from somewhere over Evelyn’s shoulder. The sheep bleated again and then Evelyn heard the scrape of wood and felt a rude rush of frigid air before the hut door closed and all was blessedly still.
She closed her eyes, only barely acknowledging once more how unusually poor she felt. She really ought to rise—’twas scandalous to lie about, drowsy as she was, while a strange man came and went as he pleased. She ought to get up and see him on his way, and that he didn’t abscond with the rest of the meat—’twas all she and Alinor had to eat. In truth, ’twas all they’d had for weeks.
But she didn’t care at that moment. She had no energy. Her hip and leg pained her more than they had in days. She was cold and tired and wanted only to sleep…
Conall watched the great black wolf bound off into the forest and he followed in her tracks at a more leisurely pace, tugging the sheep along on her tether. He relieved himself on the edge of the wood, letting the shaggy little sheep nose around in the dry undercanopy of a wide pine.
Dawn had come, but Conall didn’t bother looking for the bright rays of morning sun in the east. The sky was low, thick, and the color of the gray tree trunks surrounding him. Weather coming. A slight breeze caused the branches overhead to sway, sending echoing crackles ricocheting though the wood, the sound of ice everywhere.
Finished with his business, Conall led the sheep back toward the hut. The small enclosure to the left of the house was covered over with snow and so Conall was forced to spend the better part of an hour digging it out. He sent the sheep inside with a swat to her rear and kicked over the small, half-rotten trough to empty it of yet more white stuff. He’d have to melt water for her in a bit. For now, the animal was content to explore beneath the snow with her soft brown muzzle.
Conall secured the pen and stood looking at the hut. No smoke came from the roof yet and Conall was mildly surprised and a little perturbed. The long, sloping room had been cold enough when he’d left Eve abed—’twould be like ice since he’d opened the door, for certain.
Mayhap she was waiting for Conall to start the fire. He thought about that for a moment. He’d wanted to do that very thing when she’d tossed him out of bed, but by her prickly behavior, Conall had thought it best to let her be and get accustomed to the fact that he was still at the hut. Obviously, he’d been mistaken, but he would be more than pleased to build a fire for Eve Buchanan, aye.
In fact, he’d do it right now.
Alinor came trotting out of the wood, sparkling with snow, and met Conall at the door. The wolf looked up at him expectantly.
“You’re a wolf,” Conall whispered. “Do you nae wish to be out in the wild?” He swept an arm around to indicate the clearing. “’Tis nice, is it nae?”
Alinor raised a paw and scratched once at the door, then looked at Conall again.
Conall sighed and shoved the door open, admitting the beast reluctantly. He followed her inside and left the door ajar in preparation for laying the fire.
Conall frowned when he saw that Eve was still abed—Alinor had swiftly rejoined her with a graceful leap. He told himself that she might not have drifted off to sleep quickly last night, a strange man being about. He stacked some rotting peat on a loose pile of kindling, and smoke soon curled toward the ceiling.
That chore done, he stood near the bed, looking down at Eve’s still, slight form. He didn’t wish to wake her, but he could not locate the hut’s fine, large crock and he had need to water the sheep. Eve’s back was to the room and Alinor had her wide head resting on the curve of Eve’s hip.
“Eve?” Conall called softly and reached out a hand to place it on her shoulder. In a flash, Alinor growled and snapped her powerful jaws but a hairsbreadth from Conall’s smallest finger.
“You bitch,” Conall hissed, snatching his hand back and glaring at the animal.
Alinor’s lips quivered with a final, breathy growl before she laid her head down again.
“Eve,” Conall called more loudly, keeping a wary eye on the wolf.
The form under the covers twitched. “Go away.” She sounded more than half asleep.
“I’ve need to get the sheep water and us some food—where’s the pot you cook in, lass?”
She didn’t reply for several moments, so that Conall was readying to turn her over himself—and wrestle the wolf to do so, more likely than nae. He was growing concerned at the woman’s lethargy. From their meeting last night, he hadn’t gotten the impression that Eve Buchanan was a layabout.
But then she did speak. “I don’t cook in the pot. Cook on the spit. Meat over there.” She raised an arm from beneath the blanket to point past Conall and when she did, her loose sleeve slid up past her elbow. “On the shelf.”
Conall’s head drew back—the woman’s spindly right arm was mottled with purple and green bruises.
She drew the covers back over her shoulder, hiding her arm from view. “Now, do go ’way.”
“What happened to your arm, lass?” Conall asked carefully. “Did you fall?”
He saw her head move slightly, a jerky nod. “Through the smoke hole. When I found the hut.”
Conall felt his worry ease, although with bruises like that, the lass was lucky she hadn’t broken anything. He crossed the floor to the shelf and surveyed the pitiful supply of dry-cooked horsemeat. “When was that, Eve?” he asked conversationally over his shoulder. “How long have you been at Ronan’s hut?”
A long pause, then, “I know not—a month? Mayhap…longer.”
Conall froze. The bruises should have long since faded. He thought of her sudden lethargy.
Not wishing to have his arm removed, Conall moved quickly to the door once more and opened it wide.
“Come on, you bea—Alinor,” he amended, gesturing through the portal. He had to get rid of the wolf in order to confirm his dire suspicion.
The wolf looked at him disinterestedly.
Conall stepped through the doorway. “Come on, then.” He slapped his hands on his thighs, feeling the ultimate fool. “To me, Alinor. Lovely, to me.”
The wolf unfolded herself slowly, stretched leisurely, and at last stepped from the bed. Crossing the floor with an inky swagger, she stood before Conall, still inside the hut. She looked as though she knew exactly what the man was about and had no intention whatsoever of exiting the house.
But fate chose to smile upon Conall for once, and sent a rabbit to bumble into the clearing at just that moment.
Alinor was through the doorway and across the narrow clearing in a black blur.
Conall ducked back inside and closed the door. After pausing for only an instant, narrow-eyed, he dropped the bar in place—just in case. Then he quickly crossed to the bed, taking hold of Eve’s shoulder and pulling her gently onto her back.
“What are you doing, sir?” she demanded groggily, and Conall noticed then the deep purple circles beneath her eyes. “Unhand me at once.”
“Shh…Eve,
