Scottish Highlands, Spring 1501

SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, SPRING 1501

F ennella McNabb was visiting with her friend the weaver in the nearby village when a lad ran past, doubled back and cried into the doorway, "Keenan's wife is laboring. The heir's bairn is on the way! Pray for them!"

He waved at them and continue on, shouting the good news to alert the entire village. He'd be tired—and hoarse—if he meant to reach some of the outlying crofts, but Fenella doubted he needed to make the effort. In the area around the MacNabb keep, rumors were known to spread quickly. By evening, there would be few associated with the clan who lacked the news. Most would make their way to the great hall or in the clan's small kirk, heads bent in prayer for the safe delivery of this child.

Everyone would want to know about the heir's first bairn, be it a lad or a lass. While only a lad could become the next heir in MacNabb after his grandda and da, a lass who took after her beautiful mother and handsome da would make a strong alliance some day for MacNabb with her marriage.

"Well, 'tis about time. By my reckoning, the bairn is a few days late," the weaver told Fenella.

"Are ye taking over care of the clan from the healer, then?" Fenella teased her with a smile. "Or only the expectant mothers?" The weaver and the healer were the same age and friends of long-standing, but each kept to their own specialty and were masters—or mistresses—of their craft.

"'Tis what she told me," the weaver admitted with a shrug. "She's always a wee bit concerned, ye ken, when a bairn takes its time."

"Many bairns seem to come late—or early. The mother doesna always ken exactly when?—"

"I ken that. As does the healer. But Keenan was away last year, if ye'll recall. Home a short time and away again," she added with a wave of her hand. She tilted her head and fixed her gaze on Fenella to emphasize her words. Or was she trying to imply something?

"Aye, I do recall it," Fenella confirmed, refusing to take her friend's bait. The laird had sent his heir to negotiate with a distant clan to trade lambs for grain. The travel alone would have taken weeks, much less the time spent in talks with the other laird. Keenan had returned home for a few weeks, then been sent out again to treat with another clan.

Her friend, like most people in the village, not just the women, loved gossip. Most events didn't have a town crier like the lad spreading the news. The local busybodies took care of that. Her friend was not usually one of them, so Fenella wondered why this interested her so. But if she asked, she'd be here for hours yet, and she couldn't stay much longer. "Perhaps this bairn is simply waiting for its da to return yet again."

"How would it ken when its da is due home?"

Fenella chuckled at that. The weaver had a sharp sense of humor, but she was right. "No bairn would, of course," she demurred. "And for that matter, no one in the clan kens when Keenan and his men will return from his latest journey." Perhaps it would be today. Perhaps next month. Perhaps, if the worst happened, never.

She shook her head, willing away that thought. Keenan was Gavan's eldest brother. Her Gavan. The man she expected to marry.

"Still missing yer lad, are ye?"

Fenella sighed. "Ye ken me too well."

The man she was waiting for had been away for months, traveling on the continent or who knew where. She'd hoped to be wedded by now, but there'd been no word of him. Or from him. No letters home. Nothing to let the clan—or her—know where he was or what he was doing. Or when to expect him. In that way, he was much like his eldest brother. Would Gavan ever settle down—with her?

"As much as the frustration of not knowing about Gavan is eating away at me, I can only imagine how hard the waiting has to be for Aimil. She must be frantic with wanting Keenan with her when the bairn comes."

Fenella's situation was not the same. She and Gavan had an understanding between them before he left, but not a formal betrothal. He refused to bind her to him when he didn't know what his future held. So she waited and fumed, envious of Keenan's and Aimil's certainty. Their marriage and happiness. Their bairn, now finally about to arrive.

As a young lass, Fenella had once dreamed of becoming Keenan's wife, but as she grew, she came to understand the responsibility borne by the heir to the clan. Aimil was a MacKinnon, married into MacNabb for the alliance and the dowry she brought. Fenella had accepted he would never be hers.

She felt cheated by fate, and yet, she knew she should not. She'd been given a good home, accepted as a MacNabb. But as the Leny chief's daughter, she would have married well with an heir such as Keenan, not a third son like Gavan. She'd have been a lady.

Nay, that wasn't fair. She had not settled for a third son. Gavan was a wonderful man, strong, handsome, accomplished, who cared for her and her alone. She would be proud to be his wife and satisfied to make a family with him. She would not be the lady of the clan, but someday, as the laird's brother, Gavan would hold an honored position in the clan, and so would she.

That was important to her. She'd come to the clan a wee orphan. Her father was the chief of Leny, a MacMillan sept. Both her parents had been killed in clan wars that little by little had wiped out her family line. The new chief, a distant cousin far removed from the conflict, had sent her to the closest clan that would take her in as a future bride to one of their lads, one of several Leny orphans scattered among the highland clans. She would have been important to Leny in the way Keenan's wife was to his, had her family survived.

The weaver crossed her arms and shuddered. "I canna imagine. Nor do I want to. We can only wish her well."

"Aye, and pray for both of them."

"For her and the bairn?"

"For her and Keenan. He must return soon." For all to be well, he needed to be at home. Could prayers reach him and hurry him on his way? No matter the mission for their clan that called him away, he was needed here.

The sound of horse's hooves clattering through the village disturbed her ruminations. "What is happening?"

The weaver stood and went to the door. "Ye willna believe it, but Keenan is back. He and all his men are home." She turned away from the door, a broad smile lighting her face. "He is in time to see his bairn arrive. Perhaps the bairn did ken its da was near."

"Surely ye didna believe me. I was jesting." Still, Aimil would have the comfort of her husband as their bairn arrived, so fortune had provided what was needed. Fenella's vigil for Gavan would have to go on.

"Why no'? It makes as much sense as any other reason I can think of."

Keenan was home, but the weaver had not mentioned Gavan. Well, she had no reason to think fortune would have smiled on the brothers such that they would have crossed paths and brought them both home together.

Fenella forced herself to return her friend's smile, then stood. "I should get back to the keep. The family will be in an uproar. 'Twill be good to see their happiness, twice over, this day." And perhaps, someday soon, Gavan would arrive as Keenan had, all unexpected but welcomed.

"Go on with ye, then," the weaver told her. "Enjoy the celebration. I'll be along later."

Fenella made the short walk to the keep so quickly, Keenan and his men were still in the bailey, stable lads taking charge of their horses after the men stripped saddle bags and other belongings from them. The laird and lady waited on the keep's steps for their son to approach them. Fenella waited with others of the clan watching the return until Keenan greeted his parents and followed them inside. Still part of the throng, she entered the great hall, where food and drink were being set out on long trestle tables for the midday meal. Some seated near the hearth murmured prayers, as did others scattered through the hall.

Keenan had disappeared, either to his father's solar, or to his wife's childbed, Fenella didn't know. Which would he deem most important? To report to his father or to support his wife in her labor?

Her friend, Groa, approached her, smiling. "What perfect timing! Trust my brother to arrive just as his bairn makes ready to join us."

"Being heir does bring some benefits, I suppose," Fenella told her with a grin. "To be capable of such perfect timing, I mean. How goes Aimil's confinement?"

"Well enough, it seems. This bairn willna be rushed."

"Poor Aimil."

"Aye, and poor Keenan, to have to wait through it all. But it serves him right for all the time she has had to spend awaiting his return."

"Is he with her?"

Groa nodded toward her brother, just leaving the laird's solar and making his way through the crowded hall toward the stairs. "He is on his way. Da had to have his few minutes with him as laird to heir before releasing him to be a husband, and soon, a father."

Fenella crossed her arms as she watched Keenan mount the stairs. "So much responsibility."

"Aye, and my brother will carry it well. Of that, I have nay doubt."

Fenella had to agree with her. The laird was already turning over many of his own tasks to his heir. Keenan would be well-prepared before his time came to assume leadership of MacNabb, which, God willing, would not be for years.

"I suppose ye've yet to hear from my wayward middle brother," Groa said with a twist of her lips.

"Neither have ye or ye wouldna ask," Fenella said with a shrug, though the question made her belly clench with unlooked-for resentment. "He's either too busy to write or?—"

"Or many things. Dinna borrow trouble, my friend. Especially not on this day."

Fenella shook her head. "'Twas nay my intent. I meant only to say that couriers may be scarce wherever he has wandered."

A sudden shriek from above stairs silenced the crowd in the great hall. Another followed.

"Things are progressing," Groa muttered, wincing in sympathy.

Fenella didn't respond, her gaze on the stairs, but her heart in her throat. What would the rest of this day bring? The joy of a successful childbirth to add to the well-timed arrival of its father? Or more waiting? She refused to consider anything else.

Intermittent cries continued for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, becoming fainter and farther apart. The mood in the great hall had gone from jubilant to wary, mirroring Fenella's own. Most traded worried glances as the sound of their muttered prayers rose and fell. No one could doubt Aimil was exhausted by her labor. How much longer could she continue?

Silence disturbed only by praying went another hour into the night before an infant's wail sounded, breaking the somber mood that had settled over the hall like a low cloud. A collective gasp filled the hall, then laughter and cheers broke out. The bairn had arrived and lived! Fenella joined in the laughter, relief making her as giddy as the others in the hall. This was a day of joy indeed.

Before long, one of the healer's apprentices appeared on the upstairs landing and the crowd quieted to hear her announcement.

"A lass is born," she said, then retreated from view.

Fenella thought it odd that she showed no great enthusiasm, no smile, no excitement over the new bairn. Nor did she present the wee lass. But perhaps she had been with the healer during most of the day and was as tired as everyone in the birthing chamber must be.

"Ah, da will be disappointed 'tis nay a son and heir," Groa said, still sitting at Fenella's side after the long hours spent waiting. "But happy, too."

Had Groa noticed the lass's solemn tone? "Aye, we lasses have our uses," Fenella retorted, relief and weariness suddenly making her snappish. Perhaps in her fatigue, she'd imagined the subdued tone.

Groa nodded but didn't take the bait. "Where is Keenan? I wonder why he didna bring out his daughter."

"Holding her mother's hand, or I miss my guess," Fenella told her, reaching for an explanation that made sense. "I daresay he didna want to leave her side, or to relinquish the bairn, if only long enough to show her to the clan."

Groa put a hand on Fenella's arm. "Ah, there go da and mother," she said, pointing to her parents ascending the stairs. "Time for the family to invade, I suppose," she added and stood. "Want to come see the wee lass?"

Suddenly reluctant, Fenella shook her head. "Ye go. 'Tis meant to be family time. Keenan will want ye there. I'll have plenty of chances later."

Groa took her arm. "Nay, ye are part of the family—or someday will be. Ye dinna want to miss yer future niece's first breaths. Come with me."

Fenella nodded, still reluctant but unwilling to make a scene with her friend at such a time as this. She appreciated Groa including her in the family, but she was only being kind. Fenella's future was very much in doubt as long as Gavan stayed away. She couldn't be certain of her welcome in the birthing room. Would she be treated as an interloper, even though Groa brought her? She hoped not. Torn, she moved with Groa across the great hall and followed her up the stairs.

The first thing she noticed as Groa opened the door and they entered the room was the heat and the smell. The flames of many candles added to the heat of so many people in the chamber. Keenan's parents and two of his brothers, Gregor and Donal, the healer's apprentice, and herself and Groa in addition to the new parents and the infant filled the space. Blood and other things Fenella was in no hurry to name assaulted her nose, sharp and cloying and thick.

No one was moving. They stood around the bed, watching Keenan kneel by his wife, the babe at her pale breast but not suckling. Then Fenella understood what was happening and turned for the door.

Groa's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, the expression on her face a silent plea not to leave her. Fenella nodded and put her other hand over her friend's, offering what little comfort she could.

Aimil lay dying.

Keenan hunched over her, stroking her sweat-soaked hair with one hand, the other on his daughter's back. Tears dripped unheeded onto his wife's neck and shoulder, both so pale as to be almost blue.

Fenella's gaze swept the room and she understood the reason for the strong scent of blood. In bringing her daughter into the world, Aimil had bled, heavily. The healer had been unable to stop it.

The healer! Where was she? Irritation pierced Fenella's dismay and she turned to glance out the door behind her, but the woman was not there, either. The healer should still be here, trying to save her dying patient.

After a few more agonized moments, Aimil gave a shuddering exhale, then breathed no more. No one moved, but at Fenella's side, Groa gave a small cry of protest.

Keenan dropped his forehead to his wife's, then kissed her lightly on the lips.

"My poor son," his mother murmured, her gaze on Keenan and the dead woman.

The infant started crying, soon escalating to hacking wails.

"Groa, where is the healer? Yer niece needs a wet nurse," Fenella said softly. "Now," she said, adding urgency to her tone, "or ye'll lose the wee one, too."

Groa seemed in shock, as did her parents and Keenan's brothers. Fenella couldn't stand it. Someone had to do something to quiet the bairn. To help her. She moved forward and picked up the wee lass from her mother's body, cradling her against her chest.

"Where did the healer go?" Fenella may as well have said nothing. No one answered, so she grabbed a plaid from a chair near the door, laid it over the infant and left the room. At the top of the stairs, she showed the lass. "Is there a wet nurse in the clan? Any woman willing to suckle the heir's babe along with her own? Her mother canna do it."

"I will," one lass said. "I still have milk enough."

Fenella went down the stairs to her, careful to keep one hand on the railing. She dared not fall with the newborn in her arms.

"Ah, good, ye have kept her warm," the lass said as she reached for the babe and pulled aside her shift. In moments, the bairn had latched on and was feeding, if slowly. "She'll take more as she gets stronger," the lass said.

Fenella nodded. "Thank ye. I dinna ken yer name."

"I'm from another village, visiting a friend. I'm Mara."

"Fenella. I must find someone in the village who can become the nurse for this lass."

Another woman came up to them. "My daughter Kyla can serve," she said. "My other daughter can care for her young son for now. He's old enough to cease nursing."

Relief filled Fenella. With the help of the village, she hoped the new bairn might live, and Keenan would not have to bury her, too, with her mother.

"Has anyone seen the healer?"

"Aye, she went to her herbal some time ago," one of the men sitting nearby said.

"Come with me," Fenella said to Mara. "If ye can? The healer should see this wee one."

Later, fed and sound asleep, the bairn stayed in Fenella's arms as she, Mara and the local lass, Kyla, proceeded to the nursery. The healer, who had still looked shaken and sad, had pronounced the wee one well and strong, "Settle in here for tonight, please," Fenella told the lasses. "I'm certain the family will be grateful for yer help. Ye will see them on the morrow."

Mara settled in a chair. Fenella gave the wee bairn into her arms, and a sweet smile lit Mara's face as she gazed down at her.

Despite the tragedy that had brought them here, Fenella couldn't help the small flare of jealousy as she gazed at the bairn's sweet face in Mara's arms. When would her turn come to marry and have bairns of her own? Or would she wind up like Aimil? She looked away from the bairn, fighting to keep her last memory of the wee one's poor mother out of her mind. As a chill slithered down her spine, she left the nursery, went down the stair and through the great hall, needing to be away from the sadness that overlay the miracle of this new life. She pushed open the keep's heavy door and left the crowded hall for some air in the bailey. The night was clear and cold. Stars seemed to be bright shards of crystal so thick, they appeared like clouds against the black sky. They should name the lass Astra, Fenella thought. For a night with so many stars they nearly hid the dark. Nearly, but not quite. And the full moon would rise late and hang in the morning sky like a wraith.

Fenella shivered and turned to reenter the keep, leaving that image outside. It had no place in the hall this night.

She went back to the birthing chamber in time for Keenan to step out of the door, his wife's body wrapped in a blood-soaked sheet in his arms. His mother noticed her and stopped him.

"Ye took the wee lass. Where is she?"

"In the nursery with two wet nurses for tonight. Tomorrow, ye may wish to make yer own arrangements for her."

That got her a wan smile. "Thank ye for doing what we should have. The shock…"

Fenella looked from her to the woman in Keenan's arms and finally to him. His face showed no expression, but his eyes gave away the agony that must be clawing at his insides. How did he bear it? "I understand. The healer waits for ye. I'm so sorry."

She stepped out of the way and they continued to the top of the stairs. All conversation in the great hall died the moment they appeared. She was certain Keenan didn't notice the sudden hush as he took his wife to be prepared for burial.

Fenella had no doubt servants were already in the birthing chamber, cleaning it. Tomorrow, it would be as if tonight had never happened, except for the missing woman and the new bairn. The thought gave her a strange hollow sense in the pit of her stomach. Nothing was the same, and would never be the same again.

The day after the next, the morning was dark, the waning moon invisible above low clouds and heavy rain. Cold wind whistled across the rushing burn that bordered the rise in the glen where Keenan MacNabb's family had long buried their dead. Fenella's gaze strayed from the simple wooden box holding the remains of Keenan's late wife to the babe in Kyla's arms, the village lass who'd become her wet nurse, and to Keenan, stone-faced, gaze downcast as four strong men of the clan lowered his dead wife's body into the muddy ground. She would find it a boggy place to rest. Fenella had no doubt that rainwater had started to fill the hole. She hoped Aimil's soul ascended quickly on the words of the priest commending her to God, if it hadn't already, and spared her that knowledge.

The infant she'd died to bring into the world started to cry, as if she knew her mother was gone and she would never see her again. Never feel her touch. Never get to know the love between her parents that had brought her into being. Fenella's heart broke for the wee bairn and for its father, who faced the loss of all the dreams they'd shared, and instead, now faced raising a daughter without her mother.

But he had his clan and this village. Judging from some of the glances traded among the unattached lasses, he'd have more help, and more consoling, than any one man could possibly need.

Those lasses glanced her way with speculation in their eyes. Did they think if one brother failed to claim her, the other would do? The elder? The future laird? She pursed her lips, hating how the notion raised a flare of hope in her chest. Hope and something more—ambition? With time, could Keenan come to see her as something other than Gavan's intended?

The idea saddened Fenella even further. She didn't know if the man she'd promised to wait for, Keenan's younger brother, was still alive, or how he would come to know of his brother's loss. Or if he would ever return to claim her.

Nay. She couldn't dwell on such an idea. She'd be no better than these grasping lasses, eyeing Keenan before his dead wife was covered up in the cold, muddy ground.

But her daughter?—

As the infant wailed in protest of the cold and wet, Fenella saw an honorable way to support Keenan and keep herself allied with his family until Gavan returned—which he would do. She could not let herself imagine anything else. Gavan would come home. Eventually. Hopefully before he forgot her, and before she wasted her youth, or her life, waiting for him. She would ensure a place for herself with his family, so that when he did return, she would have their support while the promise Gavan and she had made to each other sustained them until they became reacquainted.

Keenan dropped a handful of earth onto the casket, then turned away. His shoulders rounded as though he fought the need to bend double with grief and pain. Then he straightened and trudged toward the wee bridge over the burn and the path that led to the gates of the MacNabb keep, his sister Groa keeping pace silently at his side, his brothers following and their parents walking slowly a few steps behind their children. He never looked back.

His daughter's cries didn't stop him or change the path he walked. The nameless lass. Keenan was too grief stricken to name her and others would not do so until she reached several months of age. Any child might die all too easily, but a motherless child was more at risk. Better to let her go, if that was to be her fate, without a name to keep in the hearts of those who wanted to love her. Or hate her for the death of her mother. Would Keenan hate his daughter? The thought soured in her belly. How could he? The bairn was all that was left of his wife.

Fenella did not hold with the superstition that denied this bairn a name. Yet it was not her place to name Keenan's daughter, or even to encourage him to do so. Perhaps if she could care for her well enough, if he saw her thrive, he would claim her and bestow whatever name he or her mother had decided to give her. Fenella swore to do what little she could to ensure that happened.

She fought back the tears that had mixed with raindrops on her face, and resolved, strode to the wet nurse, who was frantically trying to soothe her charge and silence her. Fenella took the infant from Kyla's arms, and rocked her. Her cries calmed and her eyes closed, leaving tears to dry on her tiny face.

Fenella walked through the keep's gates with the bairn on her shoulder, the wet nurse trudging behind her through the muddy ground. She nodded to the bairn's grandmother, the clan's lady, who gave her a sad smile and permitted her to continue without questioning why she had the bairn and not the woman following her. Her approval gave Fenella hope that when Gavan returned, they could start where they left off, and not as the strangers they might have become. His family, accustomed to her presence with the wee lass, would accept her as his.

She stayed in the nursery and warmed herself at its hearth fire while the wet nurse fed the wee lass. The midday meal would be a solemn affair at best. She'd rather remain with the infant than endure the gloom that would inhabit the great hall. Here, at least, was new life, and hope for a future, even if it was different than the future anyone in the clan, especially Keenan, had envisioned.

But she couldn't hide, any more than he could. His family would see him through the meal, and so must she, if she was to retain the ground she'd gained with his mother. She nodded to Kyla, then stood and left her suckling the bairn.

The great hall was as silent and still as Fenella had expected. She took a seat within view of the upper table, but not so close as to appear presumptuous or, like some of the other lasses, determined to be noticed by Keenan. Rather, she found a place below the side where his mother sat, solemn and picking at the food on her trencher.

It hurt Fenella to watch her. As soon as Keenan left, his parents stood to go. Fenella took that as permission for everyone else to do the same. Groa stood at the same time and raised a hand to halt her, then came down from the dais to meet her.

"Thank ye for taking care of the wee bairn," Groa told her. "I saw how she responded to ye. Ye are good for her and I hope ye will find it within ye to spend more time with her."

"Of course," Fenella promised, shocked at the notice Groa gave her during such a grievous time.

"My brother is too wounded right now to give his daughter the care she needs, and frankly, a woman's touch is better for her, I think."

"But Keenan needs his daughter, too."

"He will, but not today. Perhaps not this sennight. He must come to terms with what has happened and what is left to him. An infant daughter isna something he ever thought to be responsible for on his own."

"He willna be alone in this."

"Ye?" The look Groa gave her was speculative rather than censoring.

Fenella shook her head. "Nay, 'tis no' what I meant. He has ye. His family. People who love him and care for him."

Groa nodded. "Ye are right. 'Tis too soon by far for another lass to enter his heart. It still bleeds. I ken ye and Gavan cared for each other—and may still do so despite his long absence. But I thank ye for anything ye are willing to do to help us ease Keenan's burden, and to keep his daughter well until he can accept her."

Fenella nodded, throat so tight, she found herself unable to speak.

Groa took her hand and squeezed it, then left her standing in the middle of the hall fighting for calm, overwhelmed by the responsibility Keenan's sister had laid upon her, despite her earlier resolve to do just what Groa had suggested.

As the months went by, the wee lass, still nameless, grew strong and thrived. Her father did not fare as well. The grief that consumed him at his wife's sudden death had not eased its grip. He continued with his responsibilities as his father's heir, and in the company of other men seemed to come back to himself, though he remained mostly silent and closed off, avoiding many of the women of the clan, especially if they resembled his dead wife.

With regret and no small measure of reluctance, Fenella had given up on Gavan ever returning. She spent as much time with Keenan's daughter as she could, and even brought the wee lass to her father. He would hold her, but seemed lost in thought, not really present with her, even when she cried. Fenella would take her from him when that happened, fearing her cries would upset him, but in asking silent permission to do so, would touch Keenan's shoulder and place a sympathetic hand there. Only then did he seem to come back to the present, look up and actually see her. Lately, he placed his hand over hers on his shoulder, making Fenella's heart race with surprise and pleasure that he'd acknowledged her touch.

Groa, present during several of these instances, watched closely. Once they were away from Keenan, she said, "ye are the only lass he seems to respond to, save me and mother. Have ye noticed?"

"Nay. Ye are mistaken. He's finally responding to the bairn."

Groa shook her head. "Nay, 'tis more than that. Ye are helping the father as well as the daughter. The ice in his heart is starting to melt. And when it does, I would be proud to call ye sister and someday, Lady MacNabb."

Astounded, Fenella said the first thing that popped into her head. "Gavan?—"

"Has been gone so long he may have married another, or, well, I dinna wish to dwell on other possibilities to explain his absence. The two of ye were too young to understand that love and marriage are built on respect and trust and responsibility for each other. Keenan is here. Now. And he sees only ye. Think on that."

"I…Groa, ye ken what the clan will say. That I have traded one brother for another. I'll be seen as nay better than any of the lasses who've tried to trip him into their beds these last months."

"They willna. The family will make sure ye are seen as the reason his daughter still lives, and that he is coming back to himself and to us. Ye must consider my words. I dinna ken what will happen if ye were to back away from him now."

Fenella did hear her. Groa's words shocked her, yet the more she considered them, the more the idea appealed. Keenan would come back to himself. She would continue to help him. His daughter needed him. The clan needed him.

Perhaps, given Gavan's long absence and lack of contact with her or anyone else in his family, so did she. Keenan had given her a place to fit in, to be accepted, and to be useful, whether he intended to or not. Whether he realized it or not. Perhaps now, it was up to her to make him see how the change Groa claimed she'd wrought in him had also changed her. And how the two of them, nay, the three with his daughter, could go forward together and make a real home and family. And someday, perhaps, fall in love.

The next time she and Groa attended Keenan with his daughter, when the bairn began to cry, Groa stepped forward and took her from her brother. "I'll take her to the wet nurse," Groa announced and left them alone.

Fenella knew what she was up to, but she went along with it, hoping to see what effect she might have on Keenan in private. When he lifted his gaze to meet hers and the corners of his lips quivered upward, she held back a gasp and gave him a small smile of her own.

"Thank ye," he said, his voice soft, almost too low to hear.

"For what? I've done naught?—"

"Ye've done more than ye ken, Fenella. I heard what ye did the night Aimil…" He choked to a stop and took a breath, then continued. "Ye have saved my wee lass and given me the time I needed with her to…to?—"

She put a hand on his shoulder. It was the only touch she was accustomed to giving him, but she felt he needed it, perhaps nearly as much as she did in this moment. "Dinna say it, Keenan. Yer family, the whole clan, have done what they can to help ye. Ye are getting better. I see it. Groa sees it. I hope ye see it, too."

He reached up and covered her hand with his own, then smiled again, softly, but this time a touch ruefully. "I do. 'Tis past time for me to begin to live again. To care for my daughter—with yer help and that of my family. I've let grief consume me for too long."

"Or just long enough to let yer heart begin to heal," Fenella assured him as he squeezed her hand and let his drop away.

His gaze shifted to the far distance. "I canna see her face any longer." He met her gaze, and the pain in his eyes made her chest ache. "What if I forget her? I never want to."

"Ye willna," she told him as firmly as she could around the lump in her throat. "She will always be part of ye. As she should. Yer time together may have been too short, but she gave ye the greatest gift before she left ye. Ye will see her again in yer daughter as she grows into a young woman."

He nodded; his gaze lost again in a distance only he could see.

Fenella allowed herself to hope, without guilt, that his distant vision included her.