Chapter Eleven
Midmorning, when Ivy was packing a basket of food for Larkspur, Hazel ducked her head in through the open door. “Mother’s here,” she said, before disappearing again.
Ivy limped hastily across the room. Yes, Maythorn was coming across the meadow, holding up her skirts, running, her hair as bright as gold in the sunlight. Behind her strolled her new husband, Ren Blacksmith, with his six-year-old son on his shoulders.
Ivy stood on the doorstep and watched Hazel run to meet their mother, watched them embrace. She heard Maythorn’s laughter, a joyous sound, and then Maythorn released Hazel and picked up her skirts and ran again. “Ivy, love!”
Ivy hobbled down from the doorstep to meet her. Maythorn hugged her fiercely, laughing and crying. Ivy hugged her back. Mother. But Mayth
