“Tomorrow?” Mirin shouted.
“Adaira’s decision. Not mine.”
“And what are you going to wear?”
“Clothes, I suppose.”
Mirin swatted him, but she was hiding a smile, and the tension faded between them. “You’ve taken a few years off my life, Jack. Just … look at you. How did you convince her to ask you?”
He sighed. Frae studied him. She saw the dirt staining his nails, the splinters that had worked their way beneath his skin, the hay that hung in his hair like threads of gold.
He looked like he finally belonged here with them.
“Adaira asked me, and I said yes. Simple as that.”
Mirin appeared unconvinced, but Frae knew better. She saw the light in her brother. She knew why Adaira had chosen him.
“I suppose I need to prepare your wedding garments then,” Mirin said, hands on her hips as she studied him. “As quick as I can.”
“Nothing enchanted, Mum,” he warned her. “I will only wear ordinary clothes.”
“And your hair needs trimming.” She wasn’t listening to him, and Jack stepped away when Mirin tried to pull the straw from his hair.
“My hair is fine.” He began to stride to the back door, as if he wanted to escape.
Frae couldn’t help but follow him, like a shadow. She followed him all the way to his bedroom, where he began to pack his harp.
She wondered where he was going, and then it struck her. Of course, he was going to see Adaira! He was so lucky; he could see her whenever he wanted now.
“Oh Jack!” Frae said, dancing on the balls of her feet. “It’s like a dream come true.”
He only smiled at her, reaching for a small stack of parchment. He tucked the paper into his harp case, and she sensed how anxious he was. Why was he nervous?
And then another realization hit her, like a fist to her stomach.
“Oh no,” Frae gasped.
Jack paused, glancing at her. “What’s the matter, Frae?”
“Oh no,” she said again, her joy disintegrating. She dragged her fingertips down her face. “If you marry Adaira … then you won’t live here anymore.”
Jack knelt before her. His harp was tucked beneath his arm, and his eyes were gentle as he looked at her.
“I’m honestly not sure what to expect in the next few days, sister,” he said. “But I will never be far from you. That I can promise.”
Frae nodded. He tapped her chin, provoking another smile from her.
The back door creaked, and Jack grimaced.
“Now I must fly,” he whispered as he stood. “Before Mum catches me.”
“You shouldn’t run from Mum, Jack,” Frae scolded. She watched, wide eyed, as her brother proceeded to climb on his desk. “Jack!”
He held his finger over his lips and winked at her. One moment he was there, crouched on his desk. The next he was gone, vanishing out the window.
“Frae?” Mirin said, pushing open the bedroom door. “Frae, where did your brother go?”
Frae was still staring at the window, amazed. “I think he went to see Adaira.”
Mirin heaved a sigh. “A wedding. Tomorrow. Spirits below, what is Jack thinking?”
The excitement began to rise again. It tingled at Frae’s fingertips, making her want to dance.
She was thrilled and astonished. And suddenly overwhelmed.
Frae turned, buried her face in Mirin’s side, and wept.
The news spread like wildfire.
Jack stepped through pools of gossip as he walked the thoroughfare of Sloane. He felt every stare like a pinprick. He didn’t falter, nor did he make eye contact, and he let the whispers drip off him like rain.
Why, the clan wondered. Why would Adaira choose him?
Why, indeed, Jack mused wryly as he was ushered into the hall to wait for Adaira. He sat at one of the dusty tables, thrumming his fingers on the wood, lost in contemplation.
He was still in shock that she had asked him to marry her, and that he had told her yes. He was beginning to realize more and more that he couldn’t return to the mainland. Not when his mother was ill and he had a little sister and Adaira wanted him and the isle had embraced him despite all his years away. Not when he had played for the spirits of the sea.
He had changed, and he looked at his hands, now dirty from repairing the byre. He would have never attempted to rethatch a roof, or shovel manure, or reset stone walls in his academic life. His hands were his livelihood as a harpist—as vain as it sounded, he couldn’t afford to break a nail—and yet he was pleased to know they had also made repairs on the byre. His hands could offer more to others than he had once thought or even wanted to give.