A Stockingful of Joy (7 page)

"Please stay," she said. "I would like the company."

He nodded and turned to gather his plaid and boots, pulling them on to go outside. When he was gone, Catriona dressed quickly and warmly, built up the smoldering fire with peat, and then made a thick, salty porridge in a kettle over the hearth.

Her thoughts turned to the children. Although she trusted Patrick and Angus to watch over the younger ones, she was deeply concerned for them in such a dangerous storm. She would go there as soon as travel was possible.

After a while Kenneth returned, his face red with cold. He blew on his hands to warm them, and ate quickly. "Thick ice has formed on this roof, and the byre," he told her. "I have to clear it off, or the thatch could collapse."

"I will help you," she said. He protested, but she grabbed her spare plaid and soon followed him outside.

The wind shoved at her, and the raw, bitter chill stung her hands and feet while she and Kenneth used broken tree limbs to prod at the ice on the low thatched roof of the shieling. When they turned toward the byre, they saw that the sloped, low-slung roof sagged under a burden of ice.

Fighting the keening wind, Kenneth opened the door of the byre, and held her back with his arm. "Stay here," he told her. "The roof could fall. We will have to move the animals to safety. There is no choice but to bring them inside the hut."

"I know," she said. "We will make room for them somehow." He led the two garrons and the cow out of the byre, and she helped him guide the animals through the doorway of the hut.

Cù hid under a bench when they came inside, although Catriona got down on her knees to speak reassuringly to him. She turned to the agitated horses, patting their broad necks while Kenneth tipped the table, bench, and stools to build a makeshift stable area. Going back outside, he returned with oats for feed, and straw to spread on the floor.

Catriona perched on the bed, the only remaining seat, and watched while Kenneth soothed the horses with gentle hands. He spoke calmly to the cow, a small, shaggy black creature who stared at him with limpid eyes. Then he stepped over the barrier and skirted the hearth to come toward her.

"The animals will be warm and safe," he said, "though it will be crowded in here."

"We will manage," she said brightly.

He unwound his damp plaid and hung it over the table to dry, then sat beside her to unlace his boots. "When the weather improves, I will repair the byre roof. I suppose"—he looked at her—"you would not consider coming to Glenran."

"With my cow and my horse, and eight children?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Lachlann and his wife raised fifteen fosterlings and their own son at Glenran. There is room." He stripped down to his shirt, trews, and bare feet as he spoke, and began to rub his pale, blotched toes with a blanket from the bed.

"Your feet look frostbitten!" Kneeling, she took his foot in her hands and rubbed gently for a while, then warmed some water and sluiced it over his feet.

She felt the power and grace in his long bones and lean muscles. Even when his feet looked improved, she continued to stroke his ankles and knotted calf muscles. The rhythm and warmth was as soothing to her as she hoped it was to him.

"Thank you," he murmured, watching her.

She nodded, and turned away to fetch the flask of
uisge beatha
that the Fraser women had given her. Heating some of the liquid in an iron pot, she added cream, ground oats, and pinches of spices and sugar from Kenneth's New Year's gift. She poured it into a bowl and handed it to him.

"Drink this brose. It will warm you inside and out."

He sipped. "Ah. This is good. Thank you. I thought you gave the sugar and spices to the MacGhille children."

"I kept some for you," she admitted shyly

He raised an eyebrow. "Girl dear, you are generous with your guest, but not with yourself. Come here." He patted the mattress. She sat beside him, and he held the bowl to her lips. "Drink," he said. "I am not the only one who is cold."

She sipped, feeling the hot, sweet burn of the brose slide down her throat. They shared more between them, and then Kenneth reached out to remove the outer plaid that she still wore.

The cow lowed morosely as Kenneth draped her damp plaid beside his to dry. He patted the animal's head affectionately and murmured to her. She nuzzled after him for a moment when he left her side to return to the bed, kneeling beside it.

"Let me warm your feet now," he told Catriona. She allowed him to unlace her damp leather boots and pull them off; then he reached under her skirt to peel off her knee stockings as if she were a child. He kneaded her bare feet between his strong hands, then bathed them in the water that remained in the bowl.

His touch sent subtle shivers of pleasure throughout her body. She sighed, and watched his dark head and wide shoulders as he gently stroked her feet, coaxing warmth into her toes. No one, since her mother's death, had taken care of her like this man did now. No one had shown concern about her comfort.

And no one, other than the children, had touched her with gentleness or affection. She blinked back tears and closed her eyes, relaxing under his languid touch. Her feet and ankles seemed to glow with luscious warmth. When he set her foot down, she curled her toes and made a playful little moan, as if begging for more.

He smiled. "Enough, I think. Who knows what kind of an omen this might be."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

He raised a brow. "Do you not know about the ritual of foot washing for a bride and groom, the night before they marry?"

A hot blush flooded her face. "I forgot about that," she said hastily, and drew her feet up to pull on thick, dry woolen stockings, folding her legs beneath her.

He sat on the bed again, his weight shifting her against him slightly. He sipped brose and offered her more. "The MacGhille children," he said as they listened to the steady torrent of sleet. "How will they fare in this storm?"

"I have been thinking about them, too," she said. "Patrick and Angus are clever lads, and they will do their best to keep the others safe. But if ice collects on their roof, as it did here, or if one of them gets hurt or sick—" she sighed. "I wish we could go there."

"I will ride there as soon as the weather allows. Patrick will take care of them. He's a smart lad, and nearly a man."

She nodded and sipped the brose. The thick, sweet stuff slipped down her throat like fire and honey, warming her despite the pervasive chill in the hut. The wind shrieked past the house, but the blazing hearth and the presence of the man beside her were vastly comforting.

Kenneth stood to toss a few sticks of kindling over the peat chunks, and used the iron poker to coax a bright, leaping fire.

"Do you see those little blue flames?" she asked. "Those are the spirits of the hearth."

"Good omens, I hope," he said as he sat beside her again.

"Quite good. That square bit of peat, there, foretells wealth coming into a house. And that long, round shape means a stranger will come into the house."

"Ah," he said. "I told you I was lucky for you."

She rolled her eyes. "That remains to be seen."

He smiled. "You will be surrounded with luck, Catriona MacDonald. A dark-haired man fell across your doorstep, loaded down with good fortune and goodwill." She laughed softly at his gentle teasing. "Ah, look," he said. "More square chunks in the fire. They predict much wealth for you this year. What does that fat little chunk of peat mean?"

"That?" She frowned. "A birth within the year, I think."

"Ah. Well," he said, "perhaps your cow will calf."

"Perhaps." She wrinkled her nose. "It is beginning to smell like a stable in here."

He chuckled. "I will have to shovel out the straw sooner than I thought, if we are to share this place with them."

"This will help." Catriona grabbed a slender juniper branch from the kindling pile, and tossed it on the fire. Soon the smoky evergreen fragrance of the juniper began to counter some of the animals' pungency. She climbed back into the warm nest of the bed and sat beside Kenneth; they both welcomed
Cù there when he slid out from his hiding place to curl between them.

Kenneth smoothed his hand over the cat's sleekness, as did Catriona, and their fingers touched. His hand moved past hers slowly. She shivered, but knew it was not from the chill, and remained silent, as he did, both of them stroking the cat.

She listened to the thrust and whine of the storm, and the purring cat, watched the fire and sensed the peacefulness of Kenneth's silence. Delicious currents of heat and contentment poured through her, and she sighed. She felt truly sheltered, while bitterness raged outside.

"The storm is fierce. The cold and the ice could last for days," Kenneth murmured.

"It could," she agreed. Then this heaven of peace would continue, she thought dreamily.

"I should leave soon," he said.

"But you planned to stay," she said, looking up at him.

"Tomorrow my horse should be able to manage the hills, and I will ride out to see the children. Then I must return to Glenran. My cousins will be wondering what happened to me." He smiled at her. "But I am not leaving just yet."

"I am glad," she whispered.

"Are you?" His gaze was steady and deep.

She nodded. "And I am glad you set first-foot in my house. You have brought me good fortune after all. You saved the animals from the cold, and cleared the ice on the roof. It was good luck that brought you here in that storm. I might have been alone here, to deal with the ice."

His fingers covered hers over the cat's back. "Perhaps I shall be your first-foot next year," he murmured, "if you like."

"I would like that," she whispered. He leaned closer, and she tilted her head toward him, hoping suddenly.

The first touch of his lips was soft and tentative, but the next kiss, deep and full, swept her breath away. She circled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Kenneth pushed the cat gently out of the way and wrapped her in his arms.

His mouth delved over hers with such strength and heat that she seemed to melt, like butter in hot brose. She felt the light caress of his tongue across the seam of her lips, and she sighed, loving the strange new intimacy of it.

She leaned back and let him take her down to the pile of pillows and furs on the narrow bed. His lean, hard body fit against her curves, even through layered wool, and his lips moved over hers in a breathless rhythm. What rushed through her was more heady, more dizzying than the strong drink that still coursed, hot and languid, through her blood.

He drifted his fingers over her cheek, along her neck and shoulder, touching her as if she were fragile. His fingers grazed over her breast and moved downward, pulling her hips toward his. She gasped and tightened her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body to his. Her heart beat in a fierce cadence, and she sensed the heavy pounding of his heart, too, when her fingers skimmed over his chest.

He traced his lips over her cheek, her ear, along her jaw. Shivers cascaded through her, and she moaned softly, turning to find his lips with her own. She moved against him, craving more of his grazing touches and deep, luscious kisses. She had not known this kind of tenderness existed. All she wanted was to float in its luxury, in its slow, effortless current; no matter where it took her, she knew she would be safe.

Once, Parian had kissed her in a dark corridor at Kilernan, swift, sour wine kisses followed by the heavy thrust of his tongue. She had arched away from him, and slapped him when his large hands rounded boldly over her behind, pulling her hips against the hard swelling beneath his plaid. He had claimed drunkenness; but she had known that, drunk or not, Parian would never be a tender husband.

But this Fraser, a stranger who had no reason to care about her, touched her as if she were made of silk and roses. His kisses were kind and yet strong, surging through her like bursts of flame. No threat, no sense of wrongness spun awry in her gut, as she had felt with Parian. She felt herself relax and sink into the warm ocean of pleasure Kenneth provided with his lips, his hands, his breath.

His hand soothed over her breasts, rousing a shiver of need that spooled deep within her. She felt as if she had found the heart of a fire, and never wanted to leave its comfort.

When he hesitated, as if offering her a chance to stop what grew between them, she let her silence, and the kiss she returned, answer his unspoken question. When he drew the lacings of her bodice loose, when his fingers found her breast, she pulled in a breath. Slipping her hands over his wide, tightly muscled shoulders and chest, she sighed.

His touch, his kisses, roused a sudden swell of joy in her, and she smiled to herself, loving this—loving him. The thought stunned her, and she paused, wrapped in his arms, knowing, in a strange, complete, wordless way, that she was where she belonged.

She sank into the cocoon he provided, and wanted more, anything, all, from him. He glided his lips to her breast, and a deep, thunderous tremor rippled through her, as if strong enough to shake the bed, shake the room—

Kenneth sat up quickly, bolting from the bed with a muttered oath. "The roof! It's close to collapsing!" he yelled. He leaped past the hearth toward the animals.

Bewildered for a moment, Catriona scrambled out of the bed. The walls trembled, and noise and chaos flooded the room. She swept the anxious cat into her arms and watched as the ceiling over the stable area sagged and groaned. The horses and the cow shifted, bumped, and kicked out at the furniture and the walls.

The cow stumbled against the upturned table, which crashed to the ground. Kenneth struggled to pull and push and cajole the three animals to safety across the room. Then the thatched roof above the abandoned corner emitted an unearthly groan, and shivered down in a heap of ice, snow, and straw.

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"Argh," Kenneth said, leaning back into the recess of the box-bed, "she seems to like me." He held up an arm to protect his face and turned his head, trying to avoid the cow's hot breath as she snuffled sloppily at his hair. Beside him, Catriona laughed with delight. He shot her a wry look.