Then, one sunny day, while Lili and Bruce—more often called Lilypad by her mother—worked in the garden, the world seemed almost ordinary.
Lili knelt in the dirt, cutting away dead leaves and stubborn weeds with her little knife, while Bruce sat nearby among the chickens, digging up worms with muddy fingers and offering them proudly to the hens. Mister Terminator strutted between them like a lord inspecting his lands.
Then a twig snapped in the forest.
The chickens noticed first. The hens stopped scratching. Mister Terminator lifted his head and went perfectly still. A heartbeat later, Bruce heard it too: a heavy rustling in the bushes, the sound of something large pushing through leaves and branches not far from the garden.
Lili noticed last.
Her hand went straight to the knife at her belt. She rose, took one step back, then another, her whole body suddenly tight and ready to run.
Bruce wanted to crawl in front of Mother and protect her, but the thought died almost as soon as it came. The bushes at the edge of the garden parted, and a figure in a green hood stepped out from the forest.
He was tall and broad, with a heavy sack slung over his back. Behind one shoulder rose the curve of what looked like a longbow, while a quiver of arrows rested against his side. At his belt hung a knife bigger than Bruce's baby arm. Mud clung to his leather boots. He looked like some medieval forest ranger, except far less friendly from Bruce's place in the dirt.
From a baby's perspective, he was enormous.
Bruce could not even wrestle a chicken, and she knew because she had tried. Looking at this man now, she doubted even Mother, brave as she was, could do much against him if he meant harm.
The bad men have found us, Bruce thought.
Then, before pride could stop it, fear did something terrible in the wool pants beneath her dress.
Oh no.
The man stopped only ten meters from Lili. A short sprint away, nothing more. Beside him, Mother looked like a small cat standing before a massive male lion.
Then he lifted his head, and sunlight caught a blond beard, a white toothy grin, and blue eyes beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Well now," he said, his voice deep and husky. "Hello there, beautiful. Long time no see."
For one awful second, nobody moved.
Then Lili shrieked.
Bruce nearly screamed with her, and half the chickens scattered in panic, but Lili was not afraid anymore. Her knife dropped from readiness, and her whole face broke open with relief.
"Rob!"
She ran to him like someone running toward an answered prayer. Rob dropped the sack, opened his arms, and caught her as she leapt into him. He lifted her easily, his hands catching her beneath her hips while her arms locked around his neck. For one breath he turned with her, laughing roughly, and Lili clung to him as if she feared he might vanish if she let go.
"Rob," she gasped, half laughing and half crying. "Where were you? I was so worried. I feared the worst."
"Worry not," Rob murmured, holding her close. "All is well. Winter storms delayed me, and work besides. The duke's men still search, so I had to keep my face loyal and my tongue quiet." His voice lowered. "But I have led them wrong. Far as that man knows, thou fled northward to the wildlands."
Lili pulled back just enough to see his face, though her legs still held around him and her hands rested against his blond beard as if testing whether he was real.
"Oh, Rob," she said softly. "I am so glad you are here."
The words seemed to surprise her the moment they left her mouth. Her cheeks flushed bright, especially once she realized how closely they were tangled together.
Rob smiled. "Then worry no more. Thou art safe now that I am here." His grin widened, proud and pleased with himself. "And thanks to my exceptional labor, I have brought gifts from the city."
Lili's eyes shone with such relief that Bruce almost forgot the accident in her pants and the humiliation of it, almost.
She watched them from the dirt, stunned and suspicious, as Rob and Mother fell into a strange little silence. They looked at each other as if the rest of the world had gone politely away. Bruce had never seen Rob before, not properly, and though he was no storybook prince or modern television star, there was something solid and hard about him. He was rough, bearded, weather-worn, and a little frightening, but not ugly. Good-looking in the way a knife could be good-looking, if one forgot what knives were for.
Also, he was enormous, at least in comparison to Lili. So Bruce decided to remain far away in case he accidentally sat on her.
Then the moment between Lili and Rob broke, when suddenly Rob leaned in. Bruce gasped and clapped both hands over her eyes at once. She had seen Frank and Sarah do things like this before in her old life way too many times, and she had not liked it then either.
Though to her relief, through the gaps between her fingers, she saw Mother perform an expert dodge.
At the last moment, Lili turned her face aside, too shy or too startled to meet him properly. But Rob adjusted so smoothly that it almost looked as if he had planned it all along. His mouth brushed her cheek instead, then slid lower, teasing along the curve near her jaw and down toward her neck.
Lili made a small, startled sound and pressed a hand against his chest. "Rob… what are you—"
Rob only held her closer.
He kissed her neck without shame, then moved near her ear, his breath warm enough to make her squirm and laugh despite herself.
"Forgive me," he murmured against her skin. "As a man, it is hard to command myself before such beauty after so long away."
Lili giggled, embarrassed and flustered, and smacked his chest lightly. "You speak foolish."
Rob laughed and drew back enough to look into her eyes. "Come now. I would never lie to thee."
Lili laughed too.
Bruce did not approve. It was yucky, strange, too adult and suspicious. It felt like watching some cheap peasant romance performed badly in the woods, except Mother seemed to enjoy it, which made the whole thing much worse. Why was she allowing this? Why was she laughing? Why did adults sometimes turn so strange the moment someone complimented their appearance?
Then Rob's gaze shifted past Lili and landed on Lilypad, sitting in the dirt among the chickens, muddy, horrified, and betrayed by her own pants.
Rob stopped.
He set Lili down carefully, then moved past her and crouched low, as if he had found a gold coin lying in the grass.
"Well now," he said. "And whom hast thou brought into this world?"
Lili's whole face changed. The embarrassment vanished, replaced by pride so bright it was almost blinding. She hurried to Bruce's side and lifted her up, showing her off with the eager solemnity of someone presenting her greatest treasure.
"This is Lilypad," she said carefully. "My little baby. My precious one."
Rob crouched before them, studying the baby with amused blue eyes. "Lilypad? Like the green leaves upon the lake? And close to thy own name as well?"
Lili blushed. "It sounded cute. And now we are alike." She looked down at Bruce with shining pride. "Look at her. Does she not look like me?"
Bruce froze, as she realised that was the whole reason for her name.
Her second-life name, the name given after death, rebirth, divine destiny, and humiliating girlhood, had been chosen because it sounded cute? Should she not have received something more powerful? Something with meaning? Why could Lilypad not mean some great northern goddess, or warrior, or holy mountain, or at least something that sounded like it could survive a tavern fight?
She tried to protest.
Unfortunately, she was still bad at speaking especially under pressure, so what came out was only, "Ng—gah."
Rob laughed. "A fair reason. Many names have worse births than cuteness." He lowered his head in a little bow. "Well met, little Lilypad."
Bruce pouted.
Rob was not affected by the pouting. Instead, his nose twitched. He sniffed once, then twice. Then his face became solemn.
"Ah," he said. "Here lies trouble."
Lili blinked. "What?"
Rob looked down at Lilypad with grave seriousness. "This little lady hath made a mighty stink."
Bruce's soul left her body.
"No," she tried to say, but what came out was, "Gah!"
Rob laughed. "Aye, deny it if thou must, but the truth is plain."
Then, before Bruce could protest any further, Rob reached out and took her.
He did not ask. He simply acted, as if a filthy baby was a problem, and problems existed to be solved. One broad hand slid carefully beneath her head, the other beneath her body, and a moment later Bruce was lifted against his chest as easily as if she were no heavier than a bundle of cloth.
Bruce gasped, shocked by the sheer unfairness of it. She had just been taken by a stranger. Picked up like a food parcel. Like a thing to be carried.
Lili stepped after him at once. "Rob, I can—"
"Aye, thou canst," Rob said, already carrying the baby toward the lake. "But thou shalt rest thy hands a moment."
It sounded kind, it also sounded like an order.
At the water's edge, Rob knelt, dipped his fingers into the lake, and frowned. "Cool," he muttered. "Yet it shall serve."
Bruce did not like that sentence at all. She knew that water. It was not winter-death cold anymore, but it was still very much not baby-friendly.
The washing was swift, cold, and deeply offensive. Bruce screamed. Rob ignored the noise with cheerful calm, cleaning her as if baby disasters were only another kind of mud.
"Peace, little queen," he murmured. "Better cold water than sore skin. There now. Almost done."
Bruce hated that he was competent.
She hated even more that his steady hands and rough, easy voice calmed her body despite her very serious objections. Lili stood nearby with the chickens gathered around her skirts, watching as Rob worked with the confidence of a man who had washed babies, dressed wounds, gutted fish, and mended broken things without needing praise for any of it.
Worse still, once Bruce was clean, wrapped tight, and held against Rob's warm chest, she felt better.
She still pouted.
Rob noticed at once. "There is a warrior's face," he said. "Wronged by fate, yet unbroken."
That was nearly accurate, which made it worse. Without meaning to, Bruce smiled.
Rob saw it, so did Lili. And just then something in Mother's face softened, visibly and completely, as if one final hesitation inside her had cracked. Rob had frightened Bruce, stolen Bruce, washed Bruce, and somehow made Bruce smile. To Lili, that seemed to matter more than all the fine words he had spoken.
Back inside the cottage, Rob laid Lilypad near the hearth, then emptied his sack.
There was bread, cheese, salted meat, grain, onions, dried fruit, a small pouch of salt. Also kindling, thread, needles, leather, each thing appeared like a miracle. Last came a dark glass bottle wrapped carefully in cloth.
Lili stared. "What is?"
"Wine," Rob said, lifting it with a grin. "For me, and mayhap for thee, if thy northern courage can stomach it."
Overwhelmed, Lili tried to rise at once, falling into the old habit of work. "I start fire."
Rob stepped in front of her. "Nay. Thou wilt sit and rest. I did not come all this way to watch thee work thyself into a grave."
Before she could argue, he scooped her up as easily as he had lifted the baby. Lili yelped in surprise as he carried her to the straw bed beside the fireplace and set her down. Then he touched the tip of her nose with one finger, as he said, "Stay."
"Rob?" she gasped, half outraged and half laughing.
He only smiled. "Stay here."
Bruce sat off to the side with the chickens, wide-eyed, hugging Mister Terminator for courage.
Then Rob took charge.
He stacked wood, shaved kindling, struck sparks, woke the fire, fed the chickens crumbs, and filled the cabin with warmth and the smell of food. Soon Lili sat wrapped in a blanket, eating a meat pie that had apparently been made by Rob's mother. Bruce sat on her lap, receiving tiny tastes she could not properly chew but very much wanted to investigate.
Then seeing it all, Mother suddenly began to cry.
Not loudly or dramatically, she simply looked at the food, the fire, Rob's busy hands, the supplies on the floor, and broke under the relief of it. A great weight seemed to slide from her shoulders all at once.
Rob sat beside her and drew her close. They had no cups, so he drank from the bottle first, then offered it to her. Lili hesitated, shy and uncertain, but after a moment she drank too, leaning into him as if she had forgotten how badly she needed somewhere to lean.
"Thou art strong," Rob said quietly. "Stronger than men in mail. But strength is not never needing help."
"I live," Lili whispered against him. "I make. I keep baby. But hard, Rob. Very hard."
"Aye," he said. "I see it. But while I sit here, thou needst not worry so much. Trust in me, and I shall see all made well."
He stayed beside her as evening settled over the lake, drinking wine and speaking in his low, rough voice. He told stories of winter roads, of hunting in the forest, of boars that charged like little demons, of selling skins and meat in distant markets, of standing guard and keeping peace with stern looks, hard hands, and the occasional blow to a drunk man's head. He spoke too of the bridge guards, Eamon and Hugh, and how none of them had said a word about Lili. As far as anyone knew, they had seen nothing that night but late travelers crossing under torchlight.
Bruce did not understand every word. Rob's old Albion speech still came thick and strange to her ears. But she listened, learned, and yawned after drinking Mother's milk, drifting in and out while keeping one suspicious eye on the man.
She did not fully trust him. Or perhaps she did, a little, and that was the problem.
Rob's hands were too friendly. His eyes watched Mother as if he wanted something from her. Bruce's old police instincts insisted that this man was trying to get something, though what exactly, she could not understand. There was nothing here worth stealing. No money, no fine things, and no hidden drugs. Maybe he wanted kisses, but why anyone wanted those so badly remained one of adulthood's many unsolved mysteries.
Still, at the end of the day, Mother was warm, fed and happy. So Bruce allowed Rob to remain alive while hugging Mummy.
Later, when the fire burned low and the cabin grew soft with sleep, there was nowhere proper for Rob to lie except near them. They made the usual bed of straw and blankets close to the fireplace, only now Rob was there too. Lili lay against his chest, Bruce tucked against Mother, and Rob curled one arm beneath them as a pillow while the other rested over both of them, heavy, warm, and protective, as if making sure nothing in the dark could take them away.
For once, Mother's heartbeat was calm.
Just before sleep took her, Bruce whispered, "God natt, mama."
Lili went still.
"Oh," she breathed. "Good night, my little one."
Rob smiled over them. "And me? Canst thou say good night, Papa?"
Lili gasped, yet Bruce opened one eye.
Was that a challenge?
So she gathered herself with great seriousness and said, "God natt… papa."
Lili sucked in a breath, even Rob seemed impressed. Then a slow, stupid grin spread across his face.
"Well," he murmured. "That is a fine word."
Bruce regretted it at once, because Lili looked at Rob, and Rob looked at Lili, and then they kissed softly on the mouth.
It was disgusting. Bruce turned her face away at once and mumbled, "Yucky papa and mama."
Both adults heard. Both laughed softly.
Bruce made a small offended noise, but she could feel Lili's happiness, warm and fragile and real, so she did not complain too much. Instead, she smiled a little, pleased to have made them happy, and kept her eyes closed because she was too tired to protest properly.
The fire crackled. The chickens settled in their corner. Rob held them both, and sleep came gently.