Lissa grinned then and turned around. “Maybe I want to do that,” she said, reaching up on tiptoes.

“Braw,” he said, and the fresh clear Scottish water ran up and over the top of the kettle, and neither of them noticed at all, and soon the Proclaimers were singing to an empty room.

Chapter 84

Three months later

There had been a short, violent rainstorm the night before, but by the time the train got in the next morning, the world was bright again, shining. Lissa had warned Mrs. Mitchell to wear a coat, and the woman stepped off the train into the September glow in a brand-new Artic-level North Face jacket. They were both there to meet her, holding their hands out to her, their faces grave.

They pulled up by the little quiet row of houses just beside the town square.

“Are you ready?” Lissa said, Cormac helping her down.

Word had gotten around in Kirrinfief, as it so often did, and there was quite the crowd who happened to be passing.

Lissa rang the bell, and Mr. Coudrie opened the door, more people spilling out on either side.

The house’s inhabitants and Mrs. Mitchell stood, staring at each other curiously, respectfully.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” said Gregor finally.

“I understand,” said Mrs. Mitchell without smiling.

He was about to invite her in when, suddenly, there was a whirl of noise and movement, and Islay burst out of the house onto the pavement. She was wearing a new dress, bought in honor of the occasion, and had a ribbon in her hair and was delighted there were so many people about, and in the mood to show off. Her parents still couldn’t get used to the fact that she could work off her natural energy without them being terrified.

She stopped when she saw Mrs. Mitchell, though, who had made a small sound.

“Do you want to come inside?” said Gregor.

More people were crowding around. Mrs. Mitchell didn’t even hear him. Lissa steadied her with her arm.

“This is . . . ?” she asked, in just above a whisper.

Lissa nodded.

“I’m Islay!” said Islay cheerfully.

Mrs. Mitchell looked at her for a long moment, tears rolling down her face. “Can I . . . ?” she said suddenly, looking at Islay’s parents.

“Do you mind, Islay?” said Gregor, realizing instantly what she was asking.

Islay, who had been well briefed by Cormac, opened her arms wide.

Mrs. Mitchell took one tottering step forward, then another. Then she quietly pressed her head against the little girl’s chest and held it there, Islay for once standing still, so she could hear her son’s heart beating, beating, beating.

The street turned silent, and when she straightened up again, tears in her eyes, Islay grinning her usual toothy grin, Islay’s mother walked up to her.