Page 115 of The Laird's Masked Desire
“I have endured worse,” he grinned.
Margaret’s lips curved. “I am certain ye have.”
Her hand, still lightly caught in his from before, moved just slightly, but enough that her fingers brushed more deliberately against his. She did not pull away. Neither did he.
And in that small, unspoken closeness, Margaret felt it again, that sense of somethingbuilding.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The road to the village lay quiet beneath the falling light, while the last of the day stretched long across the hills in muted gold and shadow.
Domhnall was riding at an easy pace. The air carried the scent of salt and peat, softened now by distance from the shore, and the faint sweetness of heather crushed beneath hooves.
Margaret rode beside him. He did not look at her at once. He had learned, in recent days, that watching her too often led to distraction and distraction was a habit he did not permit himself lightly.
Still, he was aware of her. She did not belong to this land by birth, but she did not resist it either. That, more than anything, held his attention.
“They will be expecting us,” she said after a time, and her voice flowed easily in the open air.
“Aye.”
The sound reached him before the sight of it. The fiddles were sharp and lively, and there was the steady pulse of feet striking earth in rhythm. Laughter wove through it, rising and falling like the tide itself.
Domhnall slowed his horse as they came upon the rise. Below them, the village stood not as it had a week before, broken, scorched and silent, but lit with lanterns strung between beams still new from repair. Tables had been set across the square, rough-hewn but abundant, laden with what they could spare. Figures moved everywhere, dancing, speaking,living.
It struck him how quickly they had rebuilt, not because they were told they had to, but simply because they could. He had always known his people were resilient. But this came as a surprise even to him.
“What a lovely celebration, look,” Margaret chirped by his side.
His gaze moved across the square, counting without appearing to and noting who stood, who moved, who had returned to work rather than grief. The boats still bore marks of damage, the structures were not yet whole, but the people were.
They rode into the square together. The music faltered only slightly as they were noticed. Heads turned, voices shifted, and then the space seemed to open for them without anyone commanding it so.
“Me laird. Me lady.”
The words came not in polished sequence, but in earnest fragments, carried by those who stepped forward first. A fisherman, a woman with flour on her hands, as though she had not thought to clean them before approaching.
Domhnall dismounted. He felt Margaret beside him, the movement of her skirt as she stepped down, unassisted. They stood as one. That, more than anything, did not go unnoticed.
The man approached first. He was older, and though his shoulders were bent slightly with years and work, his gaze was clear and aware.
“Me laird,” he said, and there was no trembling in it. “What ye gave us…”
Domhnall lifted a hand, not sharply, but enough.
“What was needed,” he said.
The man’ nodded. “Aye. And ye gave it.”
It was not praise. It was acknowledgment, which Domhnall accepted with a single incline of his head.
Others followed. Words were offered. People faltered, their words cutting off, as if they weren’t able to express themselvesproperly. The speeches were not rehearsed and they were far from refined, but they were more real than anything Domhnall had heard in a long time. It was not mere gratitude, it wasloyalty.
Beside him, Margaret moved among them with ease. She did not linger behind him, nor did she press forward as though to prove herself. She stood where she was needed: listening, answering, remembering.
A child caught her hand. She did not pull away. Instead, she bent slightly, speaking to him as though he were not a child at all, but something equally worthy of her attention.
Domhnall watched. He found himself doing so more often now. This was not the woman he had expected to take into his home, not the one he had bargained for. This was someone else who had grown with him, by his side.
