Isobel was talking to one of the older women from the village, leaning slightly forward, her face open and animated in the way it became when she was genuinely interested rather than pretending. His grandmother was watching her with an expression he recognized. The stillness of someone who had found something they did not know they were searching for.
She caught his eye across the table. She held it for a moment, and then she smiled.
He looked away.
“She suits it,” Hamish said, beside him.
“What?”
“The hall. The castle. All of it. I ken I was not a great supporter of this union at first, nor did I give yer bride-to-be the warmest of welcomes, but I’ve come to recognize me mistakes.” He lifted his cup and gestured towards Isobel. “She moves through this life as if she belongs here.”
“She’s been here less than a month.”
“Aye,” Hamish said. He drank. “Funny how that works.”
Alasdair looked at the rabbit centerpiece. “Ye are doin’ the thing with yer face again.”
“I’m nae doin’ anything with me face. I’m observin’.” Hamish set his cup down. “Yer grandmother has been watchin’ her for twenty minutes. Lady Branwen doesnae watch people for twenty minutes unless she’s decided somethin’.”
“Granny decides things constantly.”
“She’s usually right.”
Alasdair remained silent because it was the truth, and Hamish knew it, so speaking up would only encourage him. He had a drink.
Across the table, Isobel laughed at something the woman said, and the sound of it cut through the noise of the hall as easily as it always did.
The evening continued. A song started at the far end, badly and loudly, by someone who had clearly enjoyed plenty of wine, and was cheered for it regardless. Euan, as well as several other lads and lassies, fell asleep under the table and had to be carried out, which sparked a wave of warm laughter that spread across the hall.
Alasdair’s grandmother settled beside Isobel and remained there. He watched their interaction keenly. He could not hear them. He saw his grandmother lean in, observed Isobel’s expression soften as her guardedness momentarily dropped, and saw her say something that made Lady Branwen laugh, a genuine laugh.
Beside him, Hamish murmured, “Ye’re starin’.”
“I’m nae.”
“Aye,” Hamish insisted. “Ye are.”
Alasdair could not help himself.
He had thought about her every single day. Every single night.
And he knew that even though they would be wed soon, the ceremony could not come quickly enough for his taste.
* * *
Hours later, the hall was starting to settle down, the music faded, and voices lowered to a late-evening hush. He rose and walked along the length of the table, stopping beside her. She looked up at him. Her eyes were careful, not cold, but careful, the way she looked at him now when she was deciding how much to give.
He sat down in the empty chair beside her and looked at the table for a moment.
“I have struggled all night with a matter of great importance.”
“Oh?” Her eyes widened and the cautious look on her face disappeared. She was entirely enraptured.
“I have to take care of some affairs tonight,” he said. “There are things I need to see to deal with before they go any further but...” He paused. “I should like a moment alone with ye. Privately.” His palms had begun to perspire, so he wiped them on the white tablecloth that was covered in leftover bits of food and spilled wine. “Would ye wait for me in the library?”
She was quiet for a long time. He waited.
“Yes,” she said finally. “All right.”