A Stranger at Castonbury(48)

‘Put me down now,’ she insisted. ‘I can walk.’

‘In those ruined shoes? Certainly not. Now be still, woman, or you’ll tumble us both into the mud.’

His arms tightened around her, and one look at his grimly determined face kept her silent. She let her head fall to his shoulder and just held on to him as he carried her.

‘There is a shelter of sorts in those trees not far from here,’ Jamie said. ‘They once used it in sheep-shearing season, if it’s still there. Not grand, but you can get warm there.’

They walked on in silence, until they found that the shelter was indeed still there. It was a simple, square structure of weathered stone with pens outside for the sheep. There were no windows, but there was a chimney and even a small pile of firewood under a box. Jamie shoved open the rickety door with his shoulder and stepped inside.

For a moment the sudden silence after the rain was deafening. The drops pattered softly on the old roof, but it was dry in the room.

‘It’s not much,’ Jamie said as he lowered her to her feet. ‘But it’s home for now. Can you stand?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Catalina said, trying not to let her teeth chatter. She leaned against the closed door as Jamie went to kneel by the stone hearth. It wasn’t much, just a small room with no furniture that smelled faintly of sheep, but it looked like a miraculous haven to her. Shelves rose up one wall, holding stacks of woollen blankets and pottery jugs.

Catalina shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she watched Jamie coax the first faint embers of the fire into real flames. They leapt higher, casting his damp skin and hair into a celestial golden light.

She remembered how he had bowed over Alicia’s hand, how well they had looked together, and she wondered again what he had been doing there. What was really going on in his life? Had she ever really known him?

Soon the fire was full of roaring life, the orange flames leaping high, cracking and snapping. Sweet-acrid smoke tinged the scent of the cold, damp air, curling around her as if it would draw her away from the door. Jamie looked at her over his shoulder. He didn’t smile now; his expression was strangely still and grim.

He ran his hands through his wet hair and pushed the strands straight back from his face. The light danced over the angles of his aristocratic features, the sharpness of his cheekbones and nose, the strong line of his jaw. The scar on his cheek. He looked so austere in that flickering light, like a medieval monk or king. Austere and beautiful.

Her heart ached with it.

Catalina shivered again, and he pushed himself to his feet. As she watched he crossed the room to get a blanket from the shelf. He came back to her to tuck the rough wool around her shoulders. ‘You should come and sit by the fire,’ he said quietly.

She let him slip his arm around her shoulders and lead her to the warm, welcoming circle of the blaze. He laid another blanket down on the rough floor for her to sit on.

‘You’re still shivering,’ he said.

Catalina nodded. She was shaking—but not just from the rain. He was so near to her she was dizzy with it, longing to reach out and touch him, to feel the strong warm reality of him and know again that he was no dream.

Jamie knelt beside her with a muttered oath and reached under her muddy hem for her foot. He placed it against his thigh and deftly slipped the buttons of her ruined boot from the stiffened leather.

‘Your clothes are wet through,’ he said, not looking up at her as he removed her other boot. ‘You should take them off and wrap up in more of those blankets. You’ll never get warm otherwise.’

Take off her clothes? Be naked with him? Catalina almost laughed aloud hysterically. What sort of insane things would happen then, if she felt this way when he just touched her foot? It didn’t seem like a sensible idea.

Of course it wasn’t as if he had never seen her unclothed before. He had taken off her clothes, kissed every inch of the skin he had bared....

Catalina shivered again. She turned her head to stare into the flames. ‘What of you?’ she whispered. ‘You are also soaked through, Jamie.’

‘I’m used to it,’ he said.

‘I don’t care if you are used to it. I would hate it if you caught a cold and missed your brother’s wedding festivities because you chased me down in the rain,’ she said. He shook his head, and she raised her hand in a gesture that said she would brook no arguments. ‘I insist. We should both get out of our garments. It seems so foolish to sit here in them when we are both adults who have seen so much of the world. I will even turn my back—very proper.’