“Angus,” he said. “My name is Angus.”

His voice stopped her from turning away from him. He sounded tired, perhaps even lonely. Or was her own sense of isolation reflecting onto him? Shona raised her gaze to his face. His dark eyes captured her, just as she’d feared they would.

“Angus,” she repeated softly.

His regard never left her face. Why did hearing his name from her lips mean so much to him? The moment she uttered it, his tension had evaporated.

She pulled away and moved around the table to take a seat on a low stool. She ate slowly, not speaking, waiting for him to say whatever he’d intended when he demanded she sit with him. He settled on the ground across from her and ate quickly, hungrily, which didn’t surprise her after the hard physical work he’d done that morning.

When the last of his bread had soaked up the last drop of broth, he set his bowl aside. “Tell me about yerself,” he urged. “Tell me about yer life before ye came here.”

Shona froze with a bit of bread halfway to her mouth. “Why do ye wish to ken?”

“Perhaps I enjoy the sound of yer voice,” he told her. “I’ve heard it so seldom.”

She ignored his flirtation and debated what to say. No one here knew her history, not even her uncle.