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 whitestuff 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 breathedthe 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 17thcentury, 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 21stcentury 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?!”
