CHAPTER SEVEN
Cian froze his ballocks off despite all the furs strapped to his body. If John had included a new pair of denims in his supplies, he vowed he would never leave Balnacoorie without them again, in the winter months. With the wind howling around him and tugging his great kilt in every direction, it was nigh impossible to keep his nethers covered. But thankfully, he was nearly home.
He’d lingered too long at John’s. He should have heeded the warning sooner. Had he truly believed such a bright blue sky could turn so cruel so fast, he would have flown back to his mountain, his sled flying behind him.
But he’d doubted. And he’d paid for it. Now he prayed to God that everything frozen would thaw.
He’d been careful to keep to the tree line he knew, hugging tight to Abernethy Forest like it was his mother, and he, a child afraid of being lost. Now, he had but one more hillock to climb and his day of poor luck would be behind him.
If that time traveler had come for him, he wouldn’t have risked such a storm to hunt him down. Surely. But why come for him at all, after so many years? Had Cian made some new mistake that gave his location away?
Impossible. He’d done nothing different.
He certainly hadn’t expected a pair of auld women to risk their bones to find Balnacoorie, even if they knew where the settlement had once stood. If they’d wished to speak to him, they would have waited for him at the armory.
Nothing to worry over, then. His home was as safe as…
He smelled woodsmoke and his heart dropped. Fire blossomed in his blood and sent him running the rest of the way up the hill. The storm raged on, blowing from all directions. The smell might have come from leagues away?—
But it hadn’t.
White trails snaked their way down the old house road and into the glen. The sight of it would have made him turn back had he not worn himself ragged fighting the wind and taking the safest route. There was nothing for it but to go home and face the devil.
He paused while anger and frustration filled his chest and bellowed out of him. Then he ran full out.
Let the devil hear him coming…and tremble.
I shot straight upon the bed. I didn’t know what sort of animals Scotland had roaming around its mountains, but that was not a fox. Not a wolf, not even a bear. That roar had to have come from something much bigger. A cross between an elk and a lion, maybe.
And it was close.
I had to remind myself that dragons weren’t real, even in that fanciful country that claimed a unicorn for its official animal.
I couldn’t see anything from the window beside me, but I quickly pulled the little curtains shut, if only to keep somethingelse from looking in. Then I hopped off the bed and looked out the smaller square of glass beside the door. From there, I could see straight down the road to where the row of houses ended.
A massive beast—or man—ran toward me, followed by something smaller nipping at its heels.
“What in the hell?”
I stopped breathing. They were headed straight for the bothy!
Holy shit. I need a weapon. I need a weapon.
I scanned the room. Nothing. The tools on the far wall were too far away. A lightweight ski pole wouldn’t scare anyone. Neither would a glove or a boot.
I snatched up one of my leg gaiters, lunged for the stove, and used it to open the hot door. A long stick of wood was only half burned, so I pulled it out, made sure it wasn’t going to fall apart, then used the gaiter like a hot pad to hold it up. More coal than flame, but I didn’t care. I had nothing else.
Twenty feet from the door, the man roared again and didn’t stop. Definitely a man. And he was pissed. The leather latch easily popped open for him and the door flew wide.
The roaring stopped. The furry creature had to duck low to step inside. The only proof he was a man and not some Scottish version of a Yeti was the visible strip of skin on his face that showed his furious eyes and his nose. The rest was all hair and fur, and ice and snow—except for an exposed thigh and knee, both of which were red from the cold.
“Where are your pants?”
His fury turned to confusion. “Wha?—”
“I said, where are your pants?” I lifted a finger to point, then thought better of it.
He started to look down, then shook his head and pointed a fur mitten at the stick in my hand. “What do ye intend tay do with tha’?” At least that’s what it sounded like. He might havebeen speaking another language and announcing he was going to feed me to the vicious animal that had been chasing him.
