“That is because ye keep steering me into furniture.”
“Aye,” Erin said. “To see whether ye have reflexes.”
The hall erupted in laughter when Lennox nearly collided with a bench and saved himself only by catching Erin far more closely than he had likely intended. She cackled. He turned the color of strong cider.
Caitlin, meanwhile, had abandoned all hope of sitting still. Jamie had only just learned the burden of skirts, and she had not accepted it with much grace. Every few minutes, Caitlin seemed obliged to rush after her granddaughter with some fresh correction.
“Jamie, nae sit like that.”
A little later: “Lass, ye mustnae raise yer skirts so high.”
And later still, in a tone of deep maternal outrage: “If ye climb onto that bench in a dress, I shall personally tie ye to the chair.”
Jamie accepted these instructions with the patience of a saint for approximately two breaths each before forgetting them entirely.
At some point during the evening, while the room glowed warm with lamplight and noise and too many smiling faces, Iona became aware of something she had not expected.
She looked around.
There were faces she knew well now and faces she did not. Men from the clan. Women from the village. Servants who had been kind. Warriors who nodded respectfully when she passed. Shadows in the corners where the light did not quite reach. Eyes on her here and there because she was the bride and because tonight they all had reason to watch.
Once, that would have been enough to set every nerve alight.
Once, strange eyes and dark corners would have had her counting exits and measuring distance and wondering which smile concealed harm. Once, even joy would have felt like a trap left open too easily.
Now she stood in Frederick’s arms while the music moved around them, and all she felt was warmth.
He had one hand at her waist, the other clasping hers. Solid. Certain. There was strength in him, always, but tonight it settled around her like a wall that did not confine, only held. She could feel his steadiness the way one feels a hearth at the back in winter.
She trusted the people in this room.
The realization moved through her so quietly that at first she almost missed it. Caitlin laughing. Erin, insulting someone fondly. Lennox, enduring it. Jamie, darting back with flushed cheeks and grass still somehow at the hem of her gown. The servants smiling openly when they looked her way. No one waiting to drag happiness from her hands. No threat in the dark corners. No danger in the eyes that met hers.
Iona turned her face slightly toward Frederick and breathed in.
He looked down at once. “What is it?”
She shook her head, though her smile remained.
“Nothin’,” she said softly. “Only… I am glad.”
His hand tightened just slightly at her waist.
“Aye,” he said. “So am I.”
And as the music swelled again and the room carried on around them, the gladness stayed. Warm and full and astonishingly free of fear.
“Ye are near falling asleep on yer feet, lass.”
“I am nae,” Jamie protested, though the yawn that followed betrayed her at once.
Caitlin reached for her hand with a knowing smile. “Aye, ye are. And if ye mean to rise tomorrow without grumbling, ye will come along with me now.”
“I can stay a little longer.”
“Nay, ye cannae.”
Jamie looked between them, clearly searching for an ally. Her gaze landed on Iona, wide and hopeful.