“Nay, I am fine.” Marianna pushed back the hood of her cloak and brushed off her skirts. “I am fine now that Evander is safe inside.” Another loud hiccupping gulp made her catch a hand to her chest. “Oh dear, forgive me.”
Mistress Hanna beamed with a smile that lit the whole room. “Let us all warm ourselves and enjoy each other’s company then.” She waved them forward. “Come, gather close to the fire. It has been so long since Gabriel and I had a good visit with anybody.”
“I must fetch the wood inside.” Evander turned back to the door, then stopped when he noticed a large pile of dry logs neatly stacked beside it.
The sight of the firewood pushed Marianna back a step. Overtaken by a fit of coughing, she thumped her chest, choking on pure surprise. She had used the last of the wood, fed it to the cheery fire now crackling in the hearth. She was certain of it.
“Mejjy?” He took hold of her and led her to the pallet. “Sit ye down. Has the ague grabbed a hold on ye, lass?”
Standing slightly behind Evander, Mistress Hanna arched a brow and made the barest shake of her head.
Who on earth was this woman? A witch, perhaps? Gabriel rubbed back and forth against her skirts, rumbling with a loud purring as though trying to shush her.
She shuddered in a deep breath and managed a smile. “Nay, I am quite fine. I promise. The shock of the cold must’ha hit me with a coughing spell.”
“Are ye certain?” He knelt in front of her with worry darkening the richness of his brown eyes. The concerned tip of his head and caring in his voice made her want to wail all over again.
Instead, she cleared her throat and patted her chest. “Aye, I am well. Promise.” She held tight to his hand, knowing she shouldn’t. She had already gravely erred by showing how much she worried after him. “I should check supper,” she said, releasing him as she rose from the pallet.
With a subdued nod, he stepped back, shed his coat, and hung it on a peg by the door. He drew closer to the fire, holding his hands toward the warmth. “The stew smells finer than fine, Mejj-Marianna.”
The fact that he had almost used the pet name again, then corrected himself, didn’t escape her. She hadn’t minded when he used it outside even though she had told him not to. But now, hearing him stop himself in accordance with her wishes made her heart hurt. She prayed for the wisdom and strength to get through this.
“It does smell wondrous,” the smiling crone added as if to nudge Marianna from her inner torment.
She shook herself free of her thoughts and said, “We shall see.” Hopefully, the salted meat wouldn’t be so strong as to gag them all. Testing a chunk of carrot with her knife, she smiled. “Verra soon. By the time I finish the fried bread, ’twill be done.”
“Fried bread?” Mistress Hanna repeated. “Did ye hear that, Gabriel? How long has it been since we were treated to fried bread?”
The sleek black cat flipped its tail with a hard flop, then licked his paw and smoothed his whiskers, as though tidying himself up for the meal.
Instead of sitting, Evander rummaged through the pockets of his heavy coat, found a flask, and grinned. His straight white teeth shone like pearls in his windburned face. “The MacCoinnich sent two of these for the MacGougans, but I reckon they can do with the one ’til I can get them more. I’ll fetch them a whole keg come spring.”
“Whisky?” Marianna wrinkled her nose. She had never been much for the stronger spirits.
“Find a cup and fill it with snow to water it down.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Ye’re still cold as can be, and yer fingers are redder than my hair. Come—uisge beathawill do ye good. Get yer blood moving.”
“And a cup for me,” Mistress Hanna said with a mischievous wink. “I may be ancient, but I’m nay dead.”
Spirits lifted in spite of herself, Marianna sorted through the chaos piled in the corners and found three cups that looked solid enough not to leak. She went to the door and scooped snow into two of them, then returned and held them out. “Fill them, fine sir.”
“Yer wish is my command, m’lady.” Evander drizzled the golden water of life into the two cups of snow.
Mistress Hanna rose, accepted hers, and held it high. “A toast, I say!”
Evander finished pouring his own, propped the flask against the bundles of pine on the mantel, then clinked his glass against hers. “What shall we toast, Mistress Hanna?”
The old woman cut her eyes over at Marianna as she touched her cup to the other two. “Marianna?”
“To the joy in each day,” Marianna said without hesitation. Why she said it, she didn’t know. All she knew was the words sprang to mind, demanding to be spoken. “And to charity,” she added.
“Slàinte mhath!” Mistress Hanna bellowed louder than any man. “And a merry Yuletide to all!”
“Slàinte mhath!” Evander and Marianna echoed.
As the watered-down whisky warmed her, Marianna felt an easing of the knot that had ached in her chest ever since the day Ellen had introduced her to Evander’s son. The situation warranted hating, but she finally realized that the hating was eating her in two. She had to move past it. Somehow. Someway.
She held out her cup. “Another!”
