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.