"That was bloody beautiful," Ian breathed, looking at her in a way that made her feel shivery. "So delicate and simple, yet so awesome." He took her hand, and Moira loved the feel of his warmth, their fingers intertwining. His hand was larger than hers, which made her feel better, because in fact Ian was only the same height she was.
I'm holding hands with Ian Delaney, Moira thought, letting happiness wash over her.
"I'm impressed, Moira of Belwicket," he said quietly, looking at her. "You are your mother's daughter."
2. Morgan
"Thank you for coming." A man with a weathered face and brown hair gone mostly gray stepped forward and took one of Morgan's hands in his.
"Hello," she said quietly, giving him a smile. Automatically Morgan sent out waves of reassurance and calm, trying to soothe nerves stretched taut by fear and worry. Since she'd lost her husband, Colm, six months ago, it had been a struggle to continue her work without her emotions interfering. But she needed the salary from the New Charter to support herself and her daughter, and also, she needed the relief from her own sadness that came from helping others. Luckily Morgan had been honing her skills as a healer for years now, and the routine of easing someone's concern was second nature.
"You must be Andrew Moffitt," she said. She was in the county hospital in Youghal, a town not far from where she lived, right outside of Cobh, Ireland. The Moffitts' daughter was in the last bed in a long, old-fashioned ward that housed eight patients. "Aye," he said with a quick bob of his head. "And this is my missus, Irene."