She had her family, her home, her future pressing small and insistent inside her body. She had everyone.
Everyone but him. That truth was a sharp blade through her heart. To Dorian, she had been nothing more than a convenience and the thought killed her even now.
She lay down and pulled the quilt over herself, staring at the ceiling in the half-light. Jenny shifted closer, resting her chin on the edge of the bed as if she sensed the heaviness in her. Rune spent the nightupset and restless, the rain tapping softly against the glass, the ache of loneliness refusing to let her sleep. In the morning, her pillow was wet with the tears of knowing that some things were never meant to be.
The rain passed overnight, leaving the hills washed clean, the air sharp with cold. Rune woke to the sound of her grandfather's boots on the yard stones, the steady rhythm of a life that never paused. Her nana was already bustling in the kitchen, apron tied, sleeves rolled. "Up you get, love. You'll be no use lying about. Pregnancy is not a disease." She slid a mug of tea toward Rune, her tone brisk but not unkind. "I worked 'til the day each of my six were born. All home, all healthy. You keep the body strong, the mind distracted, and the baby will come easier."
So, Rune followed her out, pulling on a borrowed pair of wellies. There was always something to do. She helped with the feeding, tipping buckets of meal into troughs while the sheep jostled and bleated. Jenny, the lab, shadowed her at every step, nose twitching, tail wagging as though this were all a grand adventure.
Then came mucking out, fork in hand, with straw and dung cleared from the pens, the air thick with the acrid tang of ammonia. Rune's arms ached, but she pushed through, telling herself her nana's words were right, strength now would matter later. At least her mind was blank as she worked. Fresh bedding followed, clean straw spread thick and golden underfoot until the barn looked like it could cradle the animals through the longest winter night. She worked slowly but steadily, pausing only to rub her lower back, while her nana carried on as though age had never touched her.
Between tasks, they watched the sheep, scanning for signs of illness or lameness, an ear drooped here, a limp there. Rune was surprised athow quickly her eyes adjusted, how the rhythm of watching and noticing became second nature. It was like riding a bike, you never forget. And then there was the lambing, the quiet anticipation that hung over everything. Late winter was always busy, and Rune could feel it in the way every task seemed angled toward preparation. Pens readied, towels folded, disinfectant lined up.
At night she returned to her room exhausted, hands raw, clothes faintly scented with straw and the smell of the horse. Her grandparents did not let her do certain tasks as she was pregnant. She would fall into bed, Jenny now curling up on the bed at her feet, and for a little while, her mind would be too tired to ache for what she had lost. And the work meant Rune slept deeply.
On the fifth morning, after milking Butter, her favourite cow, Rune stepped out into the yard. The mist clung low over the fields, softening the hills into pale shadows. A flash of colour drew her eye, a lone butterfly, impossibly delicate for the season, drifting on iridescent wings. She followed its path with a faint, wistful smile, so intent on the fragile creature that she almost didn't notice the movement in the fog ahead.
When the figure resolved, tall and unmistakably familiar, her breath caught. The butterfly vanished into the mist, and Rune startled hard, heart slamming against her ribs.
She hadn't imagined it. Dorian was walking toward her.
Chapter twenty
Chapter 20
By day five, Dorian was giving up hope. The townsfolk had him on a wild goose chase. Days of circling the town, of clipped refusals and doors closed in his face, had gotten him nowhere. Rune's people had built a wall around her, and he hadn't found the crack in it.
That night, sitting in the dimly lit B&B, he finally asked, "What the hell do I do, Eli?"
Eli, sprawled in a chair with a pint balanced on his stomach, didn't even blink. "You swallow your pride and go to her house. Time it right and get to her mum before her dad gets there. Take something that Rune would like to show you are sincere. Maybe a onesie that saysmummy is always right. Beg if you have to. Women'll listen if you sound half-human. Fathers... less so. I would know.".
Dorian looked like he was chewing on rocks "Beg..."
"Novel, I know," Eli said, looking like he was really enjoying Dorian's pain. "Might even suit ya."
He closed his eyes, listening to the heavy breathing in the room.Any minute now...
"Alright"
"Huh??"
"Just one question. What is a onesie?"
At exactly 10:00 a.m., Dorian stood at the O'Connor's front step. He had timed it down to the minute, Rune's father left at nine sharp, and he wasn't risking another door slammed in his face. In one hand, he carried a neat bunch of roses, de-thorned by the florist at his curtrequest. In the other, a glossy box of chocolates. And tucked into a small bag, folded so precisely it might have come from Savile Row, was a baby onesie. The words emblazoned across the front made his jaw tighten every time he looked at it:If you think Mummy is scary, you should meet my Nana.The shop assistant had smiled at him so knowingly that it had taken every ounce of control not to walk out.
The door opened. Gracie stood there, apron dusted with flour, eyes narrowing at the sight of him. Rune's mother looked him over from head to toe – an immaculate suit, hair damp from the mist, the ridiculous bag dangling from his hand like a peace offering. Her brows arched.
"Mr. Albury," she said slowly, "Back again."
He cleared his throat. "Yes."
"It's Dorian." He held out the flowers and chocolates like a man surrendering weapons. "For you." Then he lifted the bag. "For the baby."
She took the roses, sniffed them, and set them aside with a raised brow. The chocolates followed, met with a faint smile that she tried and failed to hide. But when she peeked into the bag, her lips twitched outright.
"A onesie?"
For the first time, Dorian listened to her laugh short, incredulous, yet genuine. She folded it back carefully, then levelled her gaze at him. "Alright come in. You must be desperate."
