Page 50 of The Highland Ghost’s Virgin

This was different.

Not easier, exactly. But different.

He looked at the top of her head. The dark fuzz of hair, still soft. The ear Isobel had compared to a MacKay's, which looked like no such thing to him, just an ear, small and complete.

What do ye make of all this?

Ye've been alive a weekfew s and ye've already got an opinion on the cradle and the quality of the milk and God knows what else. Ye'll fit in here fine.

He didn't say that part out loud.

Outside, something moved on the water — a bird, maybe, or wind across the surface — and the silver of it shifted and re-settled. He watched it, and Nora watched whatever Nora watched, which was perhaps the same thing or perhaps only the dark behind the glass. After a while her grip on his finger began to loosen by degrees.

Her eyes closed. Opened. Closed again and stayed closed.

He stood at the window with her for another while after that, not because she needed it, but because the night was clear and the loch was there.

When he finally turned back to the cradle, Grisselle's eyes were open.

She hadn't moved. She was still in the chair, the blanket still bunched at her waist, her hair still fallen across one shoulder. Her eyes were open, and they were on him, and they had been for he didn't know how long.

There was nothing sharp in them. No amusement, no deflection, no careful management of whatever she was thinking.

She just looked at him.

He settled Nora into the cradle, one hand under her until she was down, then straightened. Neither of them said anything. The fire in the passage had burned low, and the room was lit mostly by the window's cold light. Grisselle's eyes didn't leave him, and he found he had nothing to offer the moment except to stand in it.

He pulled the blanket up from her waist and resettled it across her shoulders, and her hand came up and caught his wrist, briefly, before she let it go.

He went to the door.

"Alpin," she said, very quietly.

He looked back.

She shook her head, just slightly. Not asking him anything and not saying anything. Just marking that she'd seen him, and meant him to know it.

He went out and pulled the door closed behind him, and stood in the dark passage for a long moment before he could make himself walk away from it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Grisselle came down the stairs with Nora against her shoulder, trying so hard not to jostle the cargo in the process.

The kitchen was already loud.

Senga had a pot going at the hearth and didn't look up when Grisselle came in. "Oats are nearly done, me Lady. Sit down before ye start hovering."

"I wasn't going to hover."

"Ye always hover when ye've had a bad night." Senga pointed with her spoon at the shelf above her head. "Cait, that crock goes on the left. I've told ye twice."

"It fits better on the right." Cait pushed it an inch further right to demonstrate.

"It fits better where I said it goes."

"It doesnae, the handle catches on the⁠—"

"The handle catches because ye put it in crooked; put it on the left."