Chapter Twenty-Four
At the sound of the door creaking, Mari looked up from where she lay curled in a tight ball in the least-drafty corner of the cottage. All she could see in the fading light was a hulking, dark form silhouetted against a mass of whiteness, and then the form moved. She scuttled into a sitting position, not sure if it was man or beast. Did they have bears in Scotland? She tried to scream as the form rushed toward her, but it came out more like a pitiful squeak with her teeth chattering.
“Mari! Ye are alive!”
“Jamie?” And then she could say no more for his arms enveloped her, drawing her to his solid, warm strength. Mari wrapped her arms around his neck, tears streaking down her face as she burrowed into his shoulder. Jamie smelled of fresh air, damp wool and slightly of horse and leather. She didn’t think she’d ever smelled anything so good. She clung closer and cried harder.
“Easy, lass,” Jamie said, stroking her hair. “Ye will be all right.”
“I thought…I would die,” she said finally when the tears had trickled to sniffles. She raised her head to look at him. “I am…am…so…so cold.”
“’Tis because yer clothes are wet and there is nae heat,” Jamie replied, “but I will take of that.” He removed his tartan and wrapped it around her. “I have a dry one on the horse I will get ye just as soon as I build a fire.”
“There…there is some wood there,” Mari said, pulling the second plaid tightly around her. It still held Jamie’s body heat and she felt instantly better, if not exactly warm. “I could not find matches though.”
Jamie looked around and then rose to take a tinderbox down from a shelf. Opening it, he removed a piece of flint. “This will work.”
Mari watched him in fascination as he laid the wood and then struck the flint against hissgian dubh, producing sparks that ignited the twigs and dried leaves he’d stuffed between the pieces. Small flames began to lick at the edges of the logs.
“That should catch,” he said as he rose and slipped his knife back into his boot. “I will be back in a minute.”
“Where are you going?” Mari tried to keep the panic out of her voice.
“Dinnae fash. I must take care of the horse and bring the supplies in.”
“There is a lean-to in the back,” Mari said as she edged toward the fire.
“I was wondering about that,” Jamie replied. “I should have guessed.”
Mari huddled close to the slowly fanning flames when he left and said a prayer of thanks for Jamie finding her. She would never—ever—again complain about his wanting to protect her. And she would obey his orders—or, at least, she wouldconsiderobeying them. If she had listened to him the last time, she wouldn’t be here, after all.
The door opened again, bringing in a rush of cold air, threatening the small fire that was building. Mary shivered, aware that her clothing was still wet.
Jamie must have noticed it too, for he frowned as he set the saddlebags down.
“Ye are going to have to get out of those clothes, lass, before ye catch a chill.” He looked around the room. “Did the crofters leave any clothing?”
“A pair of men’s breeches and a thin chemise with a summer overdress in the trunk,” Mari answered, “but I was too cold to change.”
Jamie opened the trunk and tossed the breeches on the bed frame. As he lifted the lightweight wool dress, it fell into tatters in his hands thanks to the activity of moths. He held up the cotton chemise. “This seems to be in one piece.”
Mari stared at him. The material was so threadbare it was practically transparent. Lord in Heaven. She could not sit around in front of him wearing that, even if the situation called for desperate measures. “I cannot wear that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ye canna ride back in the morning in wet clothes either. They need to dry in front of the fire.” He handed her the chemise and then pulled a dry plaid out of one of the saddlebags. “Ye can wrap this around ye as well.”
Mari took the plaid from him and smiled uncertainly.
Jamie gave her a puzzled look and then he shook his head. “Ye will want some privacy in changing?”
Mari nodded. “If you will just step outside—”
“Nae. Every time the door opens, it cools the room.” Jamie picked up one of the other tartans and hooked a corner of it to the rod supporting the kettle and draped another end over the back of the wooden chair. “’Tis nae as tall as a screen, but ye can change behind it. I will nae watch.”
Strangely enough, she believed him. Why had she not trusted him before? She moved behind the makeshift curtain. Thankfully, all the buttons of the riding habit’s jacket and shirt opened to the front so she did not need assistance. The thought of Jamie acting the maid almost made her laugh, and then a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room swept over her as she imagined him helping her get her clothes off. Lud!
Quickly, she slipped the chemise over her head. As thin as the material was, it would do little to warm her, but it would keep the wool tartan from scratching her skin. She wrapped the plaid around her, thankful it was dry. Looking down to make sure she was properly covered, she emerged from behind the curtain, holding her wet things.
And then nearly dropped them.
