There was still pain, God knew, but he felt as though some other cold, hard thing was melting inside him and trickling slowly away. Rory blinked, startled to recognize that thing as fear. He caught Pippa's hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips, kissing them one by one.

But her fingers weren't enough. Rory bent his neck to bring his lips to hers, first in delicate brushes, then in a firmer nuzzle, then finally gaining entrance to her mouth for a kiss that blended sweetness with hunger. When he finally lifted his head he was smiling, a strangely shy smile for him, but a smile nonetheless. Resting his lips against her forehead, he breathed Is tú mo ghrá against her skin.