“I’ve never seen you cry,” he said softly. “Not even after I took you from your home. You’ve been worried about her, I can see. I don’t doubt it.” But he didn’t understand everything. He didn’t know how she felt about him. “Thank you,” she managed, mangling the words. Her nose was starting to run, which mortified her. Unable to bear it, she clutched the front of his tunic and pulled herself against him, resting her forehead on his chest to hide her face, her feelings. He stood there awkwardly a moment, then patted her back soothingly. “It’s all right, lass. It’ll be all right. Go to Westmarch
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Yes, and her outward aplomb makes it difficult to see the evidence of that strain. Its a mark of her trust in him that she allowed him to see it.
