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Brigid never scolded her for it. She simply left the tray a little longer, then came back with something warm and plain.

Freya was so grateful for her. She doubted she would’ve been able to get through all of this without her.

It was strange how grief and anger lived in the body. She had always thought of them as things of the heart, but they had settled in her stomach instead, a hard knot that left no room for anything else. Every time she thought of Evander’s words, it pulled tighter.

But lately, the knot had begun to loosen.

Yesterday, she had finished an entire bowl of porridge and caught herself wishing for more honey. It was such a small, foolish thing to notice, but she’d nearly wept with relief.

She wasn’t whole yet; she knew that. But she was mending, slowly and stubbornly, one meal at a time.

But right now, she had a mission, and that mission was finding another toy. She had found one of the toys the children had left outside, but Amelia had lost her doll somewhere in the nursery.

Brigid had taken them on a walk, giving her a chance to look for the toys. But it was also a break from the twins. A few minutes to an hour was all she needed. Nothing more.

The rag doll had wedged itself behind the cradle. Freya found it on her knees, cheek nearly pressed to the floor, reaching into the gap between the cradle’s leg and the wall.

Archer had flung it there before his nap, she suspected, out of sheer contrariness.

It still was a mystery how he had gotten his sister’s doll. Amelia was quite protective of it and never let it out of her sight, but somehow he had managed it despite her best efforts to keep it on her person.

Freya’s fingers closed around one woolen arm. She tugged it free and sat back on her heels, brushing dust from its button eye.

“There ye are,” she told it. “She’ll be glad. Archer will be too. Though he’ll nae say so, the wee wretch. Just like his⁠—”

She stopped.

Just like his uncle. That was what she was going to say.

She sat there with the doll in her lap and her throat tight, and she hated that even now, after so many days, Evander could still creep into a sentence and steal the breath out of it.

She could almost feel his big warm hands on her waist, and her stomach fluttered.

Behind her, the door opened and then closed. The latch dropped with a soft, deliberate click.

Freya’s heart lurched. For one foolish moment, she thought it was him. That he’d finally come. That he’d stand there with his shoulder against the frame and say wife in that low voice, and she’d have to decide whether to throw something at him or⁠—

She turned to find Callum.

She frowned.

Freya had no quarrel with him, but after their last conversation, she wasn’t eager to speak with him. While he had told the truth, he had also broken her heart by making her face it.

He stood with his back to the door, his hands loose at his sides. He was smiling, the same easy, crooked smile he’d worn when he’d welcomed her to the camp and announced the sword dance in her honor. But something was different about it. It sat on his face like a mask that had slipped half an inch.

Freya rose slowly, the doll still in her hand.

“Callum.” She kept her voice even. “What are ye doing here? Brigid and the twins are going to be back soon and are going to need a nap. Ye’ll be interrupting that.”

Callum stepped forward, ignoring her warning.

Freya clutched the doll, not caring for the expression on his face. There was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but the fact that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes didn’t sit well with her.

“I tried to warn ye, me Lady.” He said it almost kindly. “That night, outside this very door. I told ye what he was. I thought ye’d have the sense to go home to yer braither.”

“I told ye, I’m staying for the bairns. I daenae understand why that is so hard to grasp.”

“Aye, ye did.” He sighed, as if she’d disappointed him. “Ye didnae leave on yer own, so I should help.”