He glanced up at her. His hair was tangled, his face sunburned. He looked so different now, Frae thought. The first night she had met him, she had thought he looked sad and pale, as if a breeze could sigh through him. Now his skin was darkening from the sun, his eyes were brighter, and his presence was strong, as if nothing could bend him.

“Did Mum send you to me, little sister?” he asked with a grin.

That was what she liked most about him. Almost as much as his music. Frae loved his smile, because it made her own rise, every time.

“Yes. Can I help?”

“Please do.”

She knelt beside him and watched as he worked.

“I feel like you have always been here with us,” she said. “It’s hard to remember what it was like before you came home.”

She hoped he never left.

“I’m glad to hear it, Frae. Here, why don’t you help me bundle the straw?”

Together, they measured out golden heaps, which Jack would carry up the ladder to the roof, where he thatched the straw with sticks.

“I was so nervous,” Frae blurted.

“What were you nervous about, sister?”

She wiped the dust from her hands and squinted up at him. “That you wouldn’t like me.”

Jack blinked. He looked stunned, as if she had just smacked him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, and Frae glanced down at her fingers, twirling a thread of straw. He reached over to affectionately tap her chin up.

“Impossible. You’re the sister I always wanted.”

Frae grinned. She was about to say something else when the back door of the cottage slammed, startling them both. Mirin never slammed doors. Their mother appeared in the yard, blazing a trail through the garden toward them.

“Uh-oh,” Frae whispered, shooting to her feet.

Jack steadied her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“John Tamerlaine!” Mirin shouted and slammed the yard gate next, so roughly that it bounced back open, creaking in protest. She was almost to the byre, and Jack slowly stood.

“Are you in trouble?” Frae asked him, anxiously twiddling the end of her braid.

“I think so,” Jack replied.

Mirin came to a halt before them, but her glare was for Jack alone.

“When were you going to tell me, hmm?” she cried. “After you wed her?”

Frae’s mouth fell open, and she turned to stare up at her brother.

Jack held Mirin’s flinty stare, but he squeezed Frae’s shoulder, as if silently begging her to remain at his side. Frae stepped closer to him.

“Of course not, Mum. She only just asked me.”

“When is it? When is the wedding?”

“It’s not a wedding. It’s a handfast—”

Mirin tossed up her hands, her frustration palpable. “It’ll be a wedding, son. You’re marrying the heiress.”