Page 59 of Sins of a Scot
“Och, me God,” she gasped. She then began trembling uncontrollably.
“Come on. We need tae get ye inside.”
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her across the rocks, and after struggling over the jagged stone, the terrain beneath his feet changed to grass, and then, a trail that was clearly well walked.
Stumbling, placing one foot after the other, he continued on, until eventually, buildings came into view, and Owen realized they had found a village.
“Let me walk, Owen,” Iseabail said, her lips shivering. “Ye are exhausted. I can walk.”
Gently he lowered her down to the ground, and upon arriving at the first tavern they found, they hurried into it, receiving many strange looks from all those inside.
“The boat crashed on the rocks,” Owen announced.
Shocked faces and gasps came from everyone, and then the innkeeper, a short, rotund balding man, hurried round the bar and upon reaching them, guided them to the fire.
“Stay there and get warm. I’ll get ye blankets and a wee dram.”
A small crowd gathered around them with many questions. Owen relayed what had occurred, and there were murmurings of how many others might have survived.
The innkeeper returned with blankets and glasses of whisky, and worriedly handed them to Owen and Iseabail.
“We’re going tae need a room,” Owen said, wrapping the blanket around Iseabail’s trembling body.
“Aye, o’ course,” the man replied, hurrying away again.
“We have tae carry on the search,” Iseabail protested, her lips quivering as she spoke.
“Iseabail,” he sighed. “Look at ye. Ye’re soaked tae the skin, and ye’re shivering from head tae toe. The search can wait. Ye nearly died. Dae ye nae understand that? Ye need warmth, food and rest.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue with him. Perhaps it was the mention of her near-death experience that brought it home to her, but Owen could not know.
The innkeeper returned with a key, and Owen asked for hot water to be brought to the room for a bath.
“I’ll send the maid right away,” he replied.
“Thank ye,” Owen said.
With the heat from the fire and the shot of whisky, Owen could feel his strength returning, but looking at Iseabail, he could not say the same. With his arm around her shaking body, he helped her up the stairs, one slow step at a time. When they reached the room, he was glad to see yet another fire blazing in a large hearth.
“Now, let’s get ye out o’ these wet clothes.”
Iseabail stood before him, trembling with cold, but Owen also imagined, she was suffering shock at what had happened. Almost numb to what was going on around her, she allowed him to undress her, one item at a time. To maintain her dignity, he wrapped the blanket around her when it came to taking her undergarments off, and as she gripped the blanket, her knuckles white with cold, he slipped his hands beneath the covering and untied her shift, letting the soaking garment fall to the floor.
Several minutes later, two maids arrived with buckets of water, and after emptying them into the tin bath, they hurriedly left the room.
“Come on, Iseabail,” he said, guiding her gently over to it.
Leaving the blanket around her shoulders, he held her hand while she stepped, one leg at a time into the bath. Only as she lowered herself in, did he finally toss the blanket on the floor. Even as the hot water surrounded her, she still shivered, but tearing a linen towel in two, he made a makeshift cloth,and kneeling beside her, dipped the cloth into the water and squeezed it over her back as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her knees, hugging her legs tightly.
The shivering calmed after a little while, and turning her eyes to gaze at him, Iseabail said, “Thank ye fer looking after me.”
Owen smiled tenderly at her. “I’m repaying the favor.”
Iseabail frowned.
“I ken ye were trying tae distract me in the boat earlier with yer story about the frog.”
She smiled then, and nodded.
