As Peter stepped even closer, I held out my hand. “How old are you, Peter?”
“Fifteen,” Peter said, “nearly sixteen, and I am big for my age.”
“I am far older than you, Peter,” I said, as kindly as I could.
“Yes, but you kissed me,” Peter said.
“I did,” I agreed. “I kissed you to thank you, as I would kiss my brother.”
“Kiss me again,” Peter said.
“Do you want to be my friend?” I asked.
Peter nodded.
“Then make yourself useful.” I made my voice as businesslike as I could. “Mrs Lunan asked me to place a rowan branch above the byre door to protect the beasts from witches, but I don’t like heights.”
“I’ll do it for you!” Peter brightened at once as the genuinely decent boy emerging from the masculine image.
“Thank you, Peter,” I said, favouring him with a smile.
“It’s not to keep wi
