Gossip and disapprovingwhispers chase us as we escape to the dim sanctuary of the attic bedroom above the tavern.
The single bed taunts us once again with its less-than-adequate size, but neither of us brings up our sleeping arrangement dilemma.
This morning, Fiona had given us a puzzled look when she noticed our clothes were still rumpled from sleeping.
She blinked at me, eyebrows furrowed. “Why aren’t ye sleeping in yer undergarments like any other married folk?”
I’d had to think on my feet. “Oh, I suppose I’m a bit of a princess, Fi. I’ve come to prefer the comfort of a long nightgown, that’s all.”
Touched by my honesty, Fiona had generously spent the day sewing us matching sleepwear from her cherished hoard of MacDowell tartan, saved for some “momentous occasion.”
So tonight, Cal and I are in opposite corners of our tiny bedroom, awkwardly turning away from each other to change into our fresh, bright Highland garb.
When we finally dare to turn and face each other again, the sight is too much for Cal.
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he gasps between fits of amusement. “Jings, Crivvens, Help ma boab! Mills. We look absurd. Like... like...”
“Jings, Crivvens…?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.
“It means for Feckssakes,” he’s doubled over now, “we look like…”
“Like what?” I ask, struggling to keep my giggles at bay.
“Like bloody Christmas baubles!” His laughter ricochets off the walls like an infectious tune. “We’re practically beggin’ to be hung on a Christmas tree!” The ridiculousness sends us into hysterics, our shared amusement ringing through the room.
Once we’ve caught our breath, we settle on the narrow bed—a pair of songbirds cautious about sharing a branch—and ease into a comfortable silence. We’re so close I can practically hear his heartbeat. When he finally breaks our silence, his voice is soft and thoughtful.
“Mills,” he starts, a ripple of anticipation skittering down my spine, “Have ye ever thought about why we’re here? Like what the universe wants us to learn from all this?”
I pivot towards him, the scant light casting intriguing shadows across his beautiful face.
“I wonder about that constantly,” I admit in a whisper. “Are we supposed to alter something? Or are we just bystanders in this historical spectacle?”
I shrug, feeling an unexpected wave of vulnerability wash over me. “Maybe it’s aboutunearthing our true selves when modern-day distractions aren’t around.”
“Or perhaps it’s about finding someone who sees ye for who ye are,” Cal suggests, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race.
“Someone who doesn’t require a shoe theory to decipher people?” I quip weakly, hoping to sidestep the emotional ledge we seem to be teetering on.
“Precisely,” he says, lips curling into a soft smile. He leans closer, his voice soft and earnest. “Ye’ve got your Shoe Theory all worked out, Mills. But maybe it’s been yer safety net all along.”
He pauses for a moment. “Maybe ye hadn’t met anyone worth ditchin’ the theory for ’til now.”
My breath hitches as warmth radiates from his gaze, melting my defenses.
“Sometimes the right person makes all those theories feel... redundant,” he adds.
I let out a shallow breath. “Perhaps I should have ditched the theory ages ago,” I murmur, the weight of our words hanging between us.
Cal responds with a low chuckle, a sound so rich it makes the tiny hairs on my arms rise. “I don’t know. I find yer theories—and yer mind—utterly enchanting.”
My whole body tingles. I wriggle on our narrow bed, the rough fabric of the sheets scratching against my skin. Every shift brings me closer to Cal; just awhisper of space separates us. The tension is thick and intoxicating, like peat smoke wafting from nearby cottages.
“Speaking of predictions,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood with humor. “We should probably catch some Zs. Tomorrow promises to be quite a day, what with Alistair’s dance lessons and all.”
A soft smile plays on my lips as I anticipate the hilarity that’s bound to come from that experience.
Cal responds with a simple “Right” and carefully settles himself onto the bed, his back facing me. The old bed creaks loudly under our combined weight. The heat emanating from his body seeps into mine as we lay side by side.
