He shook his head, remembering all too well the gaunt cheeks that did nothing to detract from the brightness of his smile. “They expected he wouldn’t live but a few more years. He surprised them all though. He always fought. Always. Because he knew we needed him.”

Libby lifted his hand, wrapped her other around it, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, knotting him up inside. And unknotting him too. “My father died of consumption,” she said. “It was a long process. Terrible. Some days I wished it would just happen quickly, so he wouldn’t be in such pain. Other days, I was so very thankful for the extra time with him. The quiet moments at his bedside, when we could whisper together. I think I got to know him better in those two years of illness than in all the years before.”

Oliver nodded. “I’ve wondered if I would have been as close to Morgan if he had been healthy. If we would have been such friends if he’d been able to go his own way. I can never know, of course. This was the only Morgan we really knew. The one who was so very aware of how big a gift each day was. The one who loved us so fully, because we were his whole life.” He shook his head. “We didn’t have to be. He was the eldest, the heir. And for a few years there, he was stronger than he’d been before. He could have married—there was a girl who was sweet on him. She’d have said yes in a heartbeat. But he said it would be unfair to her. To give her only a year or two and then loneliness. And to risk . . . to risk having a child with the same infirmities.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “I daresay this girl would have disagreed.”

“Probably, had he ever given her the choice. I could never convince him to approach her. It was while I was at university, and I wasn’t home often. Had I been . . .” Another shake of his head. “She left for the mainland right after his funeral. I see her parents still. They tell me she’s married, is happy. So perhaps Morgan was wise in his stubbornness.”