“Did ye now?” she asked, a grin tugging at her mouth.
I glanced toward Euphemia for rescue, but she was already halfway across the room, corralling the children and declaring that they’d all be washed before breakfast.
“Och, I’m only teasing ye,” her Aunt said, taking the basket and turning away.“Take a seat.”
I settled by the window, hat in hand, just as a young lad—fifteen or sixteen—wandered in. He had Euphemia’s eyes, though his hair was light brown.
“Hello,” I offered.
He looked me up and down as though I’d crawled straight out of the sewer—then turned on his heel and walked back out.
It was just as well Euphemia loved us.
? ? ?
The children were sweet, and it was impossible not to feel the love that filled this home. I did not mind sharing Euphemia’s attention—my eyes never left her. Every smile, every bite, every small movement made the bond between us thrum and lent a warmth even to the food.
Ranald came and went with his portion, but I had the sense he would come around in time.
Callum had returned to work on the house, yet he’d allowed me these hours with his family. For all his abrupt departure, it was a gift.
We stayed as long as courtesy allowed—within the narrow boundaries of the human, polite world.
When the time came to leave, I saw her smile dim, her eyes losing their light.
“Why don’t ye see the Laird oot?” her aunt said lightly as she began clearing the table.“Thank ye for the food. It wuz a rare treat fur us all—especially the wee ones.”
I nodded.
“It was my pleasure, Mrs MacDonald. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality.”
But beneath it all, I could see the truth of their lives. Euphemia’s dress was frayed at the cuffs. Ranald’s breeches had long since been outgrown. The children’s faces were just a little too thin.
Wulfric stirred in agreement.
This was our mate’s kin—and they were vital to her.
? ? ?
I was about to take Euphemia’s hand when I caught sight of Ranald at the window—slowly peeling one of the small imported citrus fruits I had brought. He slipped a segment into his mouth, but the vicious set of his eyes made me draw my hand back.
His gaze fixed on me as he ate another piece, deliberate and unhurried.
I had heard it said that the Scots were feral. Savage.
The look in Ranald’s eyes reminded me why such ugly words had ever taken root.
“Your brother is… rather protective of you,” I murmured, unable to look away from the bloodthirsty young man.
I like him. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a sleeping wolf inside him, Wulfric said, amused by my discomfort.
The boy still stood there, unblinking.
Euphemia’s hand closed around my arm. At the window, Ranald leaned closer.
I didn’t wait. I dragged her down the path, away from the croft.
“He’s been through an awful lot. Losing our parents so young…”
