Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Cian awoke in the night, shivering. He stoked the coals and added a fat log he trusted to last until the sun rose. Until he noted how loud the wood hissed and popped, he hadn’t realized that the roar of the storm had dulled.
He was far too weary to go check on his unwanted visitor, however, and was content to wait until the morning to discover if she had run off. By the time the stable grew warm again, he was already asleep.
When next he woke, the sun was still an hour away, but close enough to stir the storm back to life. Worst storm he could remember, this one. His dreams were loath to release him. Even awake, he saw the woman’s face when he’d pushed through the door. Terrified. Confused. Then, “Where’s your pants?”
He remembered the tracks her tears had made on her face. The fear. The way she’d trembled just before her faint.
Still half-asleep, he tried to see himself through her eyes. No doubt he resembled a large beast, what with all his furs covered in snow and ice, not to mention the fact that he couldn’t remember in what month he might have shaved his chin last.
Summer, surely.
But which summer?
He blessed John MacEachern a dozen times as he picked through the treasures his friend had included with his supplies.
A fresh sharp razor, a brush for his teeth, a blessed pair of the denim trousers.
There were more of the delicate short pants, and a new warm shirt made of that soft stuff called flannel.
But this one had extra layers that were stitched together like a quilt.
He nearly forgot his intruder whilst he gathered snow in two buckets and stirred his coals to melt it.
He hung his furs, stripped off his kilt and longshirt, and enjoyed a tepid bucket-bath with a fresh bar of the pungent Irish soap.
He trimmed his hair with the razor, then sorely abused its edge when removing the hair from his face.
With no reflection to aid him, he was pleased he only made himself bleed twice, and not badly.
After washing his head in the second, warmer bucket, he tied his hair back, mashed his kilt and longshirt into a wad, and washed them in the still-warm water. Draping them along an ancient stall, he reckoned they would dry eventually, when the storm passed.
The coals didn’t last long, so he rushed to clothe himself before the stable became an icy torture chamber once more. He donned his new underthings, as John had taught him, which would extend the cleanliness of his outer garments.
The previous evening, while the lass had slept like the dead, he’d loaded a few things onto the sled and brought the whole of it with him to the stable.
Among them were his house boots, which he slipped into.
The fur—covered boots he wore in the snow were best kept out of the house, due to their smell.
The sun had risen enough to turn the snow a pale shade of blue. Between the stable and the house, it was two hands deeper than it had been the night before. The wind might have rested, but the clouds had gone nowhere.
Following in the relative path he’d taken before, he hopped quickly to the front of the house.
After he knocked the white stuff from his precious footwear, he lifted the latch and stepped inside.
Since the woman’s form lay in the same position as when he’d left her, he closed the door quickly lest the wind wake her.
Though he was relieved she hadn’t run, it was too soon to know if her choice had been wise or not. But when he turned his back to the door, he knew instantly.
She should have fled.
If he allowed her to live the day, it would be a miracle.
I breathed the smell of coffee deep into my lungs, and the hope that it was real brought me instantly awake.
Sadly, I wasn’t back at my hotel. I was still in the house with the shaggy roof, in the hidden armpit of a tall mountain.
And that stupid wind still blew its guts out.
Was it stuck in the little glen like I was?
Maybe I would have to hike a mile or two to finally get away from it.
I pushed the blanket away from my face to look for my skis. They had been next to the door, but they weren’t there now. And I still smelled coffee!
I sat up so fast I made my head hurt, and I winced. Between my scrunched eyelids, I saw that I was no longer alone. A man stood at the stove, stirring something that sizzled. Bacon. Maybe ham. But through it all, the smell of coffee reigned supreme.
With his back to me, I only knew he was tall—his head was much nearer to the shaggy ceiling than mine ever got. He wore a loose, green and blue flannel shirt tucked into a belted pair of jeans.
Flannel?
Jeans!
If I had my phone, and had service, I would ask it what year jeans were invented. But I knew it couldn’t have been more than a hundred years ago. Still, a hundred years…
Wait! When was coffee—no. Coffee had been around a long time too. But the jeans told me I hadn’t been taken back to the 17th century, when the bothy had belonged to Hannah.
I’d torn the place apart in the night and found nothing at all that could have come from a 21st century store.
Not so much as a piece of plastic. Either Yeti-man, or this guy, were seriously into living off the grid, or I had skied through some sort of worm hole.
Black hole? How about a time hole made of snow.
“I bet it was that stupid blue light.”
The guy turned around and I realized I’d spoken out loud.
I forced a smile. “Hey.” Gave a little wave.
Friendly. Embarrassed. I was the intruder here.
“Sorry to just show up like this. I got stuck in the storm and I was about ready to give up when I found this place. I didn’t know it belonged to someone.
And last night, I was so delusional, I thought maybe I’d somehow traveled through time—oh my gosh!
Are those Offroaders? You’re wearing Uggs? !”
I twisted and fought my way out of my cocoon, then flew off the bed and sort of landed at the guy’s feet.
“Don’t freak out, but I’m going to kiss your boots.”
He dragged his feet away, then took two steps back. “Ye’ll do no such thing!” Then he said something I couldn’t understand at all, but growling and spitting were involved.
I shook my head, laughing, then looked up at his face.
“You don’t understand. I really thought I had slipped, somehow, into another century!
Either that, or I’d lost my mind.” I gestured around the room.
“I combed through every little scrap of paper, every piece of dust, trying to prove—uh oh.” I swallowed hard. “You…you cleaned up.”
“Auch, aye. Ye left nothin’ unturned, did ye?”
“I’m sorry. I was going to put everything back where I got it, but…I got cold. And then I got tired. I planned to do it in the morning before whatshisname came back—”
“What’s his?”
“Yeti-man. He said this house is his. Your brother, maybe?”
He straightened and cocked his jaw, then smiled. “I see. Come, now.” He went to the chair and pulled it away from the table. “Just sit here and I’ll serve ye some breakfast. And ye can tell me all about m’ brother, aye?”
I got off the floor and sat at the table. “Your coffee smells like heaven.”
“Grand, grand.”
I turned and looked at the shelves that I’d emptied. The books were all back in place, but the little wooden boxes, with their little trinkets safely inside them again, had been placed on top of the shelves, up against the ceiling, where I might not be able to reach them again.
I chuckled. “I see you’ve child-proofed the place.
” I pointed to the pretty boxes and turned to see if he got the joke…
just as a rope dropped over me and tightened around my shoulders.
He pinned me to the chair, and when I lifted my hands to push the rope off, he grabbed both my hands, pulled them behind me, and had my wrists tied together so fast, I wondered if Scotland might hold professional rodeos.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Easy lass. Try to remember that it will be nigh impossible to eat or drink if I am driven to gag yer mooth.”
“A gag? Are you crazy—” I gasped when a cloth dangled in front of my face and slid along my cheek. I understood and shut up for as long as I could. After he returned to the stovetop and resumed his stirring, I had to ask. “Do I want to know why I’m tied up?”
“I shall allow ye to decide.”
“I…I do. I want to know.”
“Weel, I have questions. And I’ll not allow ye to run off until I have m’ answers. If ye intend to keep secrets from me, ye’ll wish ye hadnae.”
“Secrets? Buddy, I don’t know you. And if you knew me, you’d know that I have no secrets other than recipes, and if you’re after those, you can have them.”
“Recipes? Spells, ye mean?”
“Spells?” I laughed and choked at the same time, and the combination sounded like I was going to puke.
He shot a worried look in my direction, then went back to cooking and pulled long strips of ham out of the pan and onto two plates. When he opened the small cabinet, I froze. He’d see that someone had been eating his bread.
Sure enough, he turned with the small, quarter loaf in his hand, then scowled at me.
“Fine. Don’t blame your brother. It was me. I was starving. So sue me.”
His scowl eased into a simple frown. “Interesting. With the chance to fault another, ye accept the blame. Ye may yet live to see yer friends again, after all.”
He couldn’t know what a punch in the gut that was. I couldn’t think of a single friend I wanted to see again.
“I’d rather not, thanks,” I said under my breath. “I’d rather stay with the Yeti Brothers.”