The healer's hands were gentle but unflinching. He listened, pressed, counted, then sat back on his heels with the calm of a man who preferred truth to comfort.
“Well?" Isabella asked, fists knotted in her skirt.
Rajit smiled, young and careful. “Your belly tells the story without me. Congratulations."
Nancy clapped a hand over her mouth and squeaked. “I knew it. I knew it the minute you looked at bread like it owed you an apology."
Isabella exhaled so fast she swayed. Rajit steadied her elbow.
“Sit," he said. “You'll tire if you celebrate standing."
Isabella glanced toward the door. “Aaron—"
“I'm here," he said from the threshold, rain on his shoulders and hope he hadn't dared name on his face. He crossed the room in three steps. “You're sure?"
“I'm sure," Rajit said. “The signs a
