Private Tales Healing of the Heart

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Cillian

Lucky Devil
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Beyond the Alliria Reach towards The Spine the Leprechaun had fled with the child trusted to him in the heat of battle. Each step had been agony. A war he had with himself not to turn back and save the woman whose icy gaze had finally begun to thaw in their last moment together. The taste of her on his lips and his promise to save her daughter whatever the cost was the only thing that had held him firm.

Centuries of wandering the world were what some people dreamed of. Cillian himself had once been one of them, but those long years of sleeping rough or in the seat of his cart had given him an appreciation for having his own roof too. He had collected a few over the years. One out on the edges of the desert, another deep in the jungles of the wild and a treehouse in the falwoods. The small stone cottage he took Rose to, however, was his favourite. On the edge of the Wda River in the midst of a wild flower meadow he had built his home and workshop methodically. The main cottage was two stories high with a squat chimney and a large deck outside where he liked to smoke his pipe in the evening. Beside the home was another squat building but only one level and often with its doors thrown open so he could do his work whilst admiring the view of FrauFrau grazing beyond. Or, more recently, from where he watched the young girl play.

It had been weeks since he had said goodbye to Sierra and promised to guard her daughter with his life. The child was the opposite to her mother as far as he had discovered so far. Quiet, with a sweet disposition and none of Sierras sharp tongue - though she did share that look of disapproval her mother had for Cillians jokes. The memory made him smile in the middle of his work and put down his tools.

"Rose! Are ye hungry?" The Leprechaun wiped his hands on his apron then lifted it over his head to hang it up on the hook by the door. A dark head turned, just visible above the tall flowers where she was sitting, and the small child waved in greeting before returning to her game. Cillian chuckled to himself then headed to the kitchen to fetch their lunch.

Instead of making her come inside he took the food and a blanket out to her. The sun was pleasant and the wind cool coming off the river. Besides, he had spent hours inside. It was nice to have a change.

"Did ye finish your homework?" He asked casually as he laid out the blanket and sat down. Rose shyly gave him a smile before producing the flower crown he had been showing her how to make. He let out a low whistle. "Well now, that is a beauty," Rose flushed and scrambled to place it on his head making him laugh and pull her into his lap. She snuggled close and took the strawberry he offered to her.

"Can I have another story now?" She asked sweetly, fingers wet with the fruits ripe juices. "A mermaid one!" She paused then added quietly. "Please?" He chuckled and adjusted the crown.

"Mermaids, eh? Well now let me see..."
 
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It has been weeks once the undead. Since the rebellion. Since she’d plunged that dagger in Archon Crane’s heart. Since her body had nearly collapsed against his own from use of her magic. From the pain he’d inflicted on it. The student’s screams echoing in her ears. Her own screams.

She’d stayed to pick up the pieces. Every day agony. Her body healed but her mind…that was another story. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind wouldn’t let her. Not with what she’d done. What they’d all done. There were several meeting with the core surviving dreadlords. Zana. Talus. Some others.

And her thoughts were always on Rose. On Cillian. Were they okay? Had their parting been a dream? That kiss…real? The feeling of the leprechaun’s hands on her body. Lips on her mouth. His golden eyes.

After weeks of re-building and refusing an Archon title, Sierra finally felt like she had time enough to step away. To try and find them. She couldn’t explain it but she felt like she knew where they were. And she was too proud to ask for a wish. And somehow, it felt wrong to do that.

With dark circles beneath her eyes and a packed-up horse, she left Vel Anir.

“I’m coming,” she whispered to the wind, not caring if she sounded foolish.
 
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I'm coming...

Cillian paused as he bent to blow out the candle by Rose's bed. That voice tickled at the back of his mind and for a brief moment he saw a flash of damaged and burnt city gates. He shook his head to clear it; he was just tired. Sierra wouldn't be able to talk inside of his mind unless... That kiss came back to him unbidden and coloured his cheeks. Abruptly he blew the candle out and quietly tip-toed his way out of the room the girl had chosen for herself. He hadn't know how long she would be staying with him but he had wanted her to feel comfortable for however short or long that was. When they'd arrived he'd let her pick which room she wanted and they had spent their first week getting to know each other by decorating it.

He closed the butterfly covered door behind him.

The leprechaun covered a yawn with his hand and pushed open the door to his room down the hall making sure to leave his door ajar just in case she had another nightmare. When he finally flopped onto the bed he found himself staring at the dark ceiling for a while, thinking of the slumbering cottage in its meadow and idly pushing it towards the place those words had come from.

Perhaps if he wished hard enough his own magic would work and she would find him.
 
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She wasn't sure when it happened. The space of a blink. One moment, she had Serondale unsaddled and munching on some grasses. Her back was against a tree, her hands warming by a fire. Woods all around her. The next moment, no, half of a moment, the air...shifted.

Or changed.

The tree she'd been leaning against was gone and she nearly tumbled backwards into an open grassy-area. Her fire, pack, and Serondale remained. But the landscape was...completely different. Sounds of birds splashing in a moonlit pond found her ears as she slowly sat up.

"What the blazes," she breathed, palm pushing against her forehead, squinting. She dragged herself to her feet and turned around, slowly. Serondale continued to munch on some better tasting grasses as if nothing had happened. And there, before Sierra was a small cottage. Its windows darkened.

And for a flicker of the span of a second, she felt a small invisible tug. Head shook and the feeling quickly passed. Eyes shifted in the dark as another horse trotted up, whinnying softly.

"FrauFrau," Sierra smiled, no longer caring if this was a dream or a hallucination. If it was, she hoped she didn't wake up for a long time. Pulling an apple from her pack, she offered it to the horse, sliding her hands down the creature's mane.

"Is this where you, Cillian, and Rose have been this whole time?"
 
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The Gypsy cob nosily crunching through the offered apple was the only answer she would get from the fairy-tale like horse. Beyond her a flame lit up one of the windows of the previously slumbering cottage.

Sierra's appearance in the meadow had let off one of many tiny little bells linked to the wards Cillian had placed around his lands when he had brought Rose home. The leprechaun had rolled smoothly out of the bed into a pair of breeches and his boots, grabbing the ancient looking broadsword he carried with him on his travels, before pushing open the front door and heading out into the night. Light spilled forth behind him making him a giant silhouette in the doorway.

"Who's out t'er?" his voice carried even though he hadn't raised it into a shout. "FrauFrau?" Cillian squinted into the dark. His horse was picky about who she paled up with.
 
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She blinked, looking at the backlit silhouette of a male. The voice made her weary chest tighten. She gave one more pat to FrauFrau and stepped around the creature.

“It’s me,” she called as she stepped closer. As if that was explanation enough. “That’s a big sword,” she eyed what he gripped in his hand. Grey-eyes flickered to the other dark windows, wondering which room Rose was in. She stepped closer still, hesitating just at the edge of the glow.

“Is she…are you…alright?”

Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She seemed older than when they’d parted. Body was weary. War and travel worn. She’s lost some weight. But she still had that strong set to her jaw. Fire in her eyes. Even if she felt like her shielded exterior was no long iron but an eggshell.
 
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"Sierra."

The sword almost dropped from his hand. How? The question rung inside his skull like a great brass bell. How had she found him? How had she known? But it faded quickly into the background as his eyes swept over her. Thin and exhausted with healing bruises and cuts. But whole. She had come home whole. That fire in her eyes told him that whatever had happened she had clung to the core part of who she was. He took three large strides and closed the unbearable gap between them without another word. His sword-free hand came up to cup her cheek whilst the other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her snug against his chest. Even when he had seen her he hadn't quite believed... but now she was in his arms and the scent of her filled his senses.

Cillian let out a ragged breath he had been holding since he left her.

"Rose is fine, we're both fine," his thumb grazed over her cheek and down her jaw. "How... How are ye?"
 
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Rose was okay. He was okay.

"Cilli," she breathed against him as he tugged her into his arms. A slight shudder went through her as his rough palm caressed her face. "I was worried I was hallucinating. This meadow. This cottage. You," voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead gently against his own. Her nose brushed against his own. Her arms wrapped around his torso.

He was real.

And he was here.

He wasn't gone, not like Hal. But for the first time, when she thought of Hal he wasn't like broken glass in her chest. He was just an echo. A whisper. And Cillian.

Hells, did all it take now was one kiss in the midst of battle to get her feeling like this about someone?


Later. She'd think about that later. First, his question. "I," she breathed against him. "I'm...tired." She thought about it all. The blood on her hands. The screams.

She swallowed.

"I'll tell you more...later." A brush of her lips against the stubble of his cheek. As if she wasn't ready to leave his embrace, her arms slowly unwound from around him. "I need to see her. Will you show me?"
 
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Cillian had seen countless wars. One he had fought in and those he had just had to watch. It was one of a long list of negatives that came with living for centuries. The look on her face and the shadows in her eyes he had seen every time. In soldiers. Civilians. Himself. It was why he wouldn't push her for the details. The only thing that mattered was that she had come home.

His eyes closed at the tender kiss.

"O' course. She's sleepin' though so yer gotta be quiet. It took me four stories tae get 'er to sleep," he smiled warmly, a sign he hadn't minded one bit. He took her hand in his larger one and twined their fingers: he wasn't quite ready to let her go yet. Cilli led her into the house.

The house was a quaint little thing. Inside the room opened up into a large living-come-dining-come-cooking space with a roaring hearth in the centre that had died down to embers. There was signs of a young girl everywhere. Toys littered the floor, dresses were hanging to dry, and proudly hung paintings dotted the wall of blobby looking FrauFrau. He ushered her up the stairs and down the hall to the second door on the left. Putting a finger to his lips he cracked open the pink and butterfly covered door.

The hallway light spilled in just a crack to reveal the sleeping girl tucked up in bed, clutching at a stuffed rabbit.
 
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A bemused loft of weary eyebrows at his warning. “Four stories. She used to barely stay awake for one before she left with you. Please tell me you haven't been feeding her lots of sugar?”

Her voice was a whisper with no real bite. She tried not to think about how she quite liked her hand entwined with his own. And the house felt…it felt as if she’d been there before. Perhaps it reminded her of where she grew up. So long ago before the Anirians came to claim her into their ranks for service.

And she couldn’t help but stare at her daughter’s sleeping form. She looked so comfortable. Safe. If Cillian wasn’t holding her hand right now. If he hadn’t cracked the door, she would’ve gone immediately to Rose. Gotten in the bed still dirty and travel worn and curled up next to her daughter. After all, it had been just the two of them for the past few years.

But seeing her was enough for now. Tomorrow. Let Rose sleep and dream of flowers and ponies. Not burned skeletons, fresh graves, and swinging bodies.

A bit of her magic extended to her daughter, sensing what she already knew. She was having good dreams. Sierra squeezed Cilli’s hand and quietly closed the door to Rose’s room.

“Please tell me you have a bath or a place where I can wash up? And Cilli,” she reached up a hand as they put some distance between Rose’sroom, running her fingers along the side of his face. “What you’ve done for her…for us. How can I…how can we ever repay you?”
 
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How could he tell her that she was enough to repay him for a thousand lifetimes?

"You have nothing to repay me, Sierra," Cillian closed his hand over the one she had placed on his cheek and gently drew it down the slightly overgrown beard to his lips. He placed a tender kiss at the very centre of his palm and met her eyes over the tips of her fingers. His golden ones creased with the smile that drew across his face, a hint of that cheeky playfulness bubbling underneath. He wanted to chase those shadows away and he had made her laugh, once. "But... If you wanted me tae think o' somethin'..." both eyebrows raised and without warning he scooped her up into his arms.

"After a bath though, you stink lassie," he wrinkled his nose in mock disgust and carried her boldly to the bathroom.

It was the one bit of engineering he hadn't been able to do himself and had asked the dwarves to come and do. Inside was a large sunken tub that could have fit three in a squeeze. The tiles were marble and engrained with precious gems in the rawest form. The real marvel, however, were the taps. He set her down carefully on the polished floor and then bent to turn them on. Hot water soon gushed out and steam wafted into the air.

"There're towels an' soaps there, an' some candles if you want 'em o'er 'ere," he pointed out everything she might want or desire for a good long soak and then headed to the door. "Just turn tae taps off when it's full enough for ya, I'll see about getting you some clean clothes an' food."
 
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"You have nothing to repay me, Sierra,"

She felt his sincerity. And it wasn’t just from her own empathic magic. There was a flicker of something else that she felt as if she followed it, at the other end she’d find him waiting. It was something foreign and new. That same feeling she’d gotten just before she’d somehow….come to this meadow. And before she could think on it more she found herself scooped into his arms.

Cillian!” She managed to quiet her yelp of protest just enough even as a smile spread on her usually stern mouth. Feet were set back on solid ground and she gave his muscled arm a light smack. She blinked and took in all those details of the bathroom. No, it reminded her of a spa she’d seen on the coast but much grander. She just managed to mutely nod at the leprechaun. And as he shut the door, she pinched herself to make sure she really hadn’t died especially as her hands shifted and ran under the flowing hot water.

“Hells,” she whispered. Carefully peeling off her boots, belt, leather armor, clothing, bandolier of knives…then more knives she was finally bare. Her weapons collection was piled carefully on top of her clothing and leathers. Testing the water temperature with her toes first, she hmmmm’d aloud as she quickly sunk the rest of her aching body beneath the surface.

Finding some soap that smelled of citrus and vanilla she began working it into her hair and across her skin. The water was quickly filling with the layer of dirt and grime from her travels. So much so that she let some drain out and filled the tub again, then turned off the water.

By the time she scrubbed a second time, she felt her eyelids begin to close. With a great effort of will, she opened her eyes snd pulled herself free of the bath, wrapping a towel around her form and letting the water begin to drain from the tub. Thick waves of wet, auburn hair clung to her damp skin. She opened the door, worried that if she stayed in the steamy room any longer she’d fall asleep on the floor or on her feet.

“Must be dreaming or dead,” she called quietly. “It’s a wonder you can leave that room at all.”
 
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Cillian's laugh echoed from the room to her right quickly followed by the leprechaun himself.

"Like Mother, like daughter. Rose spends hours in t'ere playin'," he shook his head but despite his attempt at a stern tone there was joy behind it. The simple pleasure of enjoying someone else's joy, especially that of a child's, was a wonderful feeling. He wanted nothing more than to keep giving her things that made her open up a bit more, smile brighter, look less solemn... Was he thinking of Rose or Sierra now? Both. The answer came before he had even thought of the question. He wanted to be a part of both their lives.

He cleared his throat.

"I left some clothes on tae bed in there, I dinnae have much but I 'ad a few things I'd made tae sell. T'ey should fit," he rubbed the back of his neck then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go check on tae stew."
 
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“Didn’t realize she turned into such a water bug,” Sierra smiled, clutching the towel to her chest. Water dripping down the curves and contours of her bare skin. And if she didnt know any better, Cillian seemed a little nervous. Her smile softened.

“Before you check,” stalking toward him, she’d tug him to her with her free hand. “And since I don’t stink anymore,” an amused loft of her auburn brows, she’d find his lips with her own and draw him in for a deep, long kiss. This was better than stew anyway.
 
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"Sierra--"

It was hard to say no with her lips on his. She tasted of something wild and a little bit of lemongrass soap. He groaned and his arms slid about her waist, one hand pressing firmly against the small of her back to push her closer to him. How many times had he thought about the kiss he had left her with? Wished it could have been sweeter, slower, more tender. The things she deserved and not born from a fear of closing her forever. He had thought of how he would do just that if he was ever given a chance to kiss her again but now... now he just wanted to drown in her.

It was with the last shred of control that he pulled back.

"I don't... I don't want tae... I dinnae want you tae feel I'm takin' advantage, Sierra..." he brushed his thumb over her cheek.
 
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She’d expected the kiss to be good but that kiss?! Left her head a little light and her toes curled into the carpet. She couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped from her throat. “If anything I’m taking advantage of you. We just meet. I beg you to watch after MY child for war.”

Her fingers twirled a few locks of his hair before brushing them gently from his shoulder.

“A leprechaun who doesn’t ask for anything in return,” she leaned her head forward, brushing her nose gently against his own. A heated breath against his lips. “But I’ll understand if you don’t want that stew to burn.” A flash of a wildcat’s grin on her lips.

She’d been about ready to fall over from exhaustion just a moment ago in that bath. But now? That kiss had ignited something burning slow and deep. She could still feel the tiredness stalking her but with him so close it was being chased away.
 
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Cillian had to swallow the groan at the smile. It sent fire lacing through his veins and he had to put a hand against the wall behind her to steady himself. A part of him wanted to show her exactly how far the stew was from his mind but in her towel he couldn't help but notice the bruises and the hollowness to her cheeks and collarbone. His brows knitted themselves into a frown and he bent to place a kiss to a bruise on her neck.

"You need to eat," he whispered against her skin, his breath brushing against the curve of her neck in its own caress. Reluctantly he pushed off the wall to give her space to move. "Go get dressed, we can play later," he gently pushed her towards the door but not without giving her that dimpled smirk before he turned and left.
 
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Head shook. And as he left the room felt too big. She missed the heat he provided. The heat of his gaze. Those twin, smoldering suns. Sighing, she stopped staring after the empty space of wake he left behind.

Walking to the bed she slipped on the soft, cotton blouse. There was a pair of stretchy leggings which she tugged upward. Hanging up the towel, she wandered back over to the bed. Propping up the pillows, she slipped onto the top of the blankets, telling herself she’d only rest her eyes a few moments then wander to find Cillian. She did t realize how tired she was because when he eyes closed, they didn’t open again as she was dragged deep into a realm she didn’t want to go to. A place of nightmares.
 
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"Demandin' bed service now are we?" Cillian huffed a laugh as he pushed open the bedroom door with one shoulder, his hands full of a tray spread with warm stew, bread lathered in butter, and juice. When he saw her fast asleep he paused on the threshold. Should he leave it for when she woke up? Wake her to eat? He was worried about how much weight she had lost in such a short amount of time but she also needed sleep... After deliberating with himself for another minute he set the tray down on the side instead and moved to carefully tuck her in.

The way she was frowning in her sleep betrayed the state of her dreams. It was always like that after a war; soldiers drove themselves to death trying to stay awake and avoid the faces that waited for them in the land of sleep. Carefully, he eased himself down to sit on the edge of the bed beside her and strokes his hand through her hair.

"You're safe lassie," he murmured and willed her to feel how sincerely he meant that. "You and Rose are safe."
 
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Archon Crane leered over her body. The pain he was pumping into her made her feel as though she was already dead. Then there was a different voice. A different feeling. One that whispered against the darkness. One that made her realize it was a dream.

Gray-hues snapped open. She took a heaving breath as she hinged upward at the waist, bumping solidly against a male chest. Her hand went for a knife that wasn’t at her waist, grasping sheets and air.

The smell of fresh stew hit her nose. Mixed with the smell of him. Her empathic abilities clung to the safety he resonated. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she breathed against him. She never meant to anymore. She hated it. Sleeping brought no peace.
 
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"Yer body needs it Sierra."

It was instinct that made him wrap his arms around her waist when she collided with his chest. One hand slid up her back to gently stroke her hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner and rested his chin atop her head. When he spoke his voice was husky and gentle and made his chest rumble against her cheek. He didn't make a move to let her go and instead continued with the soft strokes through her hair.

"I know it's difficult after somethin' like... t'at, but tis important tae get yer schedule back tae normal, Duchess," now he leaned back so that he could see her face, holding her slightly away from his chest. He said nothing as he studied her face quietly before finally sighing. "Do yer want tae eat or try tae sleep again?"
 
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He smelled like cedar and smoke and she never thought that smell would be so comforting. Like home. But it was. A puff of warm air against his chest as his hands strokes against her. Those strong arms of his wrapped around her.

Troubled gaze slid upwards. Duchess. The old nickname was enough to make the tension on her face lighten.

Head shook.

She did Not want to try and sleep again. At least not yet. “Your stew smells too good not to try.” And it did. Even if she didn't think she was very hungry even if she hadn’t been able to keep a lot down lately.

“And I don’t know what normal is anymore,” barely a whisper as she sat staring at him. Unwilling to move away even as her heart ached. Even as grief and pain threatened to drown her. Even as she grasped at the mask of being brave, trying to keep it firmly slammed on her face.

What had happened. It hadn’t been like any of the other campaigns or battles. It had been different. More horrific. Even if she still strongly believed there had been no other way. Even if the cost left scars there were too hard to heal.
 
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Cillian couldn't tear his eyes away from hers as she sat there staring up at him. Her quiet confession tore at his heart made worse by the fact he knew there was nothing he could do to take it away. Not without other, troublesome, consequences anyway. He wondered briefly if he would be able to deny her if she asked him to take the pain and memories away. Probably not, even when he knew it would do her more harm in the long run. He didn't think he would ever be able to deny her something. With a sigh he finally moved. His hand lifted to cup her cheek and brush a rough, calloused thumb over her skin and then reluctantly he stood.

"T'aint t'at good," he chuckled and moved to the side he had put it down on earlier. "Just some rabbit and veg," he brought it back over, tray and all, and plopped it carefully down on her lap before squeezing onto the bed next to her. He wasn't quite ready to have her far away from him yet. The very thought made something inside of him break.
 
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As he brought over the food she sat up more and crossed her legs. She was wearing one of Cillian's oversized shirts. Reaching behind she fluffed up both pillows as she scooched a little over to make more room for him. But she didn't scooch far. Her side pressed against his own. The closest crossed leg, resting over his thigh.

"Better than rations," she pointed out and took up the spoon, stirring the stew quietly. "Thank you," she breathed. Putting down the spoon, she changed her mind and went for the bread, breaking some off to dip into the stew. Taking a bite.

"You are a liar because this IS good." A light nudge of her elbow into the base of his ribs. "Did you not really cook before a child was thrust upon you?" She was curious. There was a lot she still didn't know about him even if her heart felt like it knew everything she needed to know.
 
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Cillian chuckled at her playful nudge but her words meant a lot. Enough for a faint rosy tint to colour both his cheeks and make him scratch at his beard in that nervous habit of his. He was thankful for the question to distract him from the pleasing thought she enjoyed his cooking. Though, thinking back to that journey on the road, if she had been cooking all her own meals what she considered 'good' probably was a rather low bar. Still, he'd take the compliment.

"I like tae cook, and though yer daughter's a little fussy she ain't tae worst critic I've 'ad," he smiled down at her and slid his arm about her shoulders so she had something comfortable to rest her head against rather than the wooden headboard. "When ye travel on tae road a lot, ye begin tae appreciate good food and ye get bored o' eatin' mouldy mushrooms or stale bread. But t'was me Da' who taught me how tae cook."
 
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