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Brona sings softly to herself as she takes the washing down from the clothesline, smiling as she presses the sun-warmed sheet to her face before folding it and placing it in the basket.
She never fancied herself a country girl, something she reminded Ethan of several times on the ride north, but they’ve scarcely been here a month and she can’t imagine ever moving back to London; back to the demons and the shadows and the snakes.
"You hungry?"
His voice startles her and she turns with a gasp, the stocking in her hand hitting him square on the nose.
"Always am, aren’t I?"
He retrieves the sock from the grass and drops it in the basket before lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, nipping where her shoulder meets her neck. She laughs the only way she knows how, deep and from the belly, and though she braces herself for a lung-rattling cough it doesn’t come.
He was right — the country air has done her good.
Once her feet are on solid ground she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, grinning against his lips.
He’s found work at the gunsmith’s in town, a job he walks to and from, always picking up a case of lager on the way home. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night and he’s not there, but he’s always back by morning, stark naked and snoring loudly with hardened mud beneath his fingernails.
But she doesn’t mind. Everyone has their sins at their back and she hopes, one day, with her help, he can turn around.
"Made you lunch," he says, grabbing her hips and squeezing. "Gotta put some meat on these bones."
"Plenty of time for that, my lad," she says, smoothing his hair out of his face. "But first there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss." He raises his brows in question. "We’re building a new life here, you and me — fresh beginning and all that — so I reckon it’s time to give meself a new name."
"And what do you have in mind?"
"Sonas."
"What does it mean?"
She just smiles.