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said, “Maybe now you’ll admit that you need help.”
    â€œYes.” Her voice was as shaky as her hands. She added nothing else while he leaned her back against the pillows he had plumped and helped her put on the shirt. She hastily pulled it closed in front of her. She would button it when she was alone.
    He stood, and she found herself staring again. He was shorter than Abban, but taller than she was. She had become accustomed to being the tallest woman, her head rising over even some of the men’s. Athair had despaired of her every finding a man to wed, so she guessed her father had been as pleased as she was when Abban asked her to wed.
    If Athair ever learned about what had happened in the past year … She did not have to think about that long. She knew what her father would have done. He would have seen Abban dead, but he would have been too late.
    â€œAre you all right?” asked Mr. Jennings.
    He leaned toward her again to straighten the quilt. Beneath his cotton shirt, his shoulders were well muscled and moved with a lithe ease. His shirt was tucked into worn denims, so she guessed he was a man accustomed to hard work. When he smoothed the quilt around her, as if she were a babe, his fingers were calloused. Yet, they were not stubby and possessed the same grace as his other motions.
    â€œTá mé go breá ,” she replied when he stood as straight as a soldier again. Before he could ask, she repeated in English, “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou’re lying.”
    â€œYes.” Arguing about what was obvious would gain her nothing, and what little pride she had left was useless. “I feel like my head is going to explode at any moment.”
    Handing her a cup of water, he waited until she had taken a sip. Then he asked, “What else have you being lying to me about?”
    â€œNothing!” She moaned at her own raised voice and rested her head against her palm as the pain swirled through it.
    The cup was plucked from her fingers as her hand trembled. Closing her eyes, she sagged into the pillows. She had never been this weak. She had to overcome whatever had sapped her, because she needed to be strong now. Stronger than she had ever been.
    â€œMaybe you should try to sleep,” Mr. Jennings said.
    Cailin opened her eyes, not wanting him to leave before she had answers to the questions haunting her. “My children—my children … how are they?”
    â€œThey’re well, and they’ll stay well if you haven’t brought some sickness into the house to infect them.”
    She stared at him, wide-eyed with horror.
    His frown eased, but not completely into a smile. “They’ve shown no signs of becoming ill since your dramatic arrival in the middle of that thunderstorm. Why did you come out in it? The children aren’t witless, so I wouldn’t have expected their mother to be. You proved me wrong.”
    â€œIt wasn’t storming when I started out from Haven.”
    â€œThe walk isn’t long, no more than a few miles.”
    â€œI got lost or …”
    â€œMaybe you lost consciousness along the way?”
    Cailin whispered, “It’s possible. How long have I been here?”
    â€œYou arrived two nights ago. It appears your fever has broken.” He put the back of his hand against her forehead as if she were no older than Lottie.
    The thought of her youngest sent anticipation flowing through her. “May I see the children?”
    â€œTomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow? Mr. Jennings, they are my children, and I want to be certain they’re all right.”
    His mouth became a straight line. “You may rest assured, Mrs. Rafferty, I haven’t been beating them daily since their arrival.”
    How many more things could she say to insult this man who had opened his house to her children … and to her? Telling her empty arms to be patient for a few more hours, she said, “Forgive me.