Page 117 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Shadow's been off this past week," she said after a moment. "Before today, I mean. Restless at night. I hear him from the east corridor."

"He's been off since the last time Torquil's men came through the glen." Lachlann watched the fire. "Animals ken things before we dae."

"Ye think he sensed them?"

"I think horses are less foolish than men about what they choose tae ignore." He glanced at her. "He'll settle again once things are quieter."

She was quiet for a moment, turning that over. "And the new stable lad? Is he managin' him well enough?"

"Better than I expected. He's patient with him, which is most of it." He shifted in the chair. "Shadow daesnae need skill so much as he needs someone who willnae be rattled by him. The stable lad isnae rattled."

"Good." She nodded, satisfied with that. Then, after a beat, "The eastern fence willnae last the winter."

He looked at her. "I was goin' tae bring that tae ye this week."

"I walked it yesterday." She tilted her head. "Three sections near the birch line are near gone. If the ground freezes hard before we fix it, we'll lose it entirely and the sheep will be halfway to the headland before anyone notices."

"I'll send men out before the end of the week."

"Before the end of the week is too generous," she said, not unkindly. "It needs to be tomorrow, or the day after at the very latest."

He considered arguing, then considered who he'd be arguing with and on what basis and decided against it.

"Tomorrow," he said.

"Thank ye." The corner of her mouth moved.

She laughed, quiet and warm, directed at the fire, and he felt the sound of it settle somewhere in his chest the way familiar things did when you'd stopped expecting them and started simply receiving them.

She was quiet for a moment after they'd let the conversation settle, looking at the fire with the expression she wore when she was turning something over in her mind.

Then she reached into the pocket of her discarded gown, crossing briefly to retrieve it, and came back with a folded letter, the seal already broken.

She held it for a moment before she extended it toward him.

"I want ye to read it," she said. "Alone. Nae now, if ye dinnae want." She paused. "But ye keep writin' tae me, and I thought I wanted ye tae have somethin' back. In writin'. Somethin' that was mine tae give." She said the last part with a carefulness that told him it had cost her something to say.

He looked at the letter for a moment before he took it.

The handwriting on the folded exterior was hers, he'd have known it anywhere by now, the slight leftward lean of it, the way she pressed harder on certain letters than others.

"Aye," he said. He folded it once more and set it on the table beside him with a deliberateness that he hoped conveyed what he meant, not dismissal, but care. "I'll read it taenight."

She nodded, and the carefulness in her face eased by a degree.

He looked at her beside the fire for a moment, at the way the warmth had begun to bring color back into her cheeks, at the quiet contained in her that was not blankness but depth, and he thought as he had thought a number of times recently, with an increasing simplicity that surprised him, that he was glad she was here.

"Have ye been up the tower yet?" he asked.

She turned to look at him. "Which tower?"

"The north one." He watched her face. "The view from the top. Ye can see clear tae the headland on a good day. The whole of the glen." He paused. "I've been meanin' tae take ye."

Something shifted in her expression, a brief, controlled thing that another man might have missed. "Nay," she said. "I havenae."

"Is it the height?"

A small silence. "Maybe."