MISTY swaths of fog lay about the castle walls, hiding the ground beneath its silvery mantle. The eastern horizon paled with dove's gold, a few low-lying clouds resting on the shoulders of the rising dawn. No wind stirred upon the battlements. It seemed as though the whole world held its breath, as if knowing what was to come that day.

Fiona rose early that morning, taking more care than usual to plait her unruly crimson curls out of her face and smooth the wrinkles in her green and ivory woollen dress. She arrayed her McCurragh plaid over her left shoulder, stabbing home her silver clan pin with a delicate boat engraved on it. She hesitated, glancing at her murky reflection in the piece of polished bronze hanging upon the wall. Her brother's pin, its metal smoothed from many years of holding it in her hands during the darker moments in her life, lay on the small table before her. She almost always wore it beneath her plaid, but today.... Something in her desired to let go of the past and face the future without clinging to old memories and faded dreams.

Fiona stood back, leaving the pin on the table. She had made up her mind. She walked over to the window and peered out at the misted world touched with amber and waking with the sun. A surge of excitement and nervousness rose up within her, as it had at random moments ever since the messenger had come yesterday. Her thoughts raced and ran into themselves, only one thing standing clear against the emotions racking her consciousness.

They will be here today after so long!

She wondered again what Angus and Malcolm would think of her now, whether they would even recognise her from the young lass she had been. Would they even want to maintain their friendship with her, strained by a year's silence? Or had their new acquaintances, which they surely had acquired, become more desirable? Even if she was the princess, it was rare that lads would be good companions to lasses, even if they had been her bodyguards at one time.

Sighing deeply, she turned and walked out of her room, headed for the Great Hall to break her fast.

Fiona met Annag there, eating with the rest who were up at sunrise. Sitting down among them, she listened absent-mindedly to the conversations taking place around her—mostly servants' gossip—but did not take part. Her mind buzzed with anticipation of what was to come that day and she swallowed her porridge with great difficulty, her throat tight with uncertain eagerness.

Occasionally she smiled at the two wee bairns sitting at the end of the table, who had to have their mother Elspeth's help to ensure their porridge actually reached their mouths and did not end up on the table, on their clothes, or flung at each other. Lilybet, who was little more than an infant, and Ranald, who was only a couple years older, were the youngest inhabitants at Caerdun. Unlike the other women at this table, Elspeth did not speak save to her two children, her voice low and murmuring.

Fiona tried to catch her gaze with a friendly expression, like she always tried to, but Elspeth did not seem to notice. However, considering how occupied she was with her bairns, Fiona did not count it against her. Not everyone had something so potentially joyful to look forward to this day like Fiona did. She pitied Elspeth, so young and so lonely, but Elspeth was not the sort of person to beg for sympathy. Whatever grief she suffered, she suffered in private. Aside from her quiet shyness, Fiona did not know what best to make of her, doubt sometimes whispering in the back of her mind that maybe Elspeth remained distant because Jamie died in her name. She could only try to be a friend, which Annag had told her Elspeth much appreciated, even if she had not found the courage to say so herself. After all, it had only been a year since Fiona had seen through the veil of another's pain, and Elspeth was quite different from that other blue-eyed and dark-haired soul.

Having finished her porridge, Annag rose to her feet and gave orders to several of the women there before exiting the hall, headed to her other duties. No sense in standing idle while they waited for the embassy to arrive.

Fiona left the hall after breakfast as well, the rafters falling silent as the women left it until luncheon. The expectant quiet that remained was peaceful, disturbed only by distant echoes drifting from other parts of the castle through the open door. Fiona wondered a moment how much louder this hall might become this evening if Chieftain McCladden truly returned. If Malcolm were with them, the sound would indeed increase, but she doubted anyone would mind that for the joy of seeing them again. And hearing Angus' voice again...

She blushed in spite of herself as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and continued down the corridor. She was a daft lass to flush so easily, and all for what? Surely it was only that she was overcome with excitement and nothing more. She was a princess, and not a silly maiden who daydreamed the working hours away.

Pushing aside her thoughts, though expectancy hummed ever at the recesses of her mind, she entered another room whose windows faced the main courtyard, the cheerful daylight streaming in. Already there were a couple lasses seated by the fire or the windows, busy with mending or sewing clothes. Fiona smiled when she saw Elspeth among them, her bairns being watched by an older woman who cared for them while their mother laboured.

Fiona was greeted by a shy wave and was satisfied. She crossed the room and sat down at a loom where an unfinished tapestry lay half-woven, the vibrant colours already speaking of stories and songs waiting to be canonised into legend. She slid the shuttle back and forth, a rhythm that was peaceful and almost musical despite having no melody. The sweet sound of harp trickled into her mind at the thought, but oh, she had not practised properly in ages. Preparing for war had taken the place of such things for now.

Strand by strand, the weaving proceeded on from where she had ceased it yesterday, a banner slowly shaping beneath her hands. Whether or not it would be used in battle during the coming months remained to be seen, even though Annag had taught Fiona the art of weaving so that she could fashion this pennant herself: a princess' ensign to be carried into war by her warriors. And while she dreaded the thought of more loss and bloodshed, she felt they needed this, that this endeavour to seek allies had not been for naught. Surely everything had a purpose, did it not?

Her hands came to a halt on the loom for a moment. Try as she might to think of other, ordinary things, like whether she would be able to play with Elspeth's bairns after luncheon, or whether archery might be set aside today for practising horsemanship only, her mind always returned to the homecoming McCladdens. Her pulse raced every time her mind brushed against the subject, and she attempted in vain to keep her trembling hands steady.

After an hour or so had passed in such turmoil and slow progress, she laid the shuttle aside with a sigh of frustration. She could not stand the waiting anymore. However longer it must be, she could not endure it merely sitting here.

Rising to her feet, she left the room to find Annag, whom she had not seen since breakfast. Annag usually came to help with the weaving or knitting when her other duties were done, which were usually accomplished by this hour. But perhaps she was overseeing preparations in light of the coming host; or, perhaps, like Fiona, the anticipation made doing ordinary things a challenge.

Searching for Annag to no avail, first in the Great Hall and then in the Council Chamber, Fiona went outside into the courtyard, halting in surprise at the warmth of the wind, quite different from yesterday. The fresh scent of heather wafted up from the rooms near the ground where the washing of clothes was being done. Fiona inhaled deeply as the delightful spring wind carried the smell of herbs mixed with the woodsmoke from the forge to her senses. The gentle breeze played with the curls hanging about her face, and the young princess hummed a strathspey to herself as she walked across the cobblestone courtyard, greeting various servants as she passed by them.

At last, she found Annag talking with the guards at the gate. Hurrying to her, Fiona stopped when she saw the broad smile on Annag McCladden's face.

"Wha' is it?" Fiona asked, her breath catching in her throat. Had the Scots arrived already? Had she missed them?

"Alan here says that his son, Rhiseart, caught sight of Donald and my sons when he was out riding. He signalled to his father from the first hill jist beyond the castle."

"When will they be here?" Fiona questioned almost before Annag finished her sentence. She could hardly keep the excitement out of her own voice.

"Any moment now, and they will be o'er the hill. Come to the wall wi' me and we shall see them." She grabbed Fiona's hand and pulled her up the stairs to the battlements, where they shaded their eyes against the bright, cheery sunlight, gazing at the road winding south in hopes of catching a glimpse of the returning men.

A few minutes later, a trio of horsemen crested the hill and sped on down towards the beaten trackway leading to the outer defences.

Annag squeezed Fiona's hand as the three forms drew gradually closer.

Fiona's heart jumped into her throat, nearly choking her. Nervousness shot through her veins, a painful tingling that stung her fingers. She slipped her hand out of Annag's and stepped away from the wall, feeling almost sick. The thought of finally seeing her dear friends again suddenly seemed too much to bear. What if she did not recognise them? What if they did not miss her as she had them? What if they no longer cared for her company, and all this expectation was for nothing?

"Wha' is it?" Annag asked softly in a tender voice, turning towards her with concern.

"I...I donnae think I can bear meeting them here." Fiona shut her eyes tightly for a moment, concentrating on the heather breeze and not on the twisting in her stomach. Perhaps she should not have eaten breakfast at all.

"Why is tha', pray?"

"I donnae ken. Mayhaps 'tis because I wish to meet them without others looking on." She did not want other witnesses to her confusion and dismay if Angus and Malcolm did not desire to see her again. She did not want castle inhabitants and who else to see her disappointment and shame. "Besides, I am sure ye want to greet yer family first as well," Fiona added, forcing a smile to her face.

"Are ye sure ye donnae want to meet them wi' me? I thought ye missed them so." There was a kindly twinkle in her hazel eyes.

Fiona nodded. "Aye...I'd rather meet them after the first wave of excitement has passed. I supposed I hae missed them so much the thought of truly seeing them again fills me wi' a sort of terror.... I donnae want the entire courtyard to be watching. I might cry, and then Malcolm will ne'er let me forget it." She tried to laugh, but it was breathy and hardly anything at all.

"Well then, I suppose there is nae holding ye back." Annag smiled in return, resting her hand on Fiona's shoulder for a moment in encouragement. "Where will ye be? I'm sure they will ask."

"In the gardens beyond the inner gate."

"I will tell them so."

Fiona gave a quick, timid dip of her head in farewell and turned away. Swiftly making her way down the stairs and out the innermost gate, she headed for the small gardens. She cast a glance over her shoulder, seeing Annag still upon the battlements, hearing the hoofbeats and faint shouts of greeting from the guardsmen—for the garden muffled much—and watched as Annag disappeared to run down to the courtyard and greet them. Even from this distance, she could note the grin of widespread, pure joy, the raw emotion that rarely graced the resolute woman.

Her heart skipped a beat and she turned away, walking farther from the gates.

Fiona waited for what seemed like an eternity in the gardens, her back to the entrance as she slowly walked farther and farther away from the gate. The muddy beds boasted green shoots thrusting up through the dark soil amid the pearly snowdrops already in flower, promising a beautiful blooming yet to come in the warmer months. Because the gardens were behind the castle, she did not hear anything going on inside the courtyard. Whatever noise there might be was muted by stone walls. The silence, broken only by the whispering wind and the sweet, trilling songs of the birds, became unbearable.

She took long breaths in a vain attempt to calm herself. Her hands trembled with nerves, no matter how she clenched and unclenched them. Surely they should have come through the gates and greeted Annag by now! Were they not to come and see her after all?

Fiona was about to head back when she heard the sounds of gravel crunching beneath someone's feet, growing louder, coming nearer. She knew that stride. Her chest tightened. Yet she did not turn around. She was afraid of what she might see, of how different he might look.

The footsteps stopped. She could almost feel the warmth of his presence behind her and her skin prickled at the thought, everything in her longing to turn around—and everything in her terrified to do so.

"Fiona?" The voice was deeper than she remembered but still had the same gentleness that she loved and had dreamt of ever since he had gone away thirteen months ago. The question was spoken in cautious bewilderment, as if her hesitation made him unsure of whether he had found the right lass.

She could not handle the waiting any longer. She spun around on her heel and then stopped, gaping at the Angus McCladden standing before her.

He stood at least six inches taller than she was, but it was not his height alone that caused her surprise. The scrawny boy from a year ago had changed. His shoulders had broadened and his once stick-thin body now filled out his linen shirt, though he took after the leaner frame of his mother. His piercing blue eyes still startled her, as perhaps they always would, but the rest of his face retained its boyishness, though manhood chiselled itself there in sharp outlines she did not remember seeing before.

She met his gaze at last, and an uncontrollable blush burned her cheeks. She exhaled deeply, tension slipping away from her shoulders, watching him as he stared at her, his mouth partly open in surprise.

"Fiona," he repeated, this time almost whispering it in awe as a smile spread across his face. Scarlet touched his pale face for a moment as if embarrassed at the silence between them, or perhaps it was something else entirely...

She grinned, her throat tightening with exuberant, repressed emotion. "Angus!" she cried, taking a step forward and flinging her arms about his neck. "'Tis been so long!"

"Aye, Fiona, far too long." He brushed his fingers through her fiery locks, pulling her close.

She shut her eyes, holding onto this moment as long as she could. For even a lingering embrace like this could not make up for the months they had been apart. He had been gone so long—they all had—and though the future remained so uncertain, for this moment, she was home.

"We hae been gang a long time," he continued after a moment, drawing back and looking down earnestly into her face, "but I'm home now, and I willnae be needing to gae away anytime soon."

His words struck a fond, much-contemplated memory. She reached up and unclasped a slender silver chain around her neck, pulling up the simple knotwork pendant from underneath her dress and placed it in Angus' palm. "Here. I hae worn it ever since ye gave it to me in An Dùn when ye left." Her voice was quiet, lost in the past, in the spring of many months ago.

He glanced at the necklace that had been his dead brother's and then back at Fiona, his eyes glistening. "Thank ye," he murmured, clasping the chain around his neck and slipping the Celtic knot beneath his tunic. His hands trembled as he opened his mouth to speak again, but the words never came.

A figure appeared at the end of the garden path, peering back and forth until he spotted them. Then he cried out "Fiona!" before running down the path towards her.

Fiona glanced from Malcolm McCladden to Angus before steeling herself for the onslaught. The younger brother still managed to almost knock her over anyway before nearly crushing her to death in a tight embrace.

At last, she pushed him away and held him at arm's length, looking him up and down while laughing breathlessly. "Malcolm!" she squeaked. "Ye're too tall fer me now!"

If Angus had grown, certainly his younger brother had. Malcolm, who had barely reached her shoulder, now stood eye to eye with her. But his humorous, freckled face and the merry twinkle in his grey eyes were the same, as were the flaming curls that lay every which way on his head. And his voice was no longer the high, song-like tone of a young lad, but had deepened to a sweet tenor that had not yet reached its full depth.

"Och, but ye're still the fair lass we left behind." He was still laughing as he gazed from her to his brother. "She has no' changed, has she?"

"Aye, she has changed," Angus replied, looking at her fondly. "Our wee princess isnae so wee anymore."

"Och, I wasnae wee back then either!" Fiona protested, her eyebrows raised incredulously, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Aye, she's no' changed tha' drastically," Malcolm agreed, his forehead wrinkled in a frown.

"She's changed fer the better; she looks more a queen than she ever did before," Angus said by way of compromise. He stepped forward and linked arms with Fiona, leading her back towards the castle courtyard.

"Aiee, wait up!" the younger brother exclaimed as he ran up and took the princess' other arm, marching proudly with them up the garden path.

Fiona only chuckled, lightheaded with relief and joy at seeing them both so well and so happy in ways she had never seen them before. The shadow of war and loss seemed indeed a thing of the distant past; perhaps the treaties had gone well? Or perhaps they had not, and the lads had chosen to forget it in light of being reunited with her and their mother again. Either way, she did not wish to ask, did not wish for bad news to darken this moment, did not wish to hear that their time had run out—

She thrust the thoughts aside as they entered the courtyard, which bustled with rushing servants on errands and nickering horses being led away to the stables. The brothers guided her to where Donald McCladden stood talking with Annag.

Donald looked up as they approached, a swift grin spreading across his weathered face. "So, how fares our fine princess?" He had not changed as much as his sons; only the growing number of white hairs in his scarlet beard marked him a year older.

"Well enough. And ye?" Fiona asked shyly, the giddiness at seeing them all again returning.

"I am well, jist weary from much travel. But 'tis very good to be home." He slipped his arm around Annag's waist and kissed her lightly on the forehead despite them being in full view of anyone in the courtyard.

Fiona glanced at the ground, a lump in her throat. The wonder and doubt regarding their quest burned ever in her mind, and she could not remain silent any longer, regardless of how she dreaded the answer. "How was the treaty-making?" She forced the words out, mindful of the way the brothers drew closer to her, as if to encourage her that hope was never fully lost.

"Rest assured, princess," Donald said kindly, his voice warm. "It went better than we had expected. Cymru has agreed to our request and is sending as many men as they can spare without greatly weakening their own borders."

Fiona gasped in shock and relief, nearly feeling sick as the last of her fears melted away like frost beneath the rising sun. The weight on her shoulders was fully and completely gone, and a smile spread across her face, tears springing to her eyes. The death-bound promise to the harper who had been her mentor, and in some senses a father, had been kept.

We did it, Rhiada. Cymru has sent her men.

Her soul nearly sang at the thought. Perhaps now they stood a chance against the Danes.

"The main leaders of the host are but a day behind us," Donald continued, "and many will be staying at other castles and fortress towns, I am thinking. We must provide enough lodging fer those that will come here."

"I will see to it," Annag murmured, her voice smooth and sweet like honey.

Fiona glanced at her, seeing the way she looked at her husband with happy contentment. Both the warmth of safety at seeing her second family back together and a twinge of loneliness for not truly being a part of them crept up her spine, despite the two brothers on either side of her.

Donald kissed Annag's hair before letting her go and beaming at his sons and the lass between them. "'Tis good to see ye again, princess," he said. "Ye were greatly missed." He winked, and Fiona felt both Angus and Malcolm stiffen in embarrassment.

She blushed as well, but she could not stop smiling. After waiting for so long, what they had so earnestly yearned for had finally come to pass. However long the road that remained ahead, the path looked much brighter now. At long last, they finally had a chance.

"Come ye both, let's find something to eat." Malcolm interrupted her thoughts, pulling them away. "'Tis nearly noon and I am faint wi' hunger."

"He's been saying tha' ever since we left Cymru," Angus drawled, chuckling.

Fiona laughed, her heart light within her. "I believe yer mother made oaten bannocks fer yer arrival."

"Oaten bannocks!" Malcolm squeaked, his voice cracking. He let go of her arm and raced across the courtyard and into the castle, leaving the two of them behind.

Angus turned to the princess beside him. "Do ye want to gae as well?"

Fiona looked up at him and grinned. "Mayhaps we should, since we hae nae eaten yet either. We must get something before Malcolm devours it all."

~~~

That night, the Feast Hall was filled with cheerful voices and sweet harpsong, a welcome celebration after so many dark months in despairing winter. The fire burned high and bright on the large hearth, and the tables were spread full with food that had been set by to last until the harvest. Perhaps it was a frivolous waste, but it was well worth the occasion. Hope, ever a small, burning flame, had rekindled into a beacon that might burn to high heaven. The Scots had returned and brought with them an army to defeat the Danes once and for all, bring justice to the realm, and restore Fiona to her throne.

But she did not think of such things now.

She was content enough to watch Malcolm feast to his heart's content and see Angus listen with delight to the harper's music, speaking to her of the Cymreig music and language and how glad he was to be home. Malcolm interrupted their conversation at times, either to add his own commentary or to tease his brother about something.

Fiona listened to them both, happy to have them home and to be with them again without saying much. Besides, there was not much to say. Little had happened to her, save the ordinary and the mundane, while they had travelled to other lands and stood before foreign kings. In comparison, the life she had lived over the past year was dull. What use would it be to tell them of that?

"Och, and then there was the time," Malcolm was saying through half a mouthful of honeycake, "tha' ye and yer friends decided to go hunting at midnight as the year turned, some crazy idea of finding a white stag seen in the forests nearby." He swallowed, allowing his brother a chance to defend himself.

"Ye would hae gang wi' us had ye kent!" Angus sputtered. "Besides, 'twas beautiful to run on snow beneath moonlit skies, entering in the coming year as if in a song."

Malcolm rolled his eyes heavenward. "Ye still sound like ye hae had too much mead. I would much prefer to celebrate by staying inside by a warm fire and enjoying myself."

"I think," ventured Fiona, "tha' both things can be poetic in their own way. Some prefer fire, some prefer snow, but it doesnae make either less songlike."

Angus gestured dramatically with his hands in agreement, nearly knocking over a young boy serving mead near them.

"But tha' was no' why they were punished." Malcolm cleared his throat and turned from accusing his brother to recounting the full tale to Fiona, who listened intently. "They became lost. In the woods. In the snow." He opened his mouth for the next phrase, but was cut off.

"Aye, but beneath the moonlight, the land looked different!"

Malcolm placed both hands on the table and gazed at his brother square in the face. "Aye, so it did. Yer so-called 'poetic moon' was the very reason ye were lost, and ye want to continue singing her praises?"

Angus wisely said nothing.

"Anyway." Malcolm turned to Fiona with a toss of his head. "They were lost in the woods, even those tha' had grown up by them. They lit a fire and stayed warm until morning when they returned home. The worst part was tha' none of us kent they were gang in all the celebration until late in the night, and most of us assumed they were sleeping elsewhere. But none of us kent where until the next morning when they walked in the castle gates." He heaved a long sigh. "Father didnae let him leave at night fer weeks."

"Only because he didnae want any of us to be attacked by a bear or freeze to death. Otherwise, he didnae mind," Angus returned.

"I think he still would hae minded." Malcolm rose to his feet and stretched, groaning. "I cannae fit in another bite. I'm gang to find Mother now. If I donnae see ye again this evening, good night!" He clambered over the bench he had been sitting on and walked away without waiting for a response.

"Did ye find the stag—the one ye were hoping to see?" Fiona asked in a quiet moment when conversation died to scattered applause for the harper's finished song.

Angus shook his head. "I think we saw it once tha' evening, but I donnae ken fer sure. We had given up on finding our way and built our fire, most of us sleeping close to it and each other fer warmth. I awoke from something, I donnae ken wha', and I think I saw the stag standing amid the trees, watching us." He shrugged, as if to make light of something often spun into legend. "Perhaps it was only a dream after all."

Fiona smiled shyly. "But was it a good dream?"

He grinned. "Aye, it was a good dream. Worth the hours spent shivering in the snowy darkness. The forest sounds different then, more mysterious, more ancient. Beneath the moon and the stars, the world glimmering in white—it was beautiful. I wish ye could hae been there," he added softly.

"Perhaps in dreams, I might."

A sober look crossed his face. "Dreams can be beautiful, but they are nae substitute fer reality. I can escape in dreams, live in a world free of cruelty and war and loss, but then I wake up, and the world is nae wha' I wish it to be, and I am more the sad fer it."

"But can a dream nae be worth fighting fer, to bring it to fruition?" she pressed. She knew he was speaking the truth, knew that everything around her would slowly crumble away if all anyone did was wish for what was not. But this deep yearning could not have meant nothing, either. It was too precious to her, the vision of that distant Scotland shining free in the mist, the vision she'd believed in since her days with Rhiada in Caerloch. And those months on that winter's wartrail had only strengthened that vision before it wavered in defeat.

"Aye, it can. Yet some dreams can never come true." He looked at something distant in the firelight, something perhaps she could not see, and his eyes darkened. "'Tis our duty to ken which is worth the struggle and to fight fer it. Those dreams, they are worth all the pain and sorrow." He met her gaze.

"Do ye think we stand a chance, now tha' the Cymry are joining us?" Fiona asked a moment later.

Angus shrugged. "I cannae say. I cannae see wha' the future holds. But I do ken this—if ever we had a chance, 'tis now."

Annag came by their table then and murmured something to Fiona, no doubt too quiet for Angus to hear; his face betrayed his confusion.

Fiona rose to her feet, nodding to his mother. She flashed him a quick grin and then was gone, following Annag out of the hall.

~~~

Angus watched her go, already missing her vibrant yet steady presence. He had longed for this in all the months he had been away, to speak with her, to share his thoughts with her, for he knew she would not mock him like Malcolm did. In that, she had not changed at all.

For contrary to Malcolm's words earlier, she had changed as much as them. Time slowed for no one. He had expected her to change, of course, but he was surprised nonetheless. She was taller and no longer a bony-limbed lass whose arms and legs were almost too long for her clothes. Slender she remained, but her form was more like that of his mother's now. The lass he had known had grown into a fair young woman. Yet her lightly freckled face was as youthful and beautiful as he remembered. And the fearful look that had so often been in the depths of her soft, green-gold eyes was gone. He prayed he would never see that fear again; but with war surely to come, who knew what the future would hold for them?

Angus drank what mead remained in his cup and took a seat closer to the harper, more interested in listening to the music and being lost in his thoughts than exchanging jests with the servants who had known him as a child, as Malcolm was currently doing.

The song was a mellow one, a song of a lover's loss of his beloved and his going away to war to bury his grief. Angus clenched his jaw, the words striking a chord too close to his heart. He glanced around the hall, searching for Fiona, the slightest dread weighing down on his shoulders.

He caught sight of her and the tension eased, relief flooding his veins. He was foolish, he knew, to place so much in a mere song. But it had indeed hit close to home.

"Is everything all right, Angus?" Fiona asked softly, coming to sit beside him. Her gaze was puzzled and almost concerned.

Were his thoughts that obvious? Or was it only because she could read him so well?

"Aye, I was jist lost in thought. All is well."

As if he had heard, the harper changed his song to something much more light-hearted.

"'Tis good to hear tha' all is well." She grinned, the torchlight catching in her eyes. "We could do wi' tha' more often these days. Jist donnae remain lost in thought," she added in a whisper. "Malcolm will hae something to say about tha'."

He chuckled in spite of himself, warm softness flooding his chest even as they both said no more and instead listened to the harper's music in content, contemplative silence.

Oh, he had missed her!