Remembering his fervent declarations of love, Lilli hung onto her memories and hoped that nothing had gone wrong and he would soon return to them. Each day she climbed to the shieling huts and the meadows beyond to see to his steed, feeding it bits of hay or oats from her hand. She smoothed her hand over its sleek nose and talked to it of its master until the horse tossed its head as if in exasperation and trotted away. Still, each time she arrived at the stone fence, he came to her, sniffing and searching her sleeves for his expected treat. For a moment, Lilli’s laughter spilled out, silvery and happy. For a moment, she forgot her pain and loneliness. But at night, alone in the cottage when Rose slept and the fire had burned low, she felt that loneliness more keenly than ever she had. It would have been better if he’d never come here, she thought, then immediately brushed the idea aside. If he’d never come, she would never have understood the love between a man and woman. She would never have known what ties bound them and what passion existed in the making of a little one like Rose.
