In the main room of the cottage, a threadbare rug covered most of the stone floor, and there was a sagging sofa with a matching armchair. A bookcase stuffed with ancient looking books sat against the wall that led to the only bedroom, which had a simple wooden bed and chest of drawers. A big copper tub sat to one side of the fire. Through the pantry off the kitchen was a tiny latrine with a water pump.
I felt like I’d stepped back in time.
After depositing his basket in the kitchen, Belial finally untied my numb wrists and left with a final longing glance at Caom. The gancanagh didn’t notice, too busy dumping a stack of neatly folded fabric in my arms and telling me to get dressed in proper clothes.
I took them and reluctantly went into the bedroom to change. I didn’t want to keep walking round barefoot and with no shirt—especially if I was going to have to somehow try and find my way home through that huge forest.
Casting a wary glance at the doorway—which had no door—I huddled against the wall to pull on the white shirt first, because it was big and would cover my junk while I took off my shorts. I stared at the leather trousers Caom had given me. Leather? Really?
I struggled to pull the tight trousers up over my ass. They were a deep brown, and the texture didn’t feel like cow’s leather.
“I look fucking ridiculous.”
“Let me see.” Caom’s voice was too eager from the next room, and I heard the pad of bare feet getting closer in a rush.
“No,” I barked, fumbling to do up the lacing before he burst in. “I’m not dressed yet.”
“I don’t mind.”
I snorted without humour. “I’m sure you fucking don’t.”
The trousers finally on, I stared down at myself. I’d left the shirt untucked, but it was large and had billowing sleeves.
“I look like a pirate.”
“Can I see yet?” Caom whined from right outside the doorway.
I sighed. “Fine.”
He burst into the room and stopped dead, staring at me. My cheeks flushed hot.
“You look spectacular,” he breathed, which just made my face burn even hotter. “Can you just pull up the shirt for a second so I can see your—”
“Not doing that.” I stomped past him into the main room of the tiny cottage.
“What about your boots?” Caom followed me out of the bedroom, holding them out. Brown leather with laces, they looked surprisingly modern, which I didn’t mind.
I sat down in the overstuffed, patched up armchair with a rough covering to pull on a pair of thick woollen socks that were itchy but blessedly warm.
“So… I’m supposed to live here?” I asked Caom as I shoved on the boots, glancing up to look around while I laced them.
“Yes, this is yours,” Caom said cheerfully, flopping down onto the sofa.
I looked around again uneasily. “Whose was it before?”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
I side-eyed him and gestured at the room. “It’s furnished. There’s stuff here. So someone was living here, surely.”
“Oh.” He waved a lazy hand. “Not for years. At least a century.”
He pointed at the door to the bedroom. “I brought you fresh bedding. It’s in your room.”
I snorted, leaning down to tug my left boot, making sure it was secure. They fit almost perfectly.
“You know I’m going to run the moment I can. I don’t need clean bedding.”
Caom just shot me a sad smile. “I know you’re going to try. But you won’t get far. So you will need the bedding.”