The Tangle hips that could bear you a buffalo

“No, no,” Eirlys said, trying to forestall the inevitable waves of guilt even as they broke upon Mallaidh’s bowed head. “What do you have to be sorry for? Well, I’ll tell you — nothing.” It was what Lotte would have said, and in a similar cadence. The snowdrop had adopted her father’s accent more than her mother’s because of her closeness with him, but she could easily switch between the two. “Ceallach won’t believe this,” she breathed, holding Furi close and marveling still at the very real, very solid warmth of her. “He thought — thinks — that you and Roarke died.” It was one of the few things they disagreed on. Eirlys stubbornly maintained that if Roarke had died, she would have felt it immediately, banking on the virtual ESP Lotte purported to share with Dagfinn. Ceallach was more skeptical, but they’d stopped discussing it over time.

This, though — this was going to be the best “Told you so!” ever.

Obtusely, Eirlys believed that Mallaidh would immediately want to come back with her to be reunited with the remaining members of her family — and to meet the new additions. She didn’t even need to ask. Instead, she added, “Papa, äiti, and mama would say that you’re an Ansbjørn and a Fearghal — strong blood and good genes on both sides. They would be so proud to see how tall and beautiful you got.” She laughed through her tears. “I’m fat like äiti, but you have papa’s long legs.” Lotte had never once impressed upon her children that being fat was a bad thing, so Eirlys said it as a descriptor and nothing more, with no particular connotation.