Elena opened her mouth to expel the breath she’d been holding.
Jacob appeared in the faintest gray shimmer, a bundled mass hanging from one hand. He entered with the sort of deliberate caution, as if waiting for his eyes to adjust.
“Elena,” he said, seeming to stare directly at her.
She nodded and stepped forward.
He paused, surveying her in a single glance, a frown settling between his brows. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye,” she said at once, a wee bit breathless. “Mayhap next time, announce yourself,” she suggested, pressing her palm against her chest where her heart still hammered beneath her ribs.
“Aye.” He shifted his weight briefly before glancing around to survey again their surroundings. “I’ll get the fire going. Sorry, I should have seen to that ere I went out.”
He worked quickly, selecting a place where the cave's natural draft would draw smoke upward. After arranging some scattered stones in a tight circle, he vanished briefly, his voice echoing back that he was just fetching kindling. True to his word, he reappeared moments later, arms laden with brittle twigs and dried pine needles. Soon after, the steel of his flint struck true against stone, and soon a hesitant flame licked at the darkness. The fire was modest and well-contained, throwing just enough light to soften the shadows and push back the chill.
Elena hovered, feeling a bit useless and then sat, crossing her legs beneath her, in front of the fire. Only then did he step back toward her.
“Rabbit,” he explained when he drew that limp critter forward, answering the question she had not yet asked. “I skinned it outside. I kent ye might prefer nae to have blood about the place.”
The consideration caught her off guard. “I thank ye.”
He gave a brief nod, already turning back to his work, setting the meat to cook over the small fire. The cave changed as the minutes passed—dark stone taking on a gentler cast in the firelight, the quiet becoming companionable rather than threatening. Outside, night fully claimed the mountain, but within the cave there was warmth now, and soon food, and thesteady presence of the man who had proven capable of filling every need.
They ate close to the fire, the small blaze throwing uneven light across the stone and catching in the planes of Jacob’s face. He had portioned the meat simply, handing her the better cut without comment and settling back on his heels to eat what remained. For a time, there was only the quiet crackle of flame and the sound of them chewing, the mountain holding its breath around them.
“This,” Elena said at last, glancing at the rabbit in her hands, “should be recorded as the first time I’ve ever dined over an open fire.”
Jacob shot her a look from beneath his brow, his surprise evident. Reality dawned fairly quickly, though and his expression eased. “Aye, I imagine there has never been a need.”
She nodded, delicately plucking more meat away from the bone. “Save to visit Blackwood—and ye were rudely away the last time—I’ve never traveled farther than a day would take me.”
“War is rude, is it nae?” He asked, the suggestion of a grin twitching his lips.
“It is. But that must seem strange to ye,” she said, “to someone who’s likely been all over Scotland—mayhap parts of England as well?” It struck her, then, how little she’d ever seen for herself, how narrow her world truly was—Wolvesly, the village, Blackwood on two occasions, and only now, Strathfinnan.
Jacob’s eyes lingered on her, the firelight painting new shadows over his rugged face.
“Hm,” he said, taking another bite. “Thousands of miles, I must have traveled by now. I can only imagine the miles our fathers have known.”
Recalling how her father had so many times said how much he longed for Wolvesly when he was gone from it, Elena asked Jacob, “Do ye long for Blackwood when ye are gone?”
As he so often did, Jacob gave thought to his response, the answer slow in coming. “I miss Mam, of course, but more often than nae, certainly in the last few years, David and Malcolm and I campaign together, always with our father. But home? Blackwood?” He shrugged and stared into the small flames for a moment before saying, “I ken that ye can miss a place terribly and still ken that ye’re nae meant for it.”
His words left her momentarily speechless.
“Ye dinna feel ye belong to Blackwood?” She leaned forward, firelight catching in her eyes. “How can that be? Is home nae where ye long to return?" The notion that someone might not yearn for the home in which they were raised seemed utterly foreign to her.
Jacob merely shrugged again, his face half-shadowed as he offered a noncommittal "Mayhap." He sucked the last morsel from a bone before flicking it into the flames, then fixed her with a steady gaze. "What of yerself? Ye speak of Wolvesly as if it's yer very heart, yet ye're to marry Hamilton and make yer life in the Lowlands."
A dry laugh escaped her lips. "I've asked myself that very same question. I've concluded I must simply learn to be content, and—" she hesitated, wiping her fingers in the hem of her skirts, for lack of another way to clean them, "—I've told myself that bearing children would give me purpose enough to ease the ache of displacement." She grinned with a wee bit of humor. “Also, I’ve begged my mother to consider moving south.”
Jacob harrumphed a laugh, knowing as well as Elena how firmly her mother’s heart was joined to Wolvesly.
When Elena met his gaze, she found herself caught in his quiet scrutiny—as though he were piecing together apuzzle whose solution eluded him, and was made slightly uncomfortable, though she could not say why. She blinked and dropped her eyes to the fire between them.
Eventually, he turned his attention back to the fire as well, poking at it more than necessary.
“Strathfinnan will be in an uproar by now,” she guessed after a while.
