Anticipation.
God help me, I was anticipating my early-morning meeting with the Laird.
The weans barrelled into me the moment I stepped inside, their laughter flooding the croft. Little Moire toddled behind them, arms outstretched. Ranald sat at the table with a book open, giving me a stiff nod that was almost—almost—a smile.
Hamish launched himself at me.
“Oi! She isnae a horse. Dinnae be jumpin’on her like one!” Aunt Flora barked, swatting at him with a cloth.
Hamish only giggled and squeezed me tighter.
Aye.
It was all worth it for them.
“Right,” I said, setting him down.“Books out. All o’ye.”
A chorus of groans rose like a funeral hymn.
My parents had sacrificed everything—everything—to make sure I could read and write. This was my way of honouring that gift. My way of giving back.
For all the strangeness of the Sassunnach’s ways…
For all the discomfort that prickled under my skin…
He’d brought stability into our wee family.
Chapter 13
Thaddeus
Euphemia’s scent surrounded me all day. This wasn’t unusual—God knew I’d been tormented enough by it—but today it was different. Richer somehow. Denser. As if every note had deepened: the wildflowers sweeter, the pine sharper, that warm undercurrent so intoxicating it felt like a hand closing around my throat.
Even now, as I tossed and turned in my large, empty bed, it was all I could think about. The sheets were cool, the room quiet… yet my mind roared.
While I was restless, Wulfric remained calm.
Suspiciously calm.
As though he’d been waiting for something.
As though he’d expected this.
“All day I’ve been tormented,” I muttered into the darkness.“And still you remain quiet. Useless mutt.”
Silence.
Good riddance.
I rolled onto my back and exhaled, forcing my eyes shut. If I could sleep—just sleep—I’d see her in the morning. Euphemia inthe daylight. Her hair catching the sun, her stubborn chin lifted, her scent drifting—
My lips twitched into a slow, foolish smile.
I would see her in the morning.
With or without the mutt.
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