He rounded the corner and stopped.
The courtyard was bathed in gold. A dozen clan children occupied the space in a state of organized chaos. Some were seated in a ring on the grass; others were standing, chasing each other around the ancient well. In the middle of it, on the low stone bench, sat Margaret.
She had Lilly tucked against her chest with one arm.
The bairn was wide-eyed, batting at the air, seemingly unbothered by the shrieks of the older children. In her free hand, Margaret held a length of dyed wool, showing a weaving pattern to the three little girls gathered at her knees. She was talking as she worked, her voice too quiet for Fergus to hear, and then one of the boys said something that made her throw her head back and laugh.
It was a full, honest laugh. It was the laugh of a woman who had no audience in mind because she was not performing. She was simplythere.
Fergus stood at the edge of the shadows. He had bled for this land, worked until his muscles ached, and sat through countless councils in halls that reeked of damp plaid and old men's bitterness. He had done everything he believed a laird should do.
Yet it had not, until this moment, felt like his.
He watched his wife laugh with his people in his courtyard and felt something shift in his chest. A strange, tectonic movement he had no name for and no intention of examining.
She looked up.
She found him immediately, as though she had known exactly where he was standing the moment he arrived. Her expression changed. Not dramatically, but the laughter settled into something more measured. More dangerous.
She held his gaze for a moment before turning to Maisie, who was sitting nearby. Margaret said something, and Maisie nodded, taking Lilly into her arms as Margaret stood.
She crossed the courtyard toward him with that quiet, unhurried purpose he was beginning to recognize. She didn't perform steadiness; she simply possessed it. She stopped a foot away from him, the sun at her back, casting her face in a soft, glowing shadow. She looked up at him with an expression that was almost... amused.
"I thought I'd begin with something simple," she said, her voice light. "I've been kind enough to ye, I think."
He watched her, waiting for the hook.
"Me next request." She folded her hands in front of her. "I want ye to connect with Lilly."
Fergus frowned, his irritation flaring as a defense. "I provide for her, Margaret. She has food, a nurse, a room with the mornin' light because ye demanded it."
"That isnae what I mean, and ye ken it."
"Then say what ye mean."
"I mean," she said, her voice dripping with a patience that made him want to growl, "that she needs more than a roof and a meal. She needs to ken the man she lives with. She needs to be held by him, spoken to by him. She needs to feel that she is wanted here." A pause. "Byye."
Fergus looked across the yard at Lilly. She was in Maisie's arms now, batting at the maid's cap with focused intensity. "She seems well enough."
"Sheiswell enough. She could be better." Margaret's eyes did not move from his. "What a fortunate laird ye are, that I am here to show ye the difference."
She stepped aside and gestured toward Maisie with the air of a general who had already won the maneuver. "Ye'll hold her. Stay with her while I see to the children. Talk to her."
There was a long, painful pause.
"Talk?" Fergus said, the word sounding ridiculous even to his own ears. "To the bairn?"
"Aye."
He stared at her. She waited. The wait was the worst part; it gave him nothing to push against. There was only the steady, clear expectation of her.
Maisie appeared at his elbow, the bairn already extended toward him.
Fergus took the child. His arms went around her with the careful caution of a man handling a delicate glass ornament. He was too big, too aware of how rough his hands felt and the fact that they were made for steel, not silk. Lilly looked up at him with dark, thoughtful eyes. She was a creature who had not yet learned to hide her judgments politely.
"Talk to her," Margaret said again, already turning back toward the children.
"About what?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
