You’re acting like a fool, Torin, Graeme had said when he realized his son’s plans. You need to ask Donella’s parents before you give her your vow.

Torin, twenty and besotted, hadn’t cared for Graeme’s advice. He and Donella did what they wanted, and it had indeed caused a stir in the clan. It had almost ruined Torin’s chances of being promoted to captain.

After Donella perished, Torin’s days had become bleak, like a winter that never seemed to end. Maisie had been a baby, squalling in his arms, and Torin had finally carried his daughter to Graeme, desperate.

Help me, Da. What am I supposed to do? She does nothing but cry. I don’t know what to do.

The words had poured out of Torin’s mouth, and he had wept, finally, like he had broken a dam. He hadn’t wept when Donella bled to death after the birthing. He hadn’t wept when he watched her shrouded body find its final rest in her grave. He hadn’t wept when he held Maisie for the first time. But all the tears had broken free the moment he set his daughter into his father’s arms and confessed his ineptitude.

How had this happened to him? Donella was gone, he had a child and no inkling how to raise her, and he was alone. This was not the path he had ever envisioned for himself.

Graeme had held Maisie, just as shocked by Torin’s weeping as Torin was himself. Bleary and heartsick, Torin had sat in his father’s chair in the common room. Graeme had then said words he didn’t want to hear, words that made him rigid.

Your daughter needs a tender hand, Torin. Find her a mother. A woman of the isle who can help you.

Find her. As if she grew on a tree. As if she were fruit to be picked.

With Donella buried and dead only three months.

Furious, Torin had snatched Maisie from Graeme’s arms and departed, vowing he would never return to his father for help.

That evening a raven had brought a note to Torin’s door. He knew it was his father’s doing; Graeme had refused to leave his croft ever since Torin’s mother abandoned them.

Warm the goat milk. Test it on your wrist to ensure it’s not too hot before you feed it to her. Walk and sing to her when she cries. Make sure she sleeps on her back at night.

Torin had ripped Graeme’s note to pieces and burned it in the hearth. But he did as his father had instructed. Slowly, Maisie cried less, but she still was far more life than Torin could handle. And then, a few months later, he had met Sidra in the valley.