by L. L. Muir
She hadn’t forgotten her offer to feed him, after all! He’d not been mortal long enough to earn a meal, but since he’d surely arrived with an empty stomach, he’d be grateful and then some.
He was tempted to open the book again, but eager to be of service, so he called to her. “Shall I add wood to the stove, then?”
“Yes, please. But use the hot pad. Don’t burn yourself.”
Chamber music floated out of the kitchen, switched on in the middle of a Beethoven sonata, which precluded conversation. So he tossed a heavy bit of wood into the belly of the stove and went back to his book. When he opened the cover, he considered it lucky that novels were copied hundreds of times so that the best of them could be preserved—it was obvious the book he held wouldn’t hold up to much handling what with the cover made of mere paper.
Time passed rather pleasantly while music and aromas danced around him and the storm raged against all sides of the cottage, reminding him to be grateful he had shelter. And all the while, the Dickens tale played out upon the stage of his mind, as clear as those teleplays he’d seen glimpses of on the guards’ wee television screens. But the latter images failed to illicit the same emotion as the written word, perhaps due to the fact that the French Revolution had taken place while his spirit, at least, was still upon the earth.
Hadn’t he read the same disturbing details in the newspapers that had blown across the moor from time to time?
He closed the book and paused for a moment to thank God that barbarism was in the past—at least for his beloved country…
Fergus let out a small “woof” though he was lost in a dream. His paws moved slightly as if chasing imaginary prey. Moodie couldn’t help smiling and looked up to see Penny standing in the doorway, doing the same.
She held two steaming bowls of food and held one out to him. He jumped to his feet and hurried to accept it, then held it up to his nose to give it a sniff.
“It’s not much,” she said. “Just your basics...”
Moodie inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance of lamb and carrots. “It smells like heaven itself.”
With one hand now free, she pulled two spoons from her shirt pocket and dropped one in his bowl. He scooped a bit of broth, put it to his lips, and sipped carefully at the steaming wee puddle, allowing the warm, savory sauce to wash over his tongue.
Still smiling, she asked, “Good?”
“Aye,” he said. It was more than good. It was truly fantastic. The flavor was salty with a bite of acid and a sweet kiss to make amends for it. A story told on his tongue. “I cannae recall tasting anything so delicious in my life.”
In either of my lives.
A broad grin was his reward and he wished he hadn’t been so stingy with his praise. He also tried not to notice that the flush from standing over a hot stove made his Elvin host even more bonnie.
With a nod of her head, she summoned him to follow her. “Bread’s in the kitchen.”
He followed like an obedient dog himself and found a crusty loaf of brown bread and a solid cube of salted butter the size of his fist. He did the honor of slicing the loaf and spreading butter as best he could without breaking the precious stuff to pieces.
There was a table near the cooking stove, but it was covered in papers and small bits of cloth cut into squares, so he leaned a hip against the shallow counter while he ate. Penny positioned herself across from him, accepting the piece of bread he offered, and dipping it in her stew.
They consumed their portions in friendly silence for a piece. Moodie noted it was pleasant to be near her, even when they weren’t speaking. When they’d finished, he took both bowls and rinsed them in the sink, then applied soap to them as he’d seen done on the tellie. As he did so, hoping he wasn’t giving away his naivete, he tried not to stare at her, leaning against the counter, watching him work.
“Do they sleep here every night?” he asked, pointing a soapy, wet thumb over his shoulder toward the dog room.
Penny shook her head. “They used to, in the beginning. But it’s hard to study dogs reverting to pack mentality if you invite them inside at night. We finally had to stop all domestication behaviors—on our part—and let them truly run wild.”
“We?”
She heaved a sigh. “Another long story. But today, I knew the storm would be violent, so I decided to shelter them, and if that ruins the research, it ruins the research. A life is more important than a study. Though, I think Fergus is the only lost cause so far.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think the others will be happy to be back outside at night, especially when the weather is nice.”
Moodie snorted. “Is Highland weather ever that nice?”
She answered first with a laugh. “I guess not.”
The fact that he’d elicited a laugh from her gave him a little thrill he hadn’t expected. It was the truth that the return of his name brought with it a plethora of memories, including the fact that he had once enjoyed making others laugh. He was never quite as clever or amusing as Colin, however…
The memory soured his pleasure. Idle reverie with a pretty woman was doing nothing to further his cause, so he bit his tongue and finished drying the bowls while he tried to right his thoughts.
So he’d made her laugh. What did it matter? Why should that make him feel anything? He was here for one purpose, and one purpose only. He couldn’t get bogged down in playing house with a lonely woman and her odd bunch of dogs. There is nothing heroic to be done here.
Yes. Time to focus on his heroic act. Which meant he had to find someone who truly needed his aid. One hour or two in her company had made it plain that Penny could fend for herself. And wasn’t she doing a fine job of it already?
He wondered, scowling, if there might be something he didn’t know. Perhaps she was in some jeopardy she would never share with a stranger…
“I suppose ye own this house?” he asked.
“Basically,” she said. “The entire island is mine for five years. Paid in advance. With the option to renew.” She moved away from him, suddenly nervous. “But the owner brings a boatload of tourists on the weekends. Never know when he might show up, really. And then there are my deliveries. Those guys are serious about checking up on me, making sure I’m all right, that I have what I need.”
Moodie nodded and schooled his features. There had been time enough for the lass to realize she was at his mercy for the most part, except for a friendly dog that might or might not come to her defense if the stranger she had sheltered chose to take advantage of the situation. And now she’d gone and admitted the fact she was a woman of means if she were able to rent the whole of the island for five years at a go.
It was no wonder she’d spouted off a list of possible rescuers.
He should have dropped the subject and let her rest at ease, but he had to worry about his own agenda, especially with so little time left to him.
He dried his hands one last time, hung the towel, and followed the lass into the big room and into a toasty cloud of heat. She sat on the empty chair with its back to the wall and watched him perch once more in the rocking chair. Fergus, bless him, seemed to sense the tension between them and loped over to sit at Penny’s knee, letting Moodie ken whose side he would take, no mistake.
Moodie rested his head at the back of the chair and set it to rocking. “The whole island, ye say?”
She nodded but offered nothing more.
“When ye said the place was deserted, ye truly meant everyone? No others to grouse at the American who bought up their land? Perhaps a shepherd or two? There was lamb in that stew, I ken it…”
“Renting the land. And I didn’t know it was lamb. It just came with the groceries. And no, no one else is on the island. At least, not while this storm lingers. I’m sure someone will come to check on me once it’s over. And I have the radio. I have internet as long as the generator is working. And I can defend myself. I’ve done it before.”
Moodie stopped rocking. “Defended yerself? Against whom?
”
She shrugged. “Like I said. Long story.” She glanced at the bed. “It’s getting dark soon—well, late, I mean. It’s already—”
“Ye’d like me to find other shelter for the night, then?”
He got to his feet, glanced at his kilt to judge its degree of wet. Water was still dripping often enough to leave a wee line of dark splashes on the floor beneath it, but no matter. As soon as he stepped outside, he’d be drenched again. Starting out wet wouldn’t matter.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook her head and gestured for him to resume his seat. “I wouldn’t send anyone out in this, not even…my worst enemy. I jeopardized my research to bring the dogs in, remember? The safest place for you is right here. Who knows how cold it’s going to get? And this might be the only roof that won’t be leaking, the only fire that won’t be going out.”
She pointed to the bed again, closed her eyes, and sighed before she opened her eyes. “I only meant to say that, when it’s time, the bed is mine. I’m not sharing. And I sleep with a loaded gun, so don’t get any ideas. If you want to risk the cold, you can sleep in the bedroom on the left, where there’s a bed. But there won’t be any heat in there. You’ll be better off…in here, by the stove, on the floor. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can offer you. Unless you want to sleep in the barn.”
Watching the torture on her face as she invited him to sleep in the same room with her, he realized it caused her great pain to say the words. And if it meant a bit of cold for him, he should still choose another alternative.
“Ye’re certain I cannae get off yer island tonight, then? No helly copter or some such?”
She laughed. “Helly copter? No. They don’t fly in bad weather no matter what you’ve seen on TV. I promise, you’re stuck here.”
Chapter Five
Ye promised! Ye promised!
Moodie ignored the memory hissing at him like so much rain against the windows. “Stuck here,” he repeated. No other people meant no one here except this mouthy woman who didn’t need any damned help at all. Which meant no heroic act wanting, which meant yet another failure by Ethan Moodie.
Had Soni sent him there a’ purpose, knowing nothing would be asked of him? Feed the dogs. Eat her stew. Wait for his two days to pass without risk?
Pacing helped him think clearly, so he made a turn around the room. A glance out the window offered only darkness. Or did it? He stepped closer and peered out. There! A light flashed in the distance. “What about the lighthouse?” he asked. “Might there be a caretaker there?”
Penny shook her head. “Automated. I was asked to report any vandalism to the lighthouse or the ruins, but other than that…” she shrugged.
He cursed under his breath and continued pacing. Penny watched him with puzzled amusement.
“What exactly were you trying to accomplish when you landed here?”
“I was sent on a mission,” he said, “to…help someone.”
“Not me, I assume?”
“Nay.”
“Well, I hope someone else can help them, because you’re going to be very very late.” When he didn’t see the humor, she continued. “What island were you trying for when you landed here? Maybe we can get someone to pick you up and take you there. The radio antennae might be down, but we can try to get word to someone.”
He shook his head. “No need.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of help did they need?”
“As ye say, ‘tis a long story.”
She bit her lips together and nodded. “Maybe in a couple days—”
He cut her off with a violent shake of his head. “I do not have such time!” As calmly as he could manage, he asked once more, “Is there truly no way off this island tonight?”
The lass chuckled, then sobered when she realized he wasn’t joking. “Oh, no. No, there absolutely is not.”
“I have no love for the word ‘can’t’,” he said, mocking her accent.
She snorted. “Well, unless you can conjure a submarine out of thin air, I’m afraid you’ll be hearing a lot of that word.”
“Ye have no boat?”
She shook her head. “What good would it do in this weather anyway?”
“Then, pray, how do ye get here and gone again?”
“I call someone.”
“Ye say the radio may work. Perhaps someone could be persuaded?”
She shook that blasted head of hair again, looking at him with that stubborn chin. “I do have a radio, and Skype. Though neither of them work very well when the weather is like this. But even if you could get through, Angus doesn’t work past five o’clock...”
“Who is Angus?”
“He’s the man who runs the dock at John O’Groats.”
“John…”
“The town on the other side of the Firth. On the mainland. Suffice to say, you’re stuck here with me, buddy.”
Moodie’s temper flared in response to her casual attitude. He narrowed his eyes and approached her chair with a speed that clearly surprised her. Before she could move, he leaned over her, gripped the arms of the chair, and spoke quietly. “Listen here, wench. I ken that ye must be lonely. It must be difficult indeed, living here with nothing to love ye but dogs. But it is nae my fault that ye have fallen into spinsterhood, and ye cannae keep me here for comfort.”
With her mouth wide with shock, the woman sprang out of her chair sideways, breaking his grip and nearly slamming her face into his in the process. He whipped back just in time to spare them both, though she didn’t seem to notice. She pressed toward him, eating up the space between them, her finger pointed and accusing. He found himself retreating up until his back hit the wall.
She stabbed her lean finger into his chest. “You listen to me you… you… asshat. I didn’t ask for you to come knocking on my door, and I’m not asking you to stay. I let you in because that’s what you do when someone shows up looking like they took a swim in the freezing cold ocean. As for leaving, be my guest. There’s the door.”
She stayed where she was for a moment, the painful tip of her finger holding him in thrall. Her chest heaved with her deep, angry breaths while she glared up at him. Her face was so close; it would be so simple to drag her closer, to put his hands on her waist and pull her to him, press his lips firmly against hers...
Of a sudden, the lass seemed to realize the precipice upon which she danced, for she snatched her finger away, spun around, and stormed down the dark hall with Fergus following in her wake. “Good luck out there.” Her words were punctuated by the resolute closing of a door.
Moodie growled in his throat, trying to clear the emotions that warred within him. He should rejoice that his reincarnation was so complete that his body could immediately respond to the proximity of a living, breathing female. And such a bonny female at that. Without even trying, he found himself calling back the memory of her hair—the way it danced with life even in the low lighting of the cottage—and the flush of pink on her cheeks made his fingers itch to glide themselves across her skin.
But the anger in his gullet gave a decisive shove to such thoughts and pushed them from his mind. He had no time to play patty fingers with a lonely lass, on an island that held no prospects of redemption for him.
He grabbed his kilt and shirt off the line, wrapped them around one arm, then stomped his feet into his boots. He strode toward the door and threw it open, intending to escape from the cottage and away from the angry wench who reigned over it. But as he stood in the doorway, he realized that the tempest he thought was passing was simply gathering strength.
The cliffs off to the west were but a dark jagged border against the sea spray. He could hear the violent crash of wave after wave and saw through squinted eyes that the clouds heading for shore were black as pitch. It was as if the devil himself had been given the island for a play thing and he was intent on destroying it.
The woman was right. No miracle would be miracle enough to take him off the island that night. No life was w
orth risking simply to give a soldier a second chance—a soldier who did not deserve one.
Leaving the cottage, however, was still a possibility.
A long line of ruins stretched out into the darkness to his right. But even if he could remain on his feet long enough to make it to the next without being blown into the sea, it wouldn’t be much of a shelter with no fire and no solid roof. Was his pride worth the cost of shivering in darkness for a pair of days?
With a curse, he retreated behind the only solid door he could depend upon and slammed it closed again. He damned the wind for stirring and cooling the air that took so much care to warm, then he held still and waited for the woman to come berate him for being the cause. But the woman didn’t come.
He tugged the rug closer to the stove, spread his nearly-dry kilt upon it, then stretched out to his full length. The bed in the corner called to him, but it was hers and he would not take it from her. With his head resting on his folded arm, he simmered with anger and frustration.
But the longer he replayed the events of the evening, the more he had to admit that it was not the lass that had foiled him. He had insinuated himself into her private sanctuary and expected her to have all the answers when he himself had none. She was living her own quiet life here, and he had disrupted it. His own success or failure was no fault of hers.
With regret, he acknowledged he had acted poorly. He cursed to himself as he pulled the edge of his kilt around his shoulders. He had not forgotten the regret of disappointing someone. It was not a pleasant feeling, and he wasn’t happy to feel it again.
And with the wind howling outside and shame roiling in his belly, Moodie fell into a frustrated sleep.
Chapter Six
With eleven furry, variously-sized bodies to heat it, Penny was surprised how warm the barn was. So instead of just brooding, she broke into a fresh bale of straw and made a bed for herself. When the front door slammed, she knew she was free to go out to her own bed, but she kind of liked the idea of sleeping with the dogs while she still had the chance to be close to them.