Chapter Four #2
Waking in the night, Evan pulled aside the curtain. The fire had lessened to glowing beads, tracing threads of light over the girl where she lay curled in the plaid. Her face looked peaceful, innocent. He hesitated to wake her, but the bitter cold hanging heavy in the air concerned him.
Easing out of the threadbare blanket, wincing at stiff muscles, he went to the small square window by the door, pushing aside its burlap curtain.
Through thin mottled glass, he could see snow blanketing the slopes that fell away from the patch of ground where the hut sat.
He went to the fireside. Time for him to take a turn on the floor while the girl took the sheltered bed.
He crouched beside her, touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open. “Miss MacConn. Are you too cold?”
“I am—fine,” she said, but her hoarse whisper belied it. Though she spoke in English, he could hear the patterns and cadence of her native Gaelic. The soft lilt reminded him of the kind people he had known in his childhood here. He sighed.
“Not cold? Your lips look blue. Come take the bed.”
“I will not. But I am glad to see you are awake and thriving,” she added, fists under her chin, wrapping the plaid around her like a cocoon.
“The fire is low and it is cold as the devil in here. Take the bed. I will lie here.”
“Then you might freeze. I am—comfortable. I am a hearty girl.”
A charming lie told for his benefit. He shook his head. “Then consider this. Are you familiar with the custom of bundling?”
“Of course. An old Highland custom, but no one does that anymore. We are more modern than you think, Mr. Lowland Mackenzie.”
She closed her eyes as if to dismiss him, but he saw a tiny shiver go through her. And he was about to shiver too. The bed was less drafty, at least.
“Then you never bundled with your own young man?”
“I have no young man. No one has courted me.”
He raised a brow. “I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugged, pulled the blanket higher. “I am the Plain Girl.”
“The what?”
She laughed softly. In the low golden light, a dimple appeared, vanished. “Plain Girl. It is another custom. I am the youngest of my siblings, and so I am what they call the Plain Girl. The one who stays home to care for the household and the parents as they age. Plain Girls do not always marry.”
“You agreed to this?”
“It was just—assumed. My mother died when I was young, and my sisters married and moved out of the glen. My older brother died too. I care for my father and my younger brother.”
In her eyes, he saw a little spark of defiance. He wondered if she had truly accepted that fate. “I see,” he said. But he did not understand it.
“I have never bundled with a lad. But there are not many lads left to court a lass in the glen now, because of—” She paused, shivered.
“The clearings?”
“The greed of the Earl of Kildonan.”
He exhaled sharply. “I see. So Plain Girls never wed?”
She sat up, dropping the plaid away, reaching for the poker.
She prodded the low-burning peats, which smoked, nearly caught, faded, glowed again.
“Sometimes they wed, after their parents are gone. Or they stay spinsters, no husband, no bairns. Some are quite content, for they have their work—weaving, gardening, writing, and whatever they want. It is a good life.” She shrugged.
“And you? What will you do?”
She shrugged again, poking at the fire. “I have something that I do, that I love, and I will do that. But it’s true I’m plain, and I know it. I’m called Catriona Mhòr.”
He knew enough Gaelic for that. “Big Catriona?”
“I’m taller than my father and my sisters and brothers, but for one. Father says I’m strong as an ox. My aunt says I am built for hard work like a man.”
He decided he did not much like the aunt or the father.
He watched as the hearth’s glow brightened her hair to the color of flame.
He studied the lush curves of her body, the sweet blush of her cheek, the sky-blue clarity of her eyes in firelight.
His body surged, and even more, he felt his heart warm, widen.
He liked this girl, felt drawn, comfortable, intrigued. But he did not much like what she had been told about herself, or what she believed of herself.
“You are tall, but so is my sister, and no one calls her plain. You should be called…Catriona Bhàn,” he murmured. The word came from somewhere, some memory. He drew out the whispery “vhan” sound of the Gaelic word. “Fair Catriona.”
She huffed, smiled. “That’s kind, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“And I would be honored to bundle with you,” he said.
“Huh,” she said, and kept turned away. “We should not, and you know it.”
“Catriona Bhàn, look at me.” She half turned, and he nodded. “Just as I thought. Your lips are still blue. Come to the box bed. Bring your plaidie for a barrier. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” She regarded him warily. “Are you the wolf in this story, sir?”
He laughed ruefully. “I am no wolf. Nor are you an ox! We are both cold, aye. And I have snow in my hair.” He brushed at it. “No one will know but us, and we will not tell.”
She sighed. The glance she gave the box bed was filled with longing. “Very well.”
He waited until she settled in the bed, then gingerly sat on its edge. It held a little warmth yet from when he had lain there. Deftly she arranged the old blanket, sliding under it, then tucked her plaid along her side, leaving some to cover herself.
Lifting the outer part of both blankets, she waited, watching him.
Evan slid into the bed, pulling the covers up around him.
He lay back awkwardly, his legs too long for the boxed frame.
So were hers, and their bent knees knocked together, softened by folds of plaid between them.
He drew the curtain shut. The low firelight filtered through the open weave in glowing filaments.
“This is—interesting.” He shifted, tugged, tried to get comfortable.
“Keep your arms inside. Bundling rules.”
He slipped his arms under the material. “I promise to behave. You too.”
“I will.” He heard laughter in her whisper.
He lay on his back, raised his knees. “Comfortable?”
“Not really.”
“Neither am I. How did anyone sleep in these beds?” He squirmed about.
“They sat up instead of lying down, as we are used to doing in beds. That was how they managed. Parents and children, probably cats and dogs, all sleeping together.”
“Good heavens. But at least it was warm.”
“And better than lying on cold earth in front of the little hearth.”
He wondered how those folks managed to have children, but this was hardly the time to bring it up. “And better than spending the night on a rocky ledge in the snow.” He blew out a breath. “You saved my life, Miss MacConn. I will not forget it.”
“I am just glad I nearly fell over you on my way home.”
“So am I.”