Page 34 of The Merciless Laird
She looked at him. He looked back at her.
Her chin was up, her eyes steady, and there was color still in her cheeks and she was very deliberately not looking at the nearest table anymore.
"Is there anything else," she said, "ye'd like to announce tae the hall while we're here."
"Nay," he said. "I think that covers it."
"Good." She picked up her spoon. "Then I'm going tae finish me supper."
She looked back at her plate.
He drank his wine and watched the fire and did not look at her again for the rest of the meal, which took considerably more effort than it should have.
The chamber was full of light when she went back to it after dinner.
That was the first thing she noticed. Candles everywhere.
On the windowsill, on the table, on the shelf above the hearth, on both sides of the bed. Along the top of the chest at the foot of it, burning steadily in the still air of the room and turning the stone walls amber and warm.
Every corner lit. Not a shadow left unclaimed.
She stood in the doorway for a moment.
He had simply observed her panic in the dark and provided the remedy without demanding she explain her shame.
He'd simply told Sigrid who had gotten it done. She'd walked into a room full of light without being asked to explain why she needed it or being looked at carefully while she didn't explain.
She stepped inside.
Sigrid was behind her, setting down the satchel with the efficiency of someone who had a system and intended to follow it.
"Bed's fresh," she said. "Water's still warm on the stand."
"Thank ye."
Matilda moved to the window and looked out. West-facing, she noted. She'd see the sunset from there. The thought was unexpectedly steadying, a small promise of beauty in a place defined by stone and salt.
"The candles," she said. "Did he say why?"
"Nay," Sigrid said simply. "Just said to keep them lit. All the time. And to replace them before they burn out." She paused. "I've got a good stock. Ye willnae run short."
Matilda only nodded, because the sudden lump in her throat made speech impossible.
"I'll help ye with yer laces," Sigrid said, already moving toward her with the practicality of a woman who had helped people out of their clothes for years and found nothing remarkable about it.
Matilda submitted, because she was tired enough that her arms weren't fully cooperating and the laces were at the back. She felt the older woman’s hands work with a briskness that discouraged any further display of emotion.
"The keep," she said, as Sigrid worked. "What's it like. Truly."
"Truly?" Sigrid considered. "Loud in the mornin'. The men train at first light and they're nae quiet about it. Ye'll hear it from here."
"And the people?"
"Cautious," Sigrid said, without apology. "They dinnae ken ye yet. They'll watch before they decide." Her hands moved steadily. "But they're fair. When they decide, they mean it."
"And the laird?"
Sigrid's hands paused for just a moment. Then continued. "What about him?"
