Impossible. Her skis stood behind the door. She’d left her gloves, her pack of various things he hadn’t asked about. She wouldn’t head back into the weather this late in the evening. And if she’d been that foolish, she would have filled her stomach one last time, surely.
He couldn’t claim she was the most reasonable of women, but most of her miseries could be laid at the feet of her idiot husband!
Her husband!
Had the man come looking and found her? Had she allowed someone to lead her away to keep from exposing Cian to the world?
Surely not. She had yet to understand about the dangers he avoided.
But perhaps some danger had foundher!
He snatched up his blanket and sank into his boots. The fire was safely contained behind the stove door. He only opened it a final time to light a torch. Night had yet to fall, but he could not guess how long it might take to find her.
He stomped out the door, and while he strapped on his snowshoes, he cursed himself for not worrying sooner.
A knock on the privy door received no answer. She wasnae in the stables, so he set his cap for the garden and the smokehouse beyond. Perhaps she’d found one of the other garden houses and misjudged how much time she’d been away…
But before he reached the road, he noticed the path he’d taken earlier. Though he’d come and gone the same way, the snow was disrupted more than before. And upon closer look, he found the deep imprints of Matty’s much smaller boots.
Aye, she’d gone snooping. And it appeared she had yet to return. What’s more, she had already proven she couldn’t fend well for herself in a Scottish wood!
After following only a few minutes, he was pleased she was keeping to the path he’d set. And with his snowshoes, he was able to catch up to her in little time at all. When he reached the cairn, his stomach fell to his feet—she was kneeling in the snow, head down, and still as death.
When he would have called out, the breath in his chest froze. What if she didnae answer?
He used quiet steps to move close. When the leather strap of his snowshoe creaked, the lass gasped and spun around, throwing snow in his face before truly seeing him.
“Are you crazy? You trying to scare me to death?”
“Nay.” He chuckled. “Ye cannae ken how relieved I am that ye’re unharmed.”
“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
He reached down, grabbed her elbows, and hauled her to her feet before literally beating the snow off her.
“What? What are you doing? Stop that!”
“Where are ye hurt, lass? Show me!”
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” She planted her feet and refused to turn for him. “I amfine.”
He held up his hands and took a step back. “Ye meant to frighten me in turn. I see that now.”
“Well, we’re not even, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Nay?”
“Nay.” She pointed to his gran’s headstone. “I read it. You should have told me how to spell your name.”
“What the devil? Ye’re talking oot yer head.”
“Kee-un. Spelled C. I. A. N.”
“Aye.”
“You’re Cian in the book of poetry.”
“Aye.”
