Jack waited for Adaira at the thistle patch. The sky was overcast and dour, and a brisk wind was blowing from the east. It was fitting weather for the two of them to bind themselves as one, he thought as he raked his fingers through his hair. There was only a faint trace of pain in his hands thanks to Sidra’s medicine, but his head was aching and he hadn’t slept the night before. He wasn’t sure if his restlessness was penance for playing for the spirits or due to the fact that he was getting married.
In the distance, thunder rumbled as a storm billowed closer, and Jack resisted the urge to pace. Torin was waiting beside him, as were Mirin and Laird Alastair, who was so weak that a chair had been brought for him to sit in while the vows took place.
As the minutes continued to drag by Jack wondered if Adaira was planning to stand him up. He gave in to the temptation and walked around the thistles, the blooms white as fallen snow. This place hadn’t changed; it was the same as it had been that night eleven years ago when he had clashed with her.
“Jack,” Mirin said, reaching out to straighten his plaid. He had yanked it crooked, the golden brooch threatening to slip off his shoulder.
He let her fuss over him, knowing she was also nervous and had spent hours on his wedding garments. She had dressed him in the finest of wool—a cream-colored tunic that was soft as a cloud against his skin, and a red plaid that had never been worn before. Torin had additionally gifted him with a leather jerkin, studded with silver and etched with vines, and Alastair had bestowed the golden brooch, set with rubies. A Tamerlaine heirloom, and one that was most likely worth a fortune.
Jack tried to shake away his feelings of unworthiness, but they lingered, long enough to make him doubt himself and what he was doing. Until he remembered what Adaira had spoken to him nights ago, on her knees.
None of them are the one that I want.
She would never know what those words had done to him.
His eyes searched the hills. The land rolled like a song, dappled with purple heather and gorse. The light was beginning to cool with dusk, and Adaira had yet to appear.
He should have insisted they marry in the hall. A safe, predictable place where the spirits couldn’t trick them. He envisioned the bracken, the rocks, and the grass manifested in physical forms, coming between her and him. What if they led Adaira astray and Jack was left here, standing in a thistle patch until midnight?
“Take a breath, Jack,” Torin said. “She’ll be along.”
Jack swallowed a retort. He turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes, the air sweet with the fragrance of rain. A gust blew over him, lifting the hair from his brow as if fingers had brushed it away.
Faintly, he heard Frae calling his name.
Jack opened his eyes.
He saw Adaira walking through the grass to meet him, Sidra and Frae on either side, holding her hands. He watched her approach in a red dress, her hair loose and crowned with flowers, and he was struck almost senseless by the sight of her. Jack couldn’t breathe, nor could he fathom the truth that she was coming to him. Or perhaps he could. Because the truth was … she wasn’t looking at him.
Her eyes were cast down to the heather as she ascended the hill, stoic as if she were walking to her death.
Jack didn’t take his eyes from her, waiting. Look at me, Adaira.
She was five steps away, her face pale until their gazes locked. Gradually, the color returned to her cheeks, like roses blooming in starlight. She stood, beautiful and proud in the gray-washed light; she seemed not of this earth, and Jack was like a shadow next to her. Serenity spread through him the longer he regarded her. Peace, like a gentle poison, quelled the anxious blood within him. He extended his hand to her, a quiet offering. He didn’t quite believe this was happening, not until Sidra and Frae relinquished her, and Adaira claimed his waiting hand with her own.
Her fingers were shockingly cold. A brush of winter, defying the sultry air and the heat of his skin.
She glanced up at the churning clouds above them, and Jack felt how she trembled. It eased his own shaking, and he tightened his hold on her, hoping it would steady them both. If we must drown, let us do so entwined.
Adaira’s gaze returned to him, as if she had heard his musings, and there her eyes remained, for she saw him at last. Her old menace. A slender smile danced on her lips, and he was relieved, recognizing that mirth within her. Despite the weight of the past few days, he could still coax it from her without a single word.
He acknowledged it then. She had just accomplished the sweetest revenge. Here he was, about to bind himself to her. To give his vow with a willing heart. And he marveled at her.
Torin was saying something. Jack didn’t hear a word as Adaira brushed her thumb over his knuckles.
“Shall I go first?” she whispered, and Jack nodded, doubting his voice.
Mirin brought forward a long strip of plaid, surrendering it to Torin. Jack felt his and Adaira’s family gather close around them in a loose circle as if they were embracing the two of them.
Torin began to wrap their hands with the strip of plaid, knotting it once as Adaira spoke her vow.
“I, Adaira Tamerlaine, hereby take you, Jack, to be my husband. I will comfort you in sadness; I will lift your head and be your strength when you are weak. I will sing with you when you are joyful. I will abide beside you and honor you for a year and a day, and thereafter should the spirits bless us.”
Jack’s thoughts whirled. Mirin had helped him memorize these vows last night, and yet his mind went utterly blank. Adaira’s grip on him eased as the silence rang. The mere envisioning of her walking away broke the dam that had welled within him. The words rushed forward like a song he had learned, long ago.
“I, Jack Tamerlaine, hereby take you, Adaira, to be my wife. I will comfort you in sadness; I will lift your head and be your strength when you are weak. I will sing with you when you are joyful. I will abide beside you and honor you for a year and a day, and thereafter should the spirits bless us.”
Torin made another knot around their hands, this time to represent Jack’s vow. After that, Alastair provided a golden coin. It had been broken in half, and each piece strung onto a chain. The laird bestowed one half of the coin on Adaira; the gold flickered as the chain settled against her collarbones. He next draped the other chain over Jack’s head.
Adaira hadn’t wanted rings to symbolize their vows. Perhaps because she knew Jack was particular about his hands. But the truth was that Jack hadn’t cared for either one—ring or half coin—until he listened to the chain settle and felt his piece of the coin rest close to his heart. He was glad to have something tangible to portray his promise to her.
“I hereby pronounce you bound as one,” Torin declared, and a cheer rose from Frae. “Would you like to seal your vows with a kiss?”
Jack felt Adaira’s hand stiffen in his. He watched her eyes narrow as she slightly angled back, a graceful warning. They hadn’t discussed this, but it was evident that it was the last thing she wanted.
Jack hesitated only a moment before he lifted their bound hands and kissed Adaira’s knuckles through the plaid.
It was over and done with. It had scarcely taken five minutes, and Jack felt weak in the knees when he thought about how much his life had just changed.
His mother was kissing Adaira’s cheeks, and Sidra was squeezing his arm, and he didn’t know what came next. They weren’t sharing a bed; they weren’t partaking in a wedding feast. I don’t want a celebration, Adaira had said to him the day before. The days are too heavy, too somber for such things.
“Shall we return to the hall?” Alastair asked, rising from his chair with Torin’s assistance.
“I …” Adaira began, but then frowned. “Da, I said I didn’t want a feast.”
“Adaira,” the laird said, his voice a gentle rasp. “You are my only daughter and the heiress. Did you think you could escape a handfasting without a little celebration?”
Adaira glanced at Sidra and Torin. “The days are too dark for such things.”
“The days may be dark,” Sidra said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel joy. We want to celebrate with you.”
“And perhaps your bard will play a song for us, Adi?” Torin added, brow arched as he met Jack’s gaze.
Jack wasn’t prepared to play for the clan. But everyone was suddenly looking at him, and he realized that he had secretly been waiting for such a moment.
“Yes, of course,” he said, anxiously touching his plaid.
“Then let us go, before the rain comes,” Torin said.
Their small party began the walk back to the castle.
Jack was surprised by the congregation that had gathered in the courtyard. At the sight of his hand bound to Adaira’s, cheers rose.
He didn’t stop; he led Adaira to the hall, forging a path in the crowd. He was only aware of her—how cold her hand was in his. How close she walked at his side, her crimson dress fluttering with each step. The sigh that escaped her.
Flowers rained down, soft and fragrant, catching like snow in their windswept hair.
The moment Jack and Adaira stepped into the hall as husband and wife for their celebration feast, the storm finally broke.
He took his place beside her at the laird’s table on the dais. Their hands were still bound by two stubborn knots—his left hand and her right—and Jack studied their fingers, entwined and hanging between their chairs.
“Eager to untie us, bard?” Adaira asked, and he glanced up to see she was watching him, a tilt of a smile on her lips.
“Should I be?”
“No, not yet. We’re supposed to be bound until I take you to bed, but I’ll have to break with tradition and untether you long before then.” Adaira indicated the dais, where Jack saw Lorna’s grand harp, waiting to be played.
That was their last moment of peace. The clan began to flood the hall as the storm raged beyond the walls. Conversations and laughter rose, loud as the thunder that rattled the windows. It was warm and muggy and damp and boisterous and joyful, and Jack felt overwhelmed by how suddenly his life had become woven tightly with so many others.
Dinner was delivered from the kitchens. Platters of salmon, fresh oysters, scallops, and smoked mussels were laid out on the table alongside venison with rowan jelly and slow-roasted lamb with preserved lemons. Bride’s pies were carried out next—small mince pies made of calves’ feet and mutton, apples, cinnamon, currants, and brandy. There were bowls of colcannon, a dish made of cabbage, carrots, potatoes with brown sauce butter, fritters, barley bannocks, and oatcakes. And then the desserts arrived—almond flory and pudding, sponge cakes and creams, honey cakes, shortbread, and meringue with berries.
Jack had never seen so much food. His stomach still felt knotted from the vows, but as soon as Adaira began to fill her plate, he followed her lead. He promptly discovered there was no time to eat. Everyone wanted a moment to speak to Adaira and her new groom, and Jack had no choice but to endure it and let his food grow cold.
One at a time, the people stepped up to the dais to bow to them. Some were genuinely thrilled and delighted; some tried but couldn’t hide their puzzlement. Some regarded Jack like he was a mainlander. He endured it all and spoke little, leaving the conversation to Adaira.
There was a lull, and Jack finally had the chance to stuff his mouth with a few scallops. He suddenly felt Adaira’s grip tighten on his hand, slightly, as if she didn’t mean to alert him but couldn’t help it. He glanced up to see a young man ascending the dais. He was handsome, his complexion ruddy from wind and sun. His hair was blond, cascading in soft waves, and his eyes were the startling green of summer grass. And those eyes were for Adaira and Adaira alone.
He bowed deeply to her, his hand over his heart. Jack instantly noticed the dirt that stained his fingernails, even though his knuckles were raw, as if he had scrubbed them for hours, trying to wash the grime away. When he lifted his head, he stared across the table at Adaira, and his gaze was hungry, full of longing for her.
A cold, unexpected pang went through Jack.
“Adaira,” the young man said, and her name was like a song, a promise. It was the sound of one who had shared many moments with her. One who knew her intimately.
Adaira stiffened. Her voice was hollow, emotionless. “Callan.”
Callan swallowed. He was nervous, standing before her. But he smiled, and Jack’s dread only deepened. “It’s been a long while since we spoke.”
Adaira said nothing. Her face was guarded. But her hold on Jack tightened.
Jack cleared his throat. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Callan spared him a glance. “Forgive me, but our paths never crossed before you left for the mainland. I’m Callan Craig.” His eyes wandered back to Adaira.
“And what do you do on the isle?” Jack persisted, tracing Adaira’s fingers with his own, hidden like a secret between them.
“I dig trenches and harvest peat.”
Backbreaking work that no one on the isle wanted to do. The sort of labor given to men who had committed crimes and fallen out of grace.
An awkward silence welled between the three of them. Jack couldn’t think of anything else to say or ask; he could only wonder what Callan Craig had done to doom himself to the marsh. Jack could even smell it on him—the pungent odor that no amount of water and soap could wash away.
“How are your wife and daughter?” Adaira finally asked. She was polite, just as she had sounded to every other person she had spoken to that night. But there was more to her words. A reminder, a warning.
Callan stared at her, a spark of remorse in his eyes. “They are well, heiress. My wife sends you her felicitations and hopes you will have a very happy marriage.”
“Give her my gratitude then.”
Callan bowed again and descended the dais. As soon as his back was turned, Adaira reached for her sparkling glass of summer wine and drained it. Jack said nothing, but he watched her from the corner of his eye.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
Adaira fumbled for the amber wine bottle that sat between them on the table. She poured herself another glass and held it to her nose, breathing in its ambrosia.
“I’m quite well,” she said, her gaze fixed absently on the crowd.
Jack also looked over the hall and saw that Callan Craig had situated himself at a nearby trestle table, where he could continue to regard Adaira, unhindered.
Jack felt his lip curl, but he hid it behind a long drought of wine. He set the empty glass down with a clunk before he tugged on Adaira’s hand, inviting her to look at him.
“Untie me,” he said.
She stared at him, as if hesitant to let him go now that he’d made his earnest request. But she conceded and stood, pulling Jack up after her. The mere motion of her rising hushed the exuberant conversations, and every eye was drawn to her.
“My good people of the east,” she began with a smile. “I’m breaking with tradition this evening and cutting my groom loose long before bed, so that he may reward us all with a little celebration music.” She turned to Jack and unknotted the plaid that bound them, an intimate gesture that provoked whispers in the crowd.
The clan’s attention shifted to him as he walked to where Lorna’s harp waited on the dais. He sat on the stool and let out a long breath, the weight of expectation nearly cracking his confidence. But he could see Mirin and Frae sitting in the crowd nearby. Laird Alastair, Torin, and Sidra. Una and Ailsa and their son and daughter. This was home to him—these people with their enchanted plaids and dirks, with their laughter and weeping and stories and fears and dreams. They were his clan, and he belonged among them, even though he had returned as a stranger.
Jack positioned his hands on the strings and began to play a joyful song. His notes reverberated in the hall, full of life and merriment, but it did nothing to ease the storm that stirred within him. He was acutely annoyed by Callan Craig, who continued to shamelessly stare at Adaira. But then Jack dared to glance at her too, and found that she was sitting in her chair watching Jack as if he were the only one in the hall.
The firelight and shadows danced on her collarbones; her half of the golden coin gleamed like a fallen star at her breast. Her hair cascaded around her in soft waves, the crown of wildflowers a contrast to her fair coloring.
He was struck by her sharp beauty and missed a note with his left hand but recovered quickly; he didn’t think anyone had noticed. Save for Adaira. She grinned as if she heard his misstep, and he knew he should look away from her before the music came unraveled in his hands.
He glanced back to the strings and remembered his purpose—he was playing for the clan, not for her.
And so he did.
Frae had been overcome with all sorts of feelings the entire day. Ever since she had joined Sidra to walk Adaira to the thistles, witnessing her brother marrying the heiress. She was terrified it was a dream, that she would wake up and discover that all of it—even Jack’s return home—had been her imagination.
But nothing prepared her for the moment when he played for the clan.
She sat on the bench beside Mirin, so eager that she bounced on the balls of her feet. The moment his music touched the air the hall seemed to wake. Frae noticed the tapestry colors becoming vibrant again, and the carvings in the timber beams seeming to stir with sentience. The fire burned higher in the glazed hearth and in the torch sconces, and the shadows danced low and gentle.
The isle was stirring, coming to life. Frae was transfixed by its awakening, and she could almost swear that she felt a rumble beneath her feet, as if the stones were basking in the sound of Jack’s music.
His song ended all too soon. When he was begged to play another, he did. He played three songs in all, and to the last one he gave his voice as well as his notes.
Frae was overcome with pride. A roar of applause filled the hall when Jack reached the end. Frae jumped to her feet and clapped; she could feel the fervor in her teeth, and she wanted to tell everyone, “That’s my brother! That’s my brother!” Especially when Jack rose and bowed to the clan and everyone in the hall stood to honor him. Frae noticed Mirin had tears in her eyes again, as she had the first time she heard Jack’s music. She wiped them away before they could fall.
It was the happiest Frae had felt in weeks.
She had been so afraid when her friends began to go missing. Girls she went to school with. Girls she sometimes passed in the city or on the road. She wanted them to be well. She wanted them to be found.
Listening to Jack’s music … Frae’s hope was restored.
She didn’t quite understand how, but her brother’s music was going to save them.
Adaira was weary of the revelry. The feast began to dwindle; the fire began to burn low. She had wanted no celebration, no dancing, no games, no toasts at her handfasting. She was still surprised that her father had managed to arrange a feast without her knowing.
But perhaps her father and Torin had planned it together, if only to have Jack play for the clan. Because Adaira had felt it—the shift in hearts. The clan feeling the balm of Jack’s music, the peace and light suffusing the gathering.
She still felt his music echoing in her bones hours later.
She glanced sidelong at him, noticing his eyes were bloodshot.
“Shall we retire?” she asked and held out her hand.
He nodded and entwined his fingers with hers, as if he had been waiting for it.
“Torin and Sidra and a few other couples are going to follow us to my bedchamber,” Adaira explained in a low tone as they stepped down from the dais. “It’s tradition, you know. They’re supposed to stand outside the door until you and I consummate the marriage, but I’ve already told Sidra not to linger once we’re inside my chamber. All this is to say … don’t let their presence alarm you.”
Jack had no chance to reply to her. The crowd cheered to see them walk the aisle of the hall, whooping and throwing a few lingering, wilted blooms upon them. Adaira walked through it with a smile, but she was relieved to leave the hall behind. Sidra and Torin followed them, as well as Una and Ailsa and several other married couples.
She hurried to guide Jack up the stairs. They were almost to her quarters, and she would at last be able to breathe. Ailsa, who was like an aunt to Adaira, teased her for the rush.
Adaira glanced over her shoulder, boldly saying, “I have waited long enough, I think.”
Jack coughed; he was certainly embarrassed. Adaira didn’t dare look at him.
The couples laughed, save for Torin.
At last, the entourage reached her bedroom door.
Adaira opened it and all but yanked her new husband over the threshold behind her. She thanked the couples for their escort and shut the door. It was only her and Jack now. No more prying gazes, no more skeptical eyes. No more conversations and questions and scrutiny.
She slumped against the wood and sighed, meeting Jack’s gaze. Her flower crown sat crooked on her head, and her bones felt heavy as iron. She waited until she heard Sidra usher the group of witnesses away from her door before unwinding her fingers from Jack’s. Then she walked deeper into her room, massaging the heel of her hand. Jack awkwardly remained where he was.
“You are welcome here, Jack,” said Adaira, stopping by the hearth. A fire was burning, casting a rosy, inviting hue over the chamber.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Jack examine her quarters, much as she had done the night she came to his bedroom, just before she had proposed to him.
He meandered past her large bed, its canopy tasseled back to reveal a glimpse of the quilts and pillows. Wildflowers were strewn across Adaira’s blanket, as was a gauzy, transparent robe that her chambermaids must have laid out for her. Jack certainly took note of the robe but smoothly shifted his focus to the tapestry that hung nearby, and then the painted wooden panels that graced her walls. Paintings of forests and vines and harts and phases of the moon. Some of the artistry was ancient and chipped—older than the castle—but those panels happened to be Adaira’s favorites, and she had refused to let her father replace them.
From there, Jack noticed the bookshelves, crowded with volumes, and the windows, which were cracked to welcome in the night. The storm had left a trace of sweetness in the air. He admired the stars that burned in clusters beyond the glass, and the distant gleam of the ocean.
Adaira wondered what he was thinking as he at last found his way to her by the fire, and she marveled at how the sight of him walking to her made her heart quicken. She wasn’t taking him to bed, and she didn’t know when she would want to, but she sensed it might come sooner than she had once believed.
She busied herself pouring two glasses of red wine, flavored with fruit. She gave one to Jack and said, “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
He took the cup from her and didn’t smile, but his voice was husky with mirth. “I had a moment of trepidation.”
“Oh?”
“I thought you were going to stand me up,” Jack confessed.
“You think I would ask to marry you and then fail to appear?” Adaira asked, amused.
He met her gaze, his eyes incandescent with firelight. “It felt like I waited an eternity for you.”
She fell quiet, his words coaxing a flush across her skin. When he continued to hold her stare, she clinked her glass to his as a distraction. “To you and me and this year and a day that belongs to us.”
They drank to each other. Adaira felt her weariness burn away, and she imagined it was Jack’s fault, for being so attentive and for standing in her room, as if awaiting orders from her.
Her stomach growled, so loudly she knew Jack heard it.
“I didn’t eat enough,” she said, sheepish.
“I myself am famished,” he said.
Adaira set her wine down to shut the windows and summon dinner.
It didn’t take long before the servants brought up two trays of food left over from the wedding feast. The meal was set on the round table before the hearth. Jack joined Adaira, and they sat in their rumpled wedding clothes before a dancing fire and finally ate their fill.
It was a quiet meal, but there was nothing strained about it. Adaira realized she and Jack could have moments together in silence that were just as comfortable as the ones filled with conversation. Or even arguments.
“I have a request,” Jack finally said, pushing his plate aside.
“Yes, Jack?”
He hesitated, staring into his wine, and she braced herself. She didn’t know why she was expecting him to let her down, to fail her in some way, but his hesitation kept her on her guard.
“I know we’re not sharing a bed,” he began, glancing at her. “And I wondered if you would grant me permission to spend the nights at my mum’s, so I may watch over her and Frae. Just until we solve the mystery of the missing lasses and justice is served. I am yours by day, but come night … I would like to stay with them.”
His request caught Adaira by surprise. She softened when she saw the worry lining his face. “Yes, of course. Do you want to go to them tonight?”
“No,” Jack said with a slight laugh. “I’m fairly certain my mum would skin me alive if I turned up to sleep in my old bed on my wedding night. She would no doubt think me a terrible lover to you, and then word would spread, and … no.”
Adaira smiled. “Ah, I see. Then would you like for me to send a guard to stay with them tonight?”
“I’ve thought about it, but no. Because if you grant such a thing for my sister, then you would need to grant it to every lass in the east. I don’t want any special favors because I’m bound to you.”
“I understand your reasoning,” Adaira said, “but if you change your mind, let me know. And you don’t need my permission to go stay at your mum’s.”
“Don’t I?” he countered, looking at her. “You’re my wife and my laird.”
“So I am,” she whispered. “How did this come to be?”
He smiled, as if he felt the same awe. “I haven’t the slightest inkling, Adaira.”
They fell silent again.
“There is something else I would like to ask you,” Jack said, breaking the quiet.
She knew what it was. She had been waiting for it, and she could hear it in his voice, a tremor of uncertainty.
Adaira exhaled a long breath, her gaze straying to the fire. “Ask me, and I will answer you, Jack.”
“Who is he?”
He being Callan Craig.
Adaira rubbed her brow, only to remember she still wore her flower crown. She drew it away from her head and set it on the table.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Jack said.
“He was my first love,” she began. “I was eighteen and lonely. I was still struggling with my mother’s death, and Callan was there. I fell for him, quickly, recklessly. I was naïve and believed every promise he gave me. He was all I wanted, and I thought I was enough for him, that he loved me as I loved him. I soon realized I didn’t know him as well as I thought. He was dishonest and sought to use me to get into the guard. And when that didn’t work, he tried to bribe his way there, which Torin and my father settled by sending him to work in the marsh. At first, I was tempted to defend him, until I learned I was not the only one he spoke promises to. But alas, hearts are made to be broken, aren’t they, bard?”
“If they must break,” Jack said, “then they break and remake themselves into stronger vessels.”
“Spoken as one who has likewise had his heart broken,” Adaira countered.
Now Jack was the one to glance away from her, into the mesmerizing safety of the fire. Adaira thought he wouldn’t speak, even as she longed to know the events of his past. But then he opened his mouth and began to breathe words.
“She was a fellow student at the university, in the same year as me. We had a few classes together. I noticed her long before she noticed me. And then one day she heard me play the harp, and she began to speak to me, more and more. My feelings ran deeper than hers. She loved my music more than she loved me, and at first I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong. But then I realized … she had always loved music. It was something that would forever challenge her, something that would never fade or age or betray her. It sadly wasn’t the same for me, though. I struggled to earn music’s favor—it was forced upon me in the beginning—and even when I had attained a portion of it, I never felt worthy of its beauty.
“But I’m rambling. The moral of this long-winded tale is that I realized music would always be more important to her, so I tried to turn myself into stone. To not feel anything. But now I realize that it is better to live, to feel and have a clean break than be half-dead and cold, cracked from resentment.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Adaira whispered and lifted her cup.
Jack clinked his glass against hers, and they both drank. It felt like a garment had slipped away between them, as if to utter and confess was the first step to healing, to putting broken pieces back together.
She could see more of him now—the mist-laden years when he had dwelled on the mainland and she had roamed the isle.
They sat for a while longer in companionable silence, and when the fire began to die, Adaira rose.
“I’ve kept you up far too late,” she said, brushing the wrinkles from her wedding dress. “The trade is tomorrow, and I should let you rest. Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
Jack made for the door, but Adaira cleared her throat, catching his attention.
“You and I have a secret door that connects our chambers,” she said with a crafty grin, lifting a latch in one of the wooden panels on the other side of her room. Jack’s eyes widened as he watched the secret door creak open, leading into a shadowy corridor.
Adaira stepped into the secret passage, ducking beneath a curtain of gossamer.
Jack followed her. The short corridor led to a door that fed into his chamber. Adaira opened it and let him take the first step into his new room. It was similar to hers: wide and spacious with painted panels and bookshelves, a hearth that had almost extinguished into embers, and a bed with a grand tapestry for a headboard.
“Does this suit you?” Adaira asked.
“More than enough,” Jack said, glancing at her. “Thank you.”
She nodded and began to draw the door closed. “Then sleep well tonight, Jack.” She shut the panel before he could respond, but she stood there for a moment and drank the shadows of the passage, thinking how strange life was. How different her days were bound to be now, with him on the other side of this secret corridor.
Jack stood in his new room.
He stared at the bed—it was far too grand for him—and walked to the desk, where parchment was stacked. His harp rested on the floor nearby. He studied the bookshelves and the painted panels on the walls before he wandered to the hearth, where he threw another log on the fire. He succumbed to the nearby leather chair and felt a restless pang of longing.
It had been quite some time since he had composed music.
On the mainland, his compositions had gravitated to sorrow and laments. To doomed ballads. But he wondered what his notes would sound like here, on the isle. How they would form now that he was home.
He was exhausted, and yet he felt keenly aware of his surroundings. The bed looked inviting, but Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
He rose and returned to the desk. He sat and chose a quill, then opened a glass well brimming with walnut ink.
He reflected on the day. How sweet the eastern wind had tasted, how it had touched Adaira’s hair as she stood before him when they spoke their vows.
He envisioned wings, gliding over the hills, beating against the stars. Stealing words and carrying them across the heather. Chasing rain and dancing with smoke.
Slowly, he remembered years he had once longed to bury.
Jack began to write a song for the spirits of the wind.
