Ivar stood at the edge, looking down at the dark, restless water. He felt the scale of the world there. The way the sea made the keep, the decree, and the threat of Callum feel like grains of sand.
"If the King removes me," he began. He hadn't planned to say it. The words felt raw in the cold air. "If the Crown decides the gathering isnae sufficient, if they move tae strip the governance of Mull," he paused, his gaze fixed on a distant whitecap, "ye'd be free of it. The marriage terms dissolve with the Pact. Ye could go home. Ye’d be free of the burden."
Silence followed, filled only by the roar of the waves below. He didn't look at her. He wasn't sure he could maintain his composure if he saw her relief.
"Is that what ye think I want?" she asked. Her voice was very quiet.
"I think it's what ye'd be entitled tae."
"That's nae what I asked, Ivar."
He said nothing, his jaw tight.
She stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to meet her gaze. She was looking at him with that same undecorated, fierce attention.
"I didnae marry a burden," she said, her words hitting him with more force than the gale. "I married a man."
She held his eyes, her amber gaze unyielding. "If the Crown strips the governance of Mull, we'll handle that. Taegether. The same way we've handled everything since Kinlochaline, since the dark storage."
A pause, and her voice softened just a fraction. "I've survived worse beginnings. I'm nae leaving at the end."
A long gust of wind surged off the sound, wrapping her cloak tight around her body. Ivar watched the fabric cling to her, and the sudden, sharp need to touch her became an ache he could no longer ignore.
He stepped toward her. He reached out and pulled the heavy wool loose at her waist where the wind had snagged it.
His fingers lingered. His knuckles brushed the curve of her side through the fabric.
She didn't move away. She leaned into the touch, ever so slightly.
The wind howled between them, and she looked up at him.
"Ye need tae stop saying things like that," Ivar said, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl, "if ye want me tae concentrate on the gathering."
"I dinnae particularly want ye tae concentrate on the gathering right now," she whispered.
He closed the distance and kissed her.
The wind pushed at them, trying to tear them apart, but neither yielded.
Her hands flew to the front of his cloak, her fingers curling into the thick wool, pulling him closer. His arm went around her waist, anchoring her against the gale, and for a moment, the war and the threats of kings ceased to exist. There was only the heat of her and the salt on her skin.
When he finally pulled back, her face was flushed.
"We should go back," he said. The gathering was five days away, and the world was still waiting to break them.
"Aye," she said, though she made no move to release him.
"Matilda."
"I heard ye." She finally let go of his cloak, stepping back with a quiet, regal dignity. She turned toward her horse, her movements graceful and assured. "Fer what it's worth," she said over her shoulder, "the cliffs will still be there after the gathering."
"They will," he agreed, his voice still thick.
"And the sea."
"Also the sea, aye."
She glanced back at him, a spark of pure, defiant light in her eyes. "And I'll remember this conversation. In detail."