She whirled around to meet him, holding the letter between her back and the wall.

“Simon Ballentyne,” she said severely. “Why is it you don't want me to read this letter for myself? Did you leave something out?”

That stopped him. A thoughtful look came over his face, and then resignation.

“Suit yourself, then,” he said, holding up both hands as he backed away.

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. “This isn't a trick? You'll let me read it.”

“I see no help for it,” Simon said. “If not now, you'll read it later when you're home.”

Lily considered him for a moment, consumed by curiosity and vaguely concerned too. What could Jennet have written to put him in this state? She thought of her brother, and tried to remember when she had last seen him look as Simon was looking now.

“Is it some story from home?” she said. “Something you did as a boy she's teasing you about?”

His mouth contorted. “Just read the letter, Lily, and have done with it.”

“I'll burn it, if you like. Just ask me and I'll put it in the oven. If it's that important to you.”

That took him by surprise. He started to say something and stopped himself. Then he ran both hands through his hair and shook his head.

“Read it.”

The paper was crumpled from mistreatment and the ink had run a little, but Lily's eyes ran down the page quickly.

“Today a dozen fat pigs . . . soldiers-at-arms . . . lovely broad Scots . . . drenched each and every one of them . . . Stoker . . . muskets . . . stampeded . . . rosy pink rumps bobbing their way toward Halifax.”

She glanced at Simon, who was looking at her evenly, as a soldier might look at an officer who was considering an appropriate punishment for some foolish prank.

“Finish it,” he said.

Aloud Lily read, “‘And all the while the cook shouted crossly for his grumfies, as if they were naught but playful children sure to come home for tea once they had had their fun.

“‘The best part is this: the prisoners had been set to wood-chopping nearby and thus saw it all, from muddy beginning to watery end. It was aye good to see them laugh. Yours aye, Cousin Jennet.'”

Lily paused, and read it again. She glanced at Simon and at the letter and then into the shadows at the far end of the room.

Simon blinked at her, his expression wary. Lily read the last two paragraphs once more, and then she saw it.

“Ah,” she said. “The grumfies. That's it, isn't it. You never did tell me what the word meant.”

She gave him a small smile, a bit brittle.

“So you called me a pig, is that it? And you were hoping I wouldn't find out, or I'd forget.”

A small explosion of air came from his mouth. “I did no such thing. I said—”

“You said I squealed like a grumfie.”

He shoulders slumped. “Aye. It was an unfortunate turn of phrase.”

“Unfortunate.” Lily turned her back on him, not out of anger, but because she did not want to laugh, just yet. His expression was a odd mixture of regret and irritation and disgust; she could not look at him for long and keep a straight face.

“Unfortunate indeed,” she echoed, trying for her mother's most disapproving tone.

Behind her he was silent. “I've apologized, and I'll do it as many times as you like.”

“For calling me a pig.”

She heard him shift, and when he spoke again, there was some new tension in his voice. “I didnae call ye a pig.”

Lily went to the window. The last of the light was gone, but the moon was rising bright enough to throw a shadow.

“Lily,” he said, closer now. “Be fair.”

“Fair,” she said. “What would you consider fair?”

Another longer silence, and she turned.

“Clearly you knew I must be offended, or you would have told me then what it meant.”

His mouth worked, the muscles in his jaws knotting and popping. “Aye.”

“Let me ask you a question, Simon, and I want an honest answer.”

He glanced down at her along the slope of his nose, and nodded.

“What kind of silly, childish, nonsensical person do you take me for?”

His brow creased. She poked him hard with one finger and he took a step backward.

“Did you think that I was wrapped in silk as a girl, here on the frontier?” She poked him again, harder, and followed him as he stepped backward.

“I—”

“You thought I'd faint away.”

This time he stepped before she could poke.

“I thought you'd take offense.”

She snorted at him. “Because you called me a pig?”

Now he flushed, and his voice rose. “I didnae call ye a pig!”

“A grumfie then.”

He grabbed her by the arms and lowered his face so that they were nose to nose. “I didna call ye a grumfie. I said ye squealed like a grumfie. Which ye did.”

All Lily's self-control left her then, and she laughed. Right in his flushed face, she laughed, and then when his lips began to jerk, she laughed louder, and finally he laughed too, and then he kissed her.

With a great sigh of satisfaction Lily wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for a good long time.

Finally he said, “I give in.”

Lily smiled against his mouth. “What ever do you mean?”

He pulled her tight against him so that she could not miss his intention. “I give in.”