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“So understand this clearly. Ye are under the protection of the Battleborn of Islay now. Yer sons are under our protection. Anyone who comes for ye must first come through us.”

Cataline stared at him. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Then her face crumpled.

“Oh, damnation,” she whispered, wiping quickly beneath one eye. “I am sorry.”

“Do not—” Rowena began, even as I stepped forward to comfort her.

But with a sense of timing honed by seven decades, Jean ordered, “Drink this,” as she shoved a cup into Cataline’s hand.

My Mate gave a watery laugh, did as she was instructed, and something in me eased.

She allowed Matthias to pull another blanket over her legs. She let Rowena shift the pillows behind her back. A few moments later, when Issa quietly offered again to hold Edan while Cataline drank, she hesitated...then placed the bairn carefully into her arms.

My Kteer stirred at that but didn’t growl.

Ewan sat on the edge of the bed eating the last crumbs of his honey cake, and Cataline leaned back against the pillows while Jean fussed over her and Issa asked a dozen questions about Edan’s birth.

The clan was closing around them. Not trapping them, I realized, but holding them. There was a difference, although I suspected Cataline had spent so many years doing everything alone that she didn’t understand it yet.

Mayhap she would.

I had time to show her.

Time to show Ewan the loch and the boats and the training field—and, when his mother finally approved, at least one good sword.

Time to let Cataline rest without worrying who would gather the next armful of wood or where the next meal would come from. Time for Edan to grow somewhere no one would look at his green skin and call him impossible.

It might only be a few months until the thaw, but I was determined to make it enough time. Enough time to convince her.

I leaned against the wall and watched Cataline laugh at something Rowena said, her eyes still wet, while Issa rocked my son in her arms and Ewan asked Jean if brave lads were allowed a second piece of honey cake.

For the first time in what felt like a very long while, my Kteer stopped prowling. It settled deep inside my chest and hummed.

Home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cataline

On my second morning in Battleborn Village, I woke to discover someone had left a pair of boots for Ewan at our door.

Not our door, I corrected myself as I sat up carefully. Maardok’s door.

Edan was asleep beside me in a little basket Matthias had produced yesterday, Ewan was still snoring in the loft above us, and the warm spot where Maardok had held me all night was empty.

I could hear the steady rasp of a saw outside, however, so I knew he hadn’t gone far. In fact, he hadn’t left me alone once since we’d arrived, although I hardly needed him hovering over me every moment of the day.

You tried to stand yesterday and nearly fell over.

I ignored myself and pushed upright, moving slowly because everything below my waist still ached. Matthias had assured me I was healing well, although I was still bleeding, my breasts hurt, and the muscles in my belly felt as if they’d been pulled apart and put back together by someone who had forgotten how they fit.

Still, I felt remarkably better after another night in a real bed—or what portions of the night Edan had allowed me to sleep. My youngest son had apparently inherited his father’s appetite, along with his skin, ears, mouth and most perfect little nose.

The babe’s eyes, however, stayed black. Maardok’s still glowed with that strange green light.

By the time I had carefully washed and dressed, Ewan was awake and had discovered the boots.

“They’re mine?” He sat on the floor with one already on his foot, staring at the thick leather and fur lining as if someone had given him a chest of gold.