“Like any other cèilidh, I suppose.”
“I’ve never been to one. So I daenae ken what any other cèilidh would be like.”
Archer’s brow arched in surprise just as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Never been to a cèilidh?” he repeated, prompting Emilie to shake her head. “Well, why nae?”
The carriage door was pulled open by the footman, and Archer and Emilie didn’t speak for a moment as they busied themselves with clambering out. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they jumped from the carriage.
From all the way where they were located in the courtyard, Archer could already hear the sounds of the merrymaking happening deeper within the castle.
He glanced at Emilie, nodding his head toward the large, oak front doors that were open before them.
“The stewards will take yer things up to our bedchambers while we’re at the party,” he advised.
Worry flickered on her face at the mention of their bedchambers, but Archer paid her no mind as he walked forward. He did not look back to check if she was following; he trusted that her curiosity would get the better of her eventually.
He’d seen the way her face had lit up at the mention of the cèilidh.
Sure enough, lighter, rapid footsteps sounded up behind him, and Emilie appeared at his side a moment later.
“What did ye mean ye’ve never been to a cèilidh?” Archer prompted once more.
He’d never been someone who enjoyed having to repeat himself. And yet, somehow, his new wife had made it a habit for him in less than a handful of hours.
“I spent most of me life at Caledon Abbey,” Emilie explained. “The nuns werenae the type to throw a party.”
There was an excitement and a bounce to her steps that hadn’t been there a moment before. And, the closer they got to the Great Hall, the more Emilie’s excitement seemed to grow.
Archer didn’t entirely know how to respond to what she’d just revealed.
Her parents had claimed that she’d only been at the abbey for the last few years. But she’d just said she’d been there most of her life.
So, which was it?
Archer made a note to himself to bring that up later, something for them to discuss when he had more time.
I’ll just be askin’ so that I can get to know the lass. It’ll be good to ken the kind of person raisin’ me bairns. That’s all.
He did not stew on the fact that he was lying to himself. That, even though he knew he could never give himself over to Emilie in the way that a husband should, that he would never be able to love her, he still found himself endlessly curious about her.
Surely that curiosity will die out soon, though. It is only because our marriage is so new.
They arrived at the Great Hall without speaking another word. The sound of the party happening just beyond the doors was almost deafening.
The sound of bagpipes and lyres filled the air. Laughing and the murmur of talking mingled with it. As did the smell of sweat, and of roasted meat.
Archer threw open the doors, revealing the revelry beyond them.
The people closest to the doors took note, their eyes immediately landing on Archer and his new bride before they broke out in wide grins that turned into cheers.
The sound was infectious, traveling from person to person until the entire room was raising their glass or their fist to welcome their new Lady into their clan.
Stealing a glance at Emilie, he saw that her face was lit with wonder. Her blue eyes were shining as they took it all in.
The dancers. The drinking. The large table of food pushed against a far wall.
And there, on a raised dais in a prominent position at the back of the hall, was the head table. Marcus and Paisly were already there, Paisly’s hand resting atop her swollen, pregnant belly as she smiled fondly at her husband.