, though not without reluctance, and looked down at the ribbon still clasped in her hand.
The Grant crest caught the last amber light from the windows, and the sight of it sent another sweet ache through her chest.
“I must look a fright,” she murmured, brushing at her cheeks.
Duncan’s gaze softened still further. “Ye look,” he replied, “exactly as I would wish ye tae.”
She proceeded to set the ribbon properly in place, and when she looked at him again, he was offering her his hand. She placed her hand upon it without hesitation.
By the time they reached the dining hall, they were undeniably late.
When Duncan entered the dining hall with Elaina on his arm, he was perfectly aware that they were late. The meal had already begun. Candlelight glimmered over polished cups and silver dishes, over the carved backs of chairs and the long boards laid with more order than ceremony.
Heads turned. A few servants near the wall lowered their eyes with suspicious promptness. At the far end of the table, Catriona looked up and the delight that spread across her face was so knowing that Duncan nearly laughed before he had even reached his chair.
He did not, however. He had retained enough self-command to conduct Elaina to her place with all the composure expected of a laird, though inwardly he knew himself to be far less steady than his manner suggested.
The memory of her voice when she had told him she was wrong to doubt his love lived so vividly within him that the simple fact of walking into a room beside her felt extraordinary.
He drew out her chair for her. She sat down, blushing ever so slightly. Only when he had taken his own place beside her did Catriona set down her fork and look between them with unconcealed triumph.
“Well,” she mussed, “Iain, I trust ye have noted the hour. I should be most unwilling tae have any dispute later as tae how very late they were.”
Iain had been regarding Duncan with the expression of a man whose private conclusions had just been confirmed beyond dispute.
“I had imagined,” he said, with an admirable gravity that did not in the least conceal his amusement, “that our laird had perhaps been detained by some urgent matter of importance.”
“At the observatory?” Catriona returned sweetly.
Duncan reached for his cup with what he hoped appeared to be indifference. “A laird may conduct important business where he pleases.”
“Ah,” said Catriona. “Then I shall remember that, should I ever require a husband, I need only tae take meself tae the observatory and wait.”
Elaina lowered her gaze, and Duncan, seeing the smile she could not entirely conceal, found himself quite unable to resent his sister’s impertinence.
Iain gave a brief laugh. “There is nay danger of yer waiting quietly anywhere.”
“That,” Catriona replied with a chuckle, “is very true.”
Duncan might once have objected to being made fun of, particularly in his own hall.
But there was too much relief in him and too much gratitude to feel even the mildest irritation.
Indeed, there was a part of him that found comfort in the cheerful boldness of their teasing.
It gave the evening the appearance of ease.
It made happiness seem almost ordinary, which perhaps was the rarest luxury of all.
Catriona folded her hands before her and regarded him closely. “Ye both look entirely unlike yerselves,” she declared. “I can only conclude that ye are very much in love.”
“Elaina,” said Duncan, before his sister could continue further, “perhaps ye’d like tae make the announcement?”
At once Catriona sat straighter. “Announcement? Then I am prepared tae be delighted.”
Duncan turned his head just slightly toward Elaina.
He did not need to urge her, nor would he have done so.
Yet when she met his eyes, he hoped she saw what he intended, that whatever she chose to share with them, she would do it freely, and that there was nothing in the world he desired more than for her to speak as she wished.
She drew a breath.
“We have decided,” she spoke in a voice that was gentle but clear enough to command the room, “that once all this is over, once Lachlan MacKenzie is dealt with, we shall marry.”
For one brief second, the words seemed to hang in the candlelit air. Then Catriona gave a cry of such pure delight that several of the servants looked up in alarm. She rose at once and came around the table, heedless of all decorum, to embrace Elaina.
“I kent it!” she squealed. “I kent it before either of ye had the courage tae confess it!”
Iain shook his head, though he was smiling broadly enough to betray his own satisfaction. “Ye said as much the day he brought her home.”
“And was I right?” she asked importantly.
“Intolerably so.”
Duncan watched Elaina as Catriona embraced her. He had thought himself content merely to have won back her good opinion. Yet to hear her speak of marriage openly, before his sister, before Iain, before the household itself, filled him with a gratitude so deep it bordered on reverence.
Catriona drew back, holding Elaina by the shoulders, and looked from her to Duncan with eyes shining with happiness and mischief alike. “Dae ye remember,” she said to Iain, “how he insisted she was naething more than a healer?”
Iain gave a laugh. “Aye. That was poor work.”
“And dae ye remember,” Catriona continued mercilessly, “how he had her chamber placed near his own, and spoke of flooding as if that explained everything?”
“At the time,” Duncan replied dryly, “it did explain a great deal.”
Catriona scoffed. “Only tae those determined nae tae see.”
Elaina smiled and Duncan thought he had never seen a sight more capable of undoing him.
“I begin tae suspect,” she said, “that the two of ye have entertained yerselves at our expense.”
“Me dear,” said Catriona, still beaming, “it has been our greatest diversion.”
Everyone burst into laughter at her words, and then, the room settled again. Dishes were passed and wine was poured. Candle flames moved gently in the evening draught, and the golden light softened every face, every line of stone and timber about the hall.
Duncan, seated beside Elaina, was acutely conscious of her nearness. Once, as a servant reached across the table, her sleeve brushed his hand, and the smallest contact was enough to recall the observatory, the ribbon, the look in her eyes when she had accepted it at last.
He allowed himself, perhaps for the first time in many years, to imagine what peace might feel like if it were allowed to remain.
At that exact moment, the great doors of the hall flew open with a violence that shattered the warmth of the room at once.
Every head turned as a guard stumbled in, looking pale and breathless.
The urgency in his face was enough to silence all remaining laughter before he spoke.
His chest rose and fell sharply, and his gaze found Duncan first, then Iain.
“Me laird,” he said, with scarcely enough breath to force the words out, “the castle is under attack.”