Eventually she tugged him to a panting halt. “There should be a track off the path here. Oh, this snow is such a nuisance. I’m not even sure where I am anymore.”
We’ll find it.” He flung an arm around her shoulders. Through her thick coat, he felt her shaking tension. “I haven’t studied Joseph’s lines to be stuck in a blizzard over Christmas Eve.”
Even through the gloom, he caught her sardonic glance. “Next year, I’ll make you the Angel of the Lord. Then you’ll know about lines. That part is pages.”
He gave a huff of laughter, even as he saluted her courage. Miss Farrar wasn’t a girl to have hysterics at the first sign of trouble. “Nobody in their correct mind would cast me as an angel.”
”You’re right about that. What a pity there are no pirates in the Christmas story.”
“I’m not—”
“There it is, the track to the hut.”
They turned direct into the frigid north wind, and he needed all his breath to keep going. Bess led as drifts of snow piled up around them, deeper with every minute. He tied his scarf more securely around his stinging ears. Not an easy task one-handed in the middle of a blizzard. But no way in hell would he let go of Bess’s hand. And not just because if she got too far ahead, he’d likely lose her.
Rory’s logical mind told him the trek was mere yards. It felt like miles. The wind was powerful enough to force him backward, unless he applied all his strength against it. The heavy snow blinded him so that only when he stood in the lee of the hut did he realize they’d reached their destination.
He pushed the door. It didn’t budge. His brain was so frozen, it took several seconds to fumble for the primitive string and nail latch.
“Come on,” he said breathlessly, staggering inside and finally releasing Bess.
The room was dark as a coalmine. The wind tore at the wooden building, so it wasn’t much quieter inside than out. Through the elements’ roar, he heard Bess stumbling around and reached for her.
His hand landed on something soft and round. Even before her startled gasp, he knew he’d touched her breast. Suddenly he wasn’t cold at all. For one burning instant, his hand curled to shape her flesh before he snatched it away.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Farrar.” It was difficult to sound sorry, but on the other hand, he didn’t want her fleeing into the snow to escape his attentions.
After some scraping, a soft glow chased away the darkness. She’d lit a lamp. “It was an accident.”
That time, maybe.
Avoiding her eyes so that she wouldn’t see how desperately he wanted her, he glanced around the wee hut. It was unexpectedly well set up. Shelving covered the walls, mostly filled with tools, but he saw some food and basic medical supplies. Even better, there was a hearth and a good supply of wood.
“By God, this is a palace.”
She laughed, shaking off that awkward moment when he’d touched her breast with an ease that he found disheartening. His hand still tingled with heat.
“Not quite. But the weather here changes in the blink of an eye. Available shelter can mean the difference between life or death.”
“I was surprised how fast the snow came in.”
“This is Northumberland.” She went to check the food stocks. “It’s no place for weaklings.”
“So we could be trapped for a while?” He hoped he didn’t sound too happy about that.
The furnishings were adequate, but basic. A rough table, four spindly chairs with rush seats. And a truckle bed against one wall. Two shuttered windows and the chimney breast.
He bent to build a fire as Bess lit a second lamp. And he tried devilish hard not to think about that bed, and being alone with her for hours on end.
“At this time of year, the weather usually blows itself out. In January and February, people can be stranded for days if things turn nasty.”
Days? And one bed? It became even more difficult to concentrate on getting a spark from the tinderbox. “We’ll miss the play.”
“I hope not. I hear a new performer makes his debut with a spectacular turn as Joseph.”
Rory laughed from where he kneeled before the hearth. She really was a brave soul. His years at sea had given him a deep appreciation for courage. This lassie would put his stalwart shipmates to shame. “He’s good with the donkey at least.”
The kindling caught most satisfactorily, the flames licking greedily at the larger logs. At least they were unlikely to freeze.