Page 30 of Here in Your Arms
Rose jerked her eyes up, scanning over the hall until she found the speaker, a man standing at one of the farthest tables, a rough-looking peasant with broad shoulders and a large nose bent so awkwardly that Rose had to imagine it had been broken more than once. The tone of his voice perfectly reflected everything she’d seen in the hall this evening, fear, suspicion, and accusation.
A new wave of louder whispers rippled outward, as if his words had given voice to the thoughts of many.
Rose’s fingers tightened around the bread she’d just picked up, her appetite entirely gone. She felt all the blood leave her face with a hundred stares now aimed at her all at once.
The man who’d voiced the question, however, wasn’t looking at her, but at the center of the table.
Rose followed his gaze, her heart banging, to where the MacRae sat.
She watched as slowly, deliberately, he set his goblet down with a mutedthud.
The hall hushed completely as he pushed back his chair, rising to his full height. The weight of his gaze moved over the gathered clans folk, lingering on no one and yet cutting through them all.
When he spoke, his voice was not loud, but it did not need to be.
“I ken there are questions,” he said, his voice even but edged with authority. “I ken there are whispers.” His eyes flashed briefly to Margaret’s father, before sweeping the hall once more.“I will tell ye this once, and I expect it to be heeded. She is a woman—naught more,” he continued, his words carefully measured, though his irritation was undeniable. “And any fool who speaks otherwise may take their leave of Druimlach this very night, never to return.” Without once glancing at Rose, he went on, “The woman who arrived today isnaeMargaret,” he said bluntly, “she simply happens to... bear a striking resemblance to her. She is a guest, undermyprotection, and will be treated as such.” His gaze hardened, daring anyone to challenge him. “I dinna pretend to ken why she resembles my late betrothed, nor do I care for foolish talk of omens or spirits.”
A murmur rippled through the hall, uneasy but subdued beneath his glacial stare.
“She is flesh and blood, nae some specter returned,” he continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs like steel. “And I’ll hear nae more of it. She will stay for a time, and in that time, she is to be given the same courtesy afforded any guest beneath this roof.” His jaw tightened as he let that settle. “I trust I will nae need to repeat myself.”
The weight of the warning hung heavily in the air.
A long pause followed, the crowd shifting uneasily under his scrutiny.
And then, as if satisfied that his word would be obeyed, he sat down once more, reaching for his goblet as though the matter were settled.
The room exhaled, a return to forced normalcy, conversations now made in cautious tones.
Rose, however, felt her stomach twist. That had been no defense ofher—it had been a dismissal, a rejection of the very idea of her significance. She was nothing. And yet, even as she told herself she shouldn’t care, even as she forced herself to take another bite of her meal while the heat in her chest threatenedto consume her, she felt as if more stares were fixed on her than before.
While she agreed it definitely had been needed to be addressed, she wasn’t certain his cold, hard executive order had done much to quell the unease in the room. If anything, his forceful declaration had only deepened the whispers, shifting their tone from awed speculation further toward wary uncertainty.
She swallowed down another bite, though it suddenly felt like sawdust in her mouth. The MacRae had not spoken for her sake—he had spoken todispelher. She felt as if he’d only intended to make it clear that she was nothing more than an oddity, an inconvenience, a thing that had to be tolerated until it could be explained.
She lowered her gaze to her trencher, focusing on her meal with forced determination, reminding herself that it didn’t matter what the MacRae thought of her—it didn’t matter what anyone here thought of her.
She just had to survive this night.
***
When supper was finally done, the murmurs of conversation dwindling and the hall clearing—the laird himself had departed nearly a quarter hour ago—Emmy stood and waited for Rose, no doubt intending to escort her to her chamber.
Rose stood but hesitated. “Would you mind if I stepped outside for a moment?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Before I retire?”
“Sure, I’ll come with you,” Emmy offered politely.
Rose shook her head. “No, I just need a few minutes alone.” She allowed her gaze to be a bit pleading.
Emmy nodded reluctantly, though with understanding. “All right. But don’t stay out too long—and don’t go outside the gates”
With that, Emmy gave her a parting squeeze on the arm and turned toward the stairs, leaving Rose to slip quietly out of the hall.
The air outside Druimlach’s hall was crisp, the last remnants of daylight clinging to the sky in streaks of pale gray and muted gold. Rose exhaled, wrapping her arms around herself as she stepped into the courtyard, wishing almost immediately that she’d fetched her borrowed cloak.
She had no intention of wandering far. She only wanted a few minutes of solitude, a brief escape from the watchful eyes and the suffocating tension of the keep. She also needed air—fresh air, not the stale, smoke-tinged, grease-laden air of the hall, thick with the unwashed bodies of men who had spent the day training or working. She needed to fill her lungs with something clean.
She needed just a moment to breathe.
