Once more, just once more, I turned the pages to where she had drawn that small crowned heart in ink, and signed her name above it, and where Matthew Browne had written his beneath.

Behind me, I could feel the silence.

Turning, I faced Henry with the feeling that his watching eyes saw more than I would care to have them see.

“Why are ye really here?” he asked.

Chapter 19

Tuesday, 15 March, 1692

Sometimes, Lily thought, life gave you back the things you’d lost. Or very nearly.

Holding Maggie close against her shoulder in the dark hours of the morning while she softly paced the carpet of the downstairs front room, back and forth and back again, reminded her of holding Bessie, who’d been nearly this same age—the warm weight of that little golden head tucked trustingly against her neck; the lightly rapid breathing, and the small hands holding on to her as though they’d never let her go.

If life had divided Lily from her sister, it had brought her this wee lass whose blood was bound to Jamie’s, and she took this as a comfort.

In the room, the fire had died down to a faint glow that could barely cast reflections on the window glass. The others were abed, and she was trying not to wake them. She moved quietly, the swishing of her skirts the only sound, save for the gentle creaking of the floorboards.

So when Barbara whispered from the doorway just behind her, it caught Lily unawares.

“She’s still awake, the poor wee thing,” said Barbara, stroking one hand over Maggie’s soft cheek. “Chaft teeth are a misery.”

Lily knew little of chaft teeth, except in the English anatomy book Archie kept on his shelf they were labeled as “molars” and looked too large for Maggie’s mouth, and had given the little girl no end of pain these past weeks as they tried to break through. Nothing else would soothe Maggie but being held closely, and walked back and forth in this room, where she could see the books in the cabinets and look at the fire with her head resting on Lily’s shoulder.

Barbara asked her, “Did ye mean to have that window open?”

“Aye. She felt very warm, and the fire was not helping. When I let the air in, she went calm.”

“All right, then,” Barbara said. “I’ll get ye a fresh towel.” The one lying over Lily’s shoulder was wet through and crumpled now from Maggie’s chewing, but Lily paid it no more heed than she did her appearance. She’d not yet undressed for bed, and was still in her day clothes, though she had undone her hair and let it fall free of its pins so Maggie could play with it as she liked, because it helped to keep the little girl distracted.

“Thank ye,” Lily said, and “Thank ye,” Maggie echoed, as she had been taught, and Barbara smiled and kissed them both and tiptoed from the room.