Henry had his paper in front of him. Of course, he did. Ivar watched the way the quill hovered between sentences, a small, bird-like tremor in the man's fingers that was either nerves or habit. He hadn't decided which.
The two men who had come with the delegation sat very still on either side of him. Torvald was at Ivar's right. Bronn and Einar were ranged along the left, with two others who filled their chairs and occasionally said things worth hearing. The hall was drafty, the smell of damp stone and old smoke hanging in the air, the fire doing its best against both.
"The Crown's expectation," Henry said, setting his quill down with the precision of a man who wanted to be heard without the distraction of movement, "is straightforward. Ye must demonstrate Mull's stability visibly and unambiguously. Nae merely assert it. The assertion has been made twice and noted twice and has nae satisfied the court." He looked at Ivar over the top of his paper. Clinical. Assessing. Looking for the crack. "What is required is evidence. Public. Observable. Reported back by men who were present."
"I understand what a public gatherin' is," Ivar said.
"Then ye understand that its success depends on presentation. The laird and his wife must appear at the town fair."
"They'll appear. Taegether. Fer as long as necessary."
"The court will want tae see the sheets."
The table went quiet.
Ivar looked at him for a long moment. Not the look he gave men who had said something stupid. The look he gave men who had said something he intended to answer only once.
"The sheets," he said, "are nae the court's concern."
Henry's quill hovered. "Laird Gunnarsson, with respect, the Crown has a legitimate interest in kennin' what is going on in this marriage."
"The Crown has an interest in the Pact standin'." Ivar's voice hadn't risen. It didn’t need to. "The Pact stands. The marriage is witnessed, sealed, and binding. What happens in me own chamber between me and me wife is mine, and it will stay mine, regardless of what the court believes it has a right to inspect." He held Henry's gaze and let the silence work. "Once again, me wife is nae evidence tae be collected and filed. She is Lady Matilda Gunnarsson of Mull. What passes between us is ours."
Henry's pen hovered. "Laird Gunnarsson, with respect, the optics of?—"
"The optics," Ivar said, "are nae yer concern. Me wife is nae a prop in a stage performance fer the King's peace of mind." He held Henry's gaze and let the silence work. "She'll be there. I'll be there. The people of this island will be there, and the merchants, and yer men, and anyone else who wants to come. They'll see a laird and his wife at their village fair." He paused. "If that's insufficient fer the court, then the court and I have a disagreement that willnae be resolved by managin' where me wife stands or how she looks at me."
The fire hissed. Somewhere down the table, someone released a careful breath.
Torvald said nothing. He didn't need to. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade with the relaxed certainty of a man who had already decided how the evening was going to go if it needed to go that way.
Henry picked up his quill then set it down again. Ivar watched him make the calculation. How hard to push, what the ceiling was, whether this was the wall or just a door being held shut, and watched him arrive at the right answer.
Bronn cleared his throat loudly, with the energy of a man changing a subject before someone bled on the floor. "The harbor," he said. "The order around the docks. We'll want every merchant vessel checked before it berths."
"Aye." Ivar let the shift happen. "Every vessel. Every man aboard. I want faces matched tae names before anyone sets foot on the shingle."
"The coastal watch?" Einar said.
"Doubled fer the duration. Before and after." He looked at Torvald. "Erikson's men on the north approach, our best on the south. Anyone who comes to this island who wasnae invited, I want tae ken about it before they've finished tying off."
Torvald nodded. One sharp movement, jaw set. Settled.
Henry was writing again. Ivar let him write. Whatever went on that paper was going back to the King regardless, and the King would read what he read, and the court would think what it thought, and none of that changed a single thing Ivar was or wasn't going to do. He watched the ink dry with the patience of a man who had already made every decision that mattered and was simply waiting for the room to catch up.
"The Crown's eyes remain on Mull," Henry said, without looking up. The tone of a prepared closin'. Neat. Deliberate.
"They're welcome tae look," Ivar said. "There's naethin' here tae hide."
He stood, and the meeting ended.
The garden was cold but bright, the afternoon sun finding the gap between the east wing and the keep wall and laying thin strips of warmth across the gravel path. The air was still.
Matilda was walking the circuit with Sigrid, their breath misting, their voices low. She had her blue cloak on, the one from Kinlochaline.
He crossed toward them without hurry, his eyes finding hers first. A fraction of a second before they moved to Sigrid, but she caught it. He stopped a few feet short of where they stood.
"Sigrid." He said it pleasantly, with the neutrality of a man who wanted a word with his wife and was being civil about it. "I'll walk with her a while."