He stopped, desperately searching her face for any indication that she understood.

‘So, you’re not courting the blacksmith lass?’ she asked.

He laughed. ‘No.’

Her expression did not change. He would need to work harder than this. ‘I – how could I? There wouldn’t be room.’

She frowned. ‘Room? For what?’

‘For anything but you.’

Her smile unfurled a little. ‘All right.’

‘Is that why you didn’t come? Molly?’

‘Aye. And because you and I, we’re of different kinds. And – home.’

The anger rising in him again. ‘Does she often hit you?’

‘Never. This was the first time.’

‘Why? Not because of this?’ To be the direct cause of her suffering was more than he could bear.

‘No. Because I’m starting to remember.’

He did not understand and did not feel he could ask. He had not earned knowledge of family secrets. Instead he tightened his hold on her hands. ‘Don’t let her do that again. Please.’

‘Why not?’ she asked, but this time with a slight smile. ‘Because you care that I’m hurt?’

‘Yes, I care that you’re hurt, care that you’re happy.’ There was a tiny tremor that could not be hidden from her because they stood so close, hands still clasped together. ‘I care for you.’ Words he had said to no other, that his lips would barely form. That rang more true than any other he had spoken. ‘And can I ask? Do you care for me?’

He felt the shudder in her breath, saw the darkening of her eyes. Feared for a moment that he had startled her so she would flee. Stepping away, he let his arms fall from her waist. He had been mistaken after all.

She reached out and clasped his doublet, pulling him in until his lips almost brushed hers. Silence then, just her intake of breath, the warmth of her hand on his arm, the blue of her eyes. Too close to see.

Picked Out in Starlight

As the sun rises I run, stumbling over the uneven ground, tripping over roots. My legs are weak still from the potion and shake beneath me, but I force myself to move quickly. The joy I carry will fill our whole house, chasing away our daily struggles, our fears of the new magistrate. I feel only a whisper of the dog I conjured, for now at least. There’s no shadow in me today where it may hide, for I think only of Daniel and what he spoke.

‘We will make our own life,’ he said. ‘No fists thrown.’