Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The night after their argument passed in uneasy silence.
Tòrr hadn’t gone to their chamber. She’d half-expected him to say something sharp or distant, anything to break the heavy quiet between them, but the door had stayed closed, and the hearth had burned low without him.
By morning, she’d forced her thoughts into neat order again. Whatever fragile understanding had grown between them, it was better left alone. At least for now.
“Ye’re certain we’ll nae be late?”
Catherine asked for the third time as the wagon rattled down the dirt road, baskets of bread and ale clinking behind them.
Liliane watched the green hills roll by. The sun hung low, gilding the fields with soft gold. Ahead, faint music drifted from the village square, pipes and drums, lively and warm.
It had been a day since the quarrel, and though Tòrr hadn’t spoken to her since, she was determined not to let his absence cloud what was meant to be a simple village celebration.
Sofia leaned forward to peer around Tòrr, who rode at the front. “I can already smell the stew from here. God bless the women of Glenkerron.”
Michael laughed. “Aye, they ken how tae feed a man proper. Last year I near rolled home like a barrel.”
“Ye dae that every year, and it isnae because of the food,” Tòrr muttered without turning.
“Just let me enjoy meself in peace,” Michael replied.
Tòrr cast him a flat look over his shoulder. “Enjoyin’ yerself daesnae mean drinkin’ till ye forget yer own name.”
“Then I must’ve been enjoyin’ it right,” Michael said cheerfully.
Alyson snorted. “I’ll wager this year’s the same.”
The group’s laughter mingled with the music as they crossed the final bridge into the village.
By the time they arrived, the festival was already in full swing. Ribbons hung from poles, children ran barefoot through the grass, and the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and honeyed ale.
“Laird MacDonald!” someone called. "Make way! The laird's arrived!"
The shout went up as their horses entered the village, and Liliane's stomach clenched. Everywhere she looked, people were gathering—men, women, children, all dressed in their finest, all turning to stare as Tòrr's party rode through.
"Smile," Catherine whispered beside her. "They're excited tae meet ye."
"They're starin'."
"Because ye're new. And bonny. And their laird's lady." Catherine grinned. "Give them somethin' tae admire."
Easier said than done when Liliane felt like every eye in the village was measuring her, judging whether she was worthy of the man riding ahead of them.
Tòrr dismounted first, and immediately the crowd pressed closer, calling out greetings.
"Me laird! Welcome!"
"Fine day fer festivities, aye?"
"We've saved the best table fer ye!"
He handled the attention with practiced ease, clasping hands, nodding to familiar faces, accepting their enthusiasm without being overwhelmed by it. Then he turned and reached up to help Liliane down.
"Ready?" he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
"Nay."
"Good. Neither am I." But his hand was steady as she took it. "Just follow me lead."
The moment her feet touched ground, a woman with flour-dusted hands and a warm smile pushed through the crowd.
"Lady MacDonald! Welcome, welcome!" She grabbed Liliane's hands before she could react. "I'm Moira's sister, Agnes. We're so pleased tae have ye here!"
"Thank ye."
"Come, come! We've set up the finest table, right in the center where ye can see everythin'!" Agnes began tugging her forward. "And we've prepared such food—roasted lamb, fresh bread, berry tarts."
"Agnes, let the lass breathe," Tòrr said, amusement coloring his voice.
"Oh, hush ye. She needs welcomin' proper!" But Agnes released Liliane's hands. "Right this way, me lady."
They were led to a long table decorated with wildflowers and autumn leaves, positioned to overlook the entire village square. Musicians tuned their instruments nearby, children ran shrieking between dancers practicing their steps, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air.
"This is..." Liliane searched for words as she took in the scene. "This is incredible."
Tòrr took the seat at the head of the table, Michael beside him, and immediately people began approaching with offerings; cups of ale, plates of food, small gifts for their laird and his new bride.
"Fer ye, me lady," an elderly man said, pressing a carved wooden figure into her hands. "Made it meself. It's a… well, it's meant tae be a bird, though me grandson says it looks more like a turnip."
The lopsided carving did indeed look more vegetable than avian, but Liliane found herself smiling. "It's lovely. Thank ye."
His weathered face lit up. "Ye hear that? The lady says it's lovely! Take that, ye wee scamp!" He called this last bit to a boy hovering nearby, who stuck out his tongue.
More gifts followed; a jar of honey, a carefully folded blanket, a necklace of polished stones. Each came with a story, a connection, a piece of the clan offering itself to her.
"They're welcomin' ye," Catherine whispered. "Intae the family proper."
The weight of it pressed on Liliane's chest. These people, they'd accepted her without question, without knowing anything about her beyond Tòrr's claim that she was his wife.
"I dinnae deserve this," she murmured.
"Of course ye dae," Sofia replied. "Ye're one of us now."
But was she? Could she be, when half her heart was still planning escape?
"Eat, me lady!" Agnes appeared again, setting down a plate piled high with food. "Ye're too thin. We need tae fatten ye up proper."
"I'm nae thin."
"Ye're practically a wraith! Here, try the lamb. And the bread, I made it meself this mornin'. And the berries too."
"Agnes," Tòrr interrupted, his tone fond. "Ye're smotherin' her."
"Someone needs tae make sure she eats, she looks half-starved."
"I've been feedin' her perfectly well."
"Have ye?" Agnes squinted at Liliane. "She's got shadows under her eyes. Nae sleepin' proper either, I'd wager."
Liliane's face burned as half the table turned to look at her.
"I sleep fine," she managed.
"Hmm." Agnes looked unconvinced. "Well, eat anyway. Food cures most ills, me maither used tae say."
As the afternoon wore on, the formality of the gathering dissolved into genuine celebration. Musicians struck up lively tunes, dancers took to the cleared space in the square's center, and children wove between adults with sticky hands and gleeful shouts.
"Dance with me, Da!" a small girl demanded, tugging on her father's sleeve.
"Aye, aye, give me a moment."
"Now, Da! Afore the music stops!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd as the man allowed himself to be dragged into the dancing.
"Remember when we were that demandin’?" Catherine asked, grinning at her sisters.
"We're still that demandin’," Alyson replied. "We've just gotten better at it."
Liliane found herself laughing despite her nerves, caught up in the easy warmth of the moment. And when Tòrr's hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently, she didn't pull away.
"See?" he murmured. "Nae so terrible, is it?"
"It's... nice," she admitted.
"High praise from ye."
Before she could respond, an old woman approached their table, leaning heavily on a carved stick.
"Laird MacDonald," she said in a voice that carried surprising strength. "When are ye goin' tae dance with yer bride proper?"
The crowd's attention swiveled toward them.
"Dance?" Tòrr shifted uncomfortably.
"The laird must dance!" someone called from the crowd. "It's tradition!"
"Aye! Tradition!" Others took up the chant. "Dance! Dance!"
Tòrr hesitated.
“Aye, but ye’re the laird!” someone shouted. “The people want tae see ye lead!”
Michael grinned across the table. “Go on, Tòrr. Prove ye’ve still got both feet.”
Alyson snickered. “Aye, and if ye fall, I’ll never let ye forget it.”
Liliane tried to hide her amusement, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
Tòrr caught it and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ye find this funny, dae ye?”
“Only a little.”
“Then ye must join me,” he said flatly, pushing back his chair. “’Tis ye they want tae see. And the tradition is fer the laird tae dance with his new wife.”
Her smile vanished. “What?”
“Come,” he said, offering his hand. “If I’ve tae suffer the crowd, ye’ll suffer with me.”
“I dinnae dance.”
“Then today’s a fine day tae start. What dae ye say, lass? Want tae give them a show?"
Her heart stuttered. "I'm really nae much of a dancer."
"Neither am I. We'll be terrible together." He stood and offered his hand.
She stared at his outstretched hand, aware of every eye on them, every expectation pressing down. Then, before she could think better of it, she took it.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Tòrr led her to the center of the square, where the musicians had already shifted into a slower, more traditional tune. Around them, other couples joined, creating a circle that enclosed them in its center.
"I dinnae actually know the steps," Liliane whispered urgently.
"Neither dae I. Just follow me lead and try nae tae step on me feet." His hand settled on her waist, warm and steady.
They moved together as the music swelled, and despite her fears, despite her lack of practice, somehow, they found a rhythm. His hand was sure at her waist, guiding her through turns she didn't know, catching her when she stumbled.
The world narrowed to just them, the warmth of his hand, the steady strength of him. The way he looked at her like she was the only person in the entire village.
“Ye ken what ye’re daein’,” she said breathlessly as he spun her.
“I’ve been forced intae enough festivals tae learn somethin’,” he replied.
The rhythm carried them, their steps finding a natural harmony. Laughter and music swelled around them, but slowly the noise began to blur — until there was only him, the weight of his hand at her waist, the steadiness of his gaze holding hers.
The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her gown, steady and unyielding. She could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the faint brush of his sleeve against her arm with every turn.
The scent of woodsmoke and ale clung to him, familiar now, grounding, somehow. Her pulse matched the music’s rhythm, quick and uneven, and for one impossible heartbeat, she forgot every reason she had to keep her distance.
“Ye surprise me,” she murmured.
“How so?”
“I didnae think ye’d agree tae this. Ye seem the sort tae sneer at dances.”
“I dae,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned sometimes it’s easier tae dance than tae argue.”
She laughed softly, caught off guard by the hint of humor. “Ye, admit defeat? Saints preserve us.”
“I didnae say defeat,” he said, voice low. “Only strategy.”
The closeness between them deepened. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her temple, the strength of his arm guiding her in time with the music.
"Why did ye bid fer me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
His expression flickered with surprise. "Ye ken why. Politics. Stoppin' the alliance."
"But was that all?" She held his gaze. "Really?"
He was quiet for several heartbeats, their feet moving in time with the music. "I went tae that auction tae observe. Tae see which clans were bendin' tae Campbell's will. I never meant tae bid."
"But ye did."
He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Aye, Clan duty,” he said finally. “I did it tae stop others from usin’ ye. Tae keep Munro’s schemes from reachin’ me lands. It was nae about pity or claimin’ a prize.”
She swallowed. “And ye dinnae regret it?”
"Nay, I felt that lettin' ye go tae him would be wrong. Nae just politically, but morally. Fundamentally." His hand tightened on her waist. "I dinnae regret biddin' fer ye, Liliane. Under different circumstances, if things had started differently, I would have courted ye proper."
The confession stole her breath. "Tòrr."
"I ken. Ye didnae choose this. Didnae want me." His voice was rough. "But I need ye tae ken it isnae just politics fer me. Maybe it started that way, but somewhere along the way, it became somethin' more."
The music swelled around them, the crowd fading to background noise as his words sank in. He'd just admitted, what? That he cared? That this marriage meant something beyond convenience?
It unsettled her more than any threat or command ever could.
"I need air," Her voice came out shaky. "I need a moment. Please."
"Liliane."
But she was already pulling away, practically fleeing toward the inn while the crowd watched with knowing smiles, clearly thinking she was just overwhelmed by young love.
If only it were that simple.
Tòrr lingered near the edge of the square as the music began to fade. He’d meant to follow her, but something in the look on her face, that flash of hurt––or was it confusion?––had stopped him cold.
Now, standing by the inn door, he wondered if he’d pushed her too far too soon.
He’d seen the way she’d stiffened, the way her gaze had darted away as though the very idea of feeling something for him frightened her more than she cared to admit.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and exhaled.
Fool.
He should’ve given her more time, more distance. But every time he thought to keep away, he found himself drawn back, caught between reason and the pull he could no longer deny.
The faint crunch of boots on the packed earth broke through his thoughts.
Tòrr turned sharply. A familiar figure was making his way through the dim street, travel-stained and exhausted, cloak heavy with dust.
"Daemon?"
The man’s grin was weary but genuine. "Tòrr. Thought I’d find ye here."
"Daemon!" Michael shouted as he walked toward them, his relief palpable. "Where the hell have ye been?"
"Munro lands. " Daemon's eyes found Tòrr. "We need tae talk."
"Can it wait? Liliane's inside and I need tae wait fer her."
"It's about the alliance and what Munro's plannin'. Ye need tae hear this." Daemon's expression was grim.
"Give me a minute." Tòrr's eyes were fixed on the inn door where Liliane had disappeared. "She's been gone too long." He started toward the inn. "Find the others. We'll regroup after I get her."
Tòrr's mind was half on whatever news Daemon had and half on the woman who'd fled from his confession like it had burned her.
She was in there somewhere, probably composing herself, probably building new walls to replace the ones he'd just cracked.
The question was whether he'd be allowed past them. Or whether he'd just pushed her further toward the escape she'd been planning all along.