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“Who else would I be thinking of?”

“Jack. Yer braither. The clan.”

“Ye,” he said. It seemed obvious.

Something crossed her face that he couldn’t read. She looked down at Archer instead of at him.

“He wasnae wrong, though,” she murmured.

“About what?”

“I wasnae watching Archer. I looked away, and he fell.”

“Bairns fall.”

“Nae when they’re meant to be minded.”

“Even then.” He took a step closer. “Me braither split his chin on a hearthstone when he was two. Me maither was sitting right beside him.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. “Truly?”

“Truly. He bore the scar till he was a grown man. Used to tell lasses it was from a sword.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “Ye’ve never told me that.”

“Ye’ve never looked so much in need of hearing it.”

Her smile faded, but something in her shoulders eased. She pressed her lips to the top of Archer’s head.

Her stubborn kindness, even to a man who’d wronged her, made Evander want her more.

“Thank ye,” she said.

He blinked. “For throwing Jack against the wall?”

“For standing between him and me.”

“I’ll always stand between ye and anyone, wife.”

She didn’t answer that. She lowered herself to the floor beside the cot, Archer still in her arms, and leaned back against the wall.

“Ye can get back to it,” she said.

“Back to what?”

“Whatever ye were doing earlier. I’ll mind him.”

“He’s fine, Freya.”

“The healer said to watch whether he vomits or sleeps strange.”

“He’ll nae sleep strange.”

“Then I’ll watch him nae sleep strange.” She didn’t look up. “Go on, husband.”

He stood there a moment longer, looking at her, and found he had no argument she’d accept. So he went.

For the rest of the day, she watched over Archer like a worried hawk and never left the room. He knew because he kept checking.