“Ye wish,” Murdock scoffed, his voice clear in the bright morning light.
Kristen exhaled and threw her head back. She knew what her brother wanted to say even before the words formed in his mouth.
“How long will ye sit here, making that face?” he asked.
She blinked, trying for lightness. “What face?”
“The one that says ye are trying very hard to look content while ye are screaming inside,” he said in a calm voice.
A small sound escaped her, close to a laugh, not quite reaching it. “Is that what it says?”
“I daenae ken much about love,” Murdock relented. “I ken roofs and oats and keeping the cow from breaking the fence and making Skye finish her porridge. But evenIcan see that ye miss him.”
Her fingers twisted in her lap. “I miss the silence, that is all,” she muttered. “I miss feeling safe.”
He snorted. “Lass, there is quiet all around ye, and ye look as if it is strangling ye.”
Kristen looked away toward the water. Finn tried to teach Anna how to throw a stone, failed, and made her clap with delight instead. Skye clapped too, proud of nothing and everything.
“Ye miss yer husband,” Murdock said, cutting clean through the foolish lines she had rehearsed in the night. “Say it. Ye have had half the Highlands decide for ye. Ye might as well give yerself the truth.”
She stared at her hands. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her thumb. “He let me walk away.” She hated how small it sounded.
“Aye.” Murdock nodded. “And ye ran very fast.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Daenae pretend that ye left because ye felt nothing.”
Her lips parted. The denial rushed forth, tangled and thin, so she let it die. She pulled the shawl closer and watched Finn draw a line in the sand with his stick while Anna stamped over it, proud of the ruin.
“Am I interrupting?” The voice came from behind, deep and rough at the edges, worn by wind and miles, achingly familiar.
Kristen went still, while Murdock rose at once, quick despite his bulk, and shifted a little in front of her.
She twisted on the rock, and her heart struck her ribs like a fist.
Neil stood a few paces away, his shirt wrinkled, his cloak dusty, his hair tossed by the wind. His eyes moved first to the children, as if he had been starved of the sight, then flicked to her.
For a moment, none of them moved.It seemed almost like the hills held their breath with them.
Kristen watched as Anna looked up and spotted him. Her whole face lit up.
“Da!” she squealed, as if the word had been waiting in her mouth all morning.
She ran in that wobbling way that still made Kristen’s lungs seize, her arms stretched wide, her little boots thumping. Finn stared for a beat, his eyes round, then charged after her with a whoop.
Kristen’s breath hitched.
Maggie barked once as if making an announcement to the lake and the sky, then bolted after the children.
Neil dropped to one knee and opened his arms. They crashed into him in a tangle of small limbs and fur.
Kristen did not move, watching it all unfold in utter disbelief.
Neil’s arms filled at once as Anna launched herself at him, her legs locking around his waist when he scooped her up. Finn slammed into his side, laughing, hands clutching his cloak. Maggie rose on her hind legs and thumped his thigh with both paws, her tail whipping as if she meant to topple him. And she wouldif he let her.
For the first time in days, he laughed. It came out hoarse and raw, but it was real.
“Easy,” he rumbled, shifting his stance to hold them all. “Ye will knock me flat, ye wee heathens.”
Anna cupped his face in her small hands, serious as a priest. “Da,” she breathed, softer now, as if the word had been a secret.
