She looked back to Cain, her smile fading away. Gaze meeting gaze, she slid her fingers away from his strong hand. “And in so doing, how many lives did I save?” She didn’t expect an answer and looked down at the foal who struggled to sit up, the hay sticking to her damp body.

“She needs to be near Ginny’s head,” Cain said and lifted the hundred-pound foal to set her down where the mare could nuzzle her.

“Catch more of her milk,” Ella said, the joy in the paddock tainted with the reminder of her status at Girnigoe: killer of the chief, killer of their father, prisoner. “The foal will need all that thick mother’s milk to help her recover. The red sack still needs to be birthed and checked that it is complete and not torn.” The Sinclair brothers likely knew all of this, having attended horse births over the years.

Everyone watched as Ginny nudged her foal to stand. Bàs handed Ella a bladder that he’d poured the caught mother’s milk into. “Ye can feed this to her after she’s had a chance to try to nurse on her own.”

Without a word, Joshua retreated down the long stable. He swatted at a hanging rag with enough power to make it fly off its nail to land on the hardpacked dirt floor.

Bàs picked up the ropes, coiling them. “I will let Merida know to prepare some of her foaling brew.” He also walked away. Gideon nodded, glancing between them, and then followed Bàs without a word.

“We can wash here,” Cain said. “Then return ye to your room for the night. I will stay up with Ginny and the foal to make sure they are both well.”

There would be no ride tonight, then. She followed him down the aisle flanked by stalls of dozing horses to the far end where a well was capped. This was a different Cain from the jailor she’d been battling with the last couple days. Such happiness over the birth of the horse and health of the mare contrasted with the brutal killer and strategist she’d known him to be.

Cain lifted the cover and began to wind the chain to raise the bucket from the depths. His muscles bulged as he turned the winch, the coil creaking loudly in the night.

“I would stay, too,” she said. “To feed the foal once she has nursed some.”

She stepped closer to him, her hand reaching out to rest on his upper arm. The cords of granitelike muscle beneath her palm were hard from training and war. He stopped the cranking to look down where she touched him. “Cain, I would like to stay.” He met her gaze, and a little quiver of nervous energy danced through her middle.

“Then we will watch the foal and Ginny. Together.”