“Thank you,” Lilliana said quietly.
As she left the cottage, her hands still smelled faintly of smoke and boiled cloth. The early afternoon light made the village look softer, less suspicious, as if the whole place had exhaled in relief.
On the walk back to the main road, she could not stop thinking of the baby’s cry, of the way Mairi’s face had softened the instant the babe was placed on her chest.
And she could not stop thinking of Kayden.
Of the distance that had once defined them.
Of how marriage had felt like a cage when she had first arrived.
And how, lately, it had begun to feel like a door opening.
When she finally returned to the castle, Betsy met her in the corridor, eyes wide with alarm.
“My Lady, you are pale,” Betsy blurted. “What has happened? Are you ill again?”
“I am not ill,” Lilliana said, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears. She let Betsy guide her into the healer’s chamber and sit her down.
Betsy hovered, fussing. “Did something happen in the village? Did you see more sick people?”
“Yes,” Lilliana said absently. Then she shook her head, as if clearing it. “No. Not that. Not today.”
“Then what?” Betsy demanded, softer now. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
Lilliana stared at her hands for a long moment. “There was a birth,” she said finally.
Betsy’s lips parted. “A birth?”
“A breech birth,” Lilliana added.
Betsy went pale. “Oh Lord.”
“The babe lived,” Lilliana said quickly. “The mother lived. The midwife was skilled. I only… assisted.”
Betsy sat beside her, suddenly solemn. “That is… that is remarkable, My Lady.”
Lilliana swallowed hard. “It was not the danger that shook me. It was the moment after. When the babe cried. When the mother held her. I have never seen anything so fierce and so… wholesome.”
Betsy’s gaze softened. “It makes you think of your own future.”
Lilliana’s cheeks warmed. “It made me realize how little I know,” she admitted. “How much I have avoided. Not only with him, but also in myself. I have spoken so boldly about healing and duty, yet when faced with a baby, I…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I felt something I did not expect.”
Betsy’s voice softened. “Longing.”
Lilliana did not answer, but her silence was confirmation enough.
Betsy reached over and squeezed her hand. “Perhaps that is not something to fear, My Lady.”
Lilliana looked down at their joined hands. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “But it makes everything feel… nearer. More real.”
And that, she realized, was both terrifying and wonderful.
23
“Me Lady, come quick! It is me maither!” Conall, the lad they’d rescued in the forest, came running into the cottage where she was treating an old lady who lay on a bed of hay, her lips dry and chapped.
She had been warning the villagers about taking care with their water, and Old Rhiannon had decided to stop drinking water altogether. Lilliana was frantically boiling a tea infused with hibiscus and ginger to feed her.
