Fox was on the bed, watching her with amber eyes.
"Aye," she told him. "I ken."
She pulled her shawl tighter and went to check on James before supper, taking the long corridor that passed the upper hall, because she had learned by now which routes were quiet and which ones weren't, and tonight she wanted quiet.
The keep felt different with Moira in it.
Fuller somehow, and not in the way of warmth. The way a room felt when someone had moved the furniture slightly, and you couldn't name what was wrong, but kept catching the edge of it.
She checked James's pulse, his breathing, and the color in his face. All steady.
He had fallen asleep with Fox's vacant spot still warm at the foot of the bed, one hand curled beneath his chin, his chest rising at the new, easier pace that still made something catch in her throat every time she heard it.
He's better.
She tucked the blanket at his shoulder and went down to supper.
The hall was fuller than usual, storm-kept, men who would ordinarily have taken their meal in the yard now pressed into the long room with its low beams and peat-smoke warmth.
Moira sat two places from Anthony's right, composed and bright-eyed, her pale hair pinned with a precision that suggested either a very skilled maid or a very deliberate presentation of self.
She spoke well.
That was the first thing and the most important thing to understand about her. She spoke with the unhurried ease of a woman who had spent years in rooms where speech was currency and had never once been short of funds. She asked questions that flattered the men who answered them. She listened with her whole face.
Catriona sat in her usual place beside Mairi and watched without appearing to watch.
Then, during a lull in the conversation, while a servant was refilling the cups and the attention of the table was briefly nowhere in particular, Moira set down her cup with a small, gracious gesture and said it.
"The child does seem remarkably improved." Her voice was warm with what looked exactly like relief. "One hears such terrible accounts of his condition. To see him so..." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Vigorous."
A beat.
"Remarkable, truly, how quickly he improves." Her eyes moved across the table with an expression of pure, mild wonder. "Some might call it..." Another pause. Shorter this time. Barely a hesitation at all. "Unnatural."
The word landed in the hall the way a coal lands on dry cloth.
Catriona felt it move outward from where it had been placed. Watched it reach Donal, who set down his cup with a fraction more care than the action required. Watched it reach the two men three seats down who had spent a week on the north wall inventory in the rain. Watched it reach Callum, who said nothing but stopped eating.
The fire crackled. Someone coughed.
"The child improves," Anthony said, "because the healer is skilled." His voice carried the flat authority of a statement that was not an invitation to discussion. He did not look up from his plate.
Moira smiled at him with great warmth. "Of course," she said. "Of course, that is it."
Of course, Ye've already done it.
Ye daenae need to say it twice.
She looked at her plate. The food had stopped tasting of anything.
Anthony had not looked at her. He had defended her the way he would defend a decision. Efficiently, from a distance, without a single word directed at her, without anything that might have told her she was something other than the subject of the conversation.
Valued while useful.
That's all this is. That's all it has ever been, and ye were a fool to let yerself forget it.
Mairi's hand found her knee under the table. A brief, warm pressure, and it was gone.
