“Do you find you fight a lot?”

Lissa was abrading a small piece of flesh; Aonghas didn’t even wince. Amazing.

“Sorry about this,” she said. “So, about the fighting . . . I mean, it’s hard sometimes, to live together.”

Aonghas was looking out the window, thinking about whether he should sow some more buttercup seed in the big meadow. It was a waste of money, but the cows loved them, and the blooms did look pretty in the sunshine.

“Does she kick you often? Because, you know, there are organizations that can help out there. People tend to think that they’re just for women, but they aren’t, it’s a common misconception. Everyone suffers from violence and there is help available. I can get you a leaflet . . .”

Aonghas turned around. “Whit are you talking aboot?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” said Lissa. “Abuse is nothing to be ashamed of. There are people out there who can help, who care.”

“That my cow kicked me halfway to kingdom come because I had cold hands?”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” said Lissa. “Oh!”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought . . .”

“You thought what?”

“I thought Maisie was your wife.”

“Maisie?” Aonghas couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I tell you, lass, if I had to marry one of my cows it wouldn’t be that grumpy aul bitch!”

Lissa suddenly found herself bursting out laughing.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “Sorry. It’s a horrible part of my job.”

“Aye,” said Aonghas reflectively, even as she disinfected the wound area without him even wincing. “Must be.

“Want a bit of lunch?” he said as she finished up with cream and rewrapped the bandage. Normally Lissa would have said no, but she was so unutterably starving hungry. Plus, somehow being around the farmyard and out in the open air had done something to her appetite.

Aonghas got up and stoked the fire, then brought over a stained teapot with fresh tea, a cup of foaming milk, a loaf of fresh white bread, a glass jar full of unidentifiable objects, and a hunk of cheese. He handed Lissa a long, thin metal prong, which she had never before seen in her life. She took it and followed his lead, as he sawed off a rough slice of the bread, poked his toasting fork through it, and held it out just above the flames. Then he did the same with a lump of cheese, until it was melting on the outside, just turning brown around the edges, and starting to drip into the grate, whereupon he roughly spread it on the bread. He opened the glass jar and took out a home-pickled onion, which he took bites of as if it were an apple.