Bruar's Rest

curled it down under her shaking knees. Deliberately she stiffened her legs, hoping he’d get a message of hostility. His gaze forced her to look into his eyes; she turned away, but only for a second. She was lost under a spell.
    Suddenly the old woman called for him to slow down, and as he did so she vomited over the side of the buggy’s leather seat.
    She had been so wrapped up in her newly discovered emotions, Megan had forgotten her friend was suffering. Guilt and anger spread through her, she felt so ashamed. Rachel’s words, away back at the campsite in the Angus Glens filled her head—‘You hussy, have you been working the pants off yourself?’ Perhaps her sister was right. Was she was a hussy? ‘No, I’m the proud wife of Bruar Stewart, and I will not betray him unless he has gone. If he’s alive I’d never forgive myself, nor be able to look him in the eye again! Oh no, surely I am not letting words like “unless” and “if” creep into my head,’ she scolded herself. ‘My love is waiting for me, and that’s that.’
    Soon the young man was pulling gently on the reins as the horse came to a halt on the gorse field edge. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she helped them down.
    He offered to help by carrying the old lady into the wagon, but Megan protested. ‘I can manage fine, we don’t need help.’ Then she added, ‘Best get back to your celebrations, you don’t want to miss your dinner.’
    At first he didn’t turn his face in her direction; instead he jumped back into the buggy and turned it around. ‘I feel easier in my mind that you are with the old woman, but there’s a favour I want to ask of you.’ His smouldering brown eyes now held her gaze. ‘Let me wait until you put Mother Foy to bed.’
    ‘She’ll freeze to death without the fire lit. No, I’m sorry but I’ve no time to waste chatting—Jack Frost is already closing around our feet.’ She was trying harder than ever to avoid his eyes.
    ‘Then let me light the fire.’ Without a word from either, he was up the steps of the wagon and in a flash had the stove emptied and filled with a heart of kindling. He seemed to know where the matches were kept, and soon had a grand flame pushing thick smoke up the long chimney that projected from the roof.
    Mother Foy slid under her bed covers, while Megan made her a cup of tea. Before half of it had been taken she was sound asleep. Outside Michael tended the horse and waited.
    Quietly she opened the wagon door and asked, ‘Do you want a drop tea?’
    Now that her old friend was asleep, something of the closeness with him made her feel vulnerable. In an instant he put his strong hands around her wrist to steady it while the cup wobbled in her shaking hand. He gently took the tea. She watched as it slid over his throat, rippling down his fine broad neck. Shivers danced up and down her spine. She pushed her hands in her pockets and asked, ‘Well, here I am, what is it you ask of me?’
    ‘I almost forgot there for a moment,’ he said. From his jacket he took out a small black velvet box and gave it to her. She’d never seen or handled one like it before, and for a minute didn’t know what to do, except stare at it nestling in her cold hands. The feel of the material was warm and pleasurable.
    ‘Open it, then, sure it’s not going to bite!’
    She felt awkward and stupid and thrust it back into his hand, then turned and opened the door; but he held her arm tightly and said, ‘Nobody should go through this day without a gift from someone, here.’ He lifted the small, compact lid displaying a shiny necklace.
    Although no light from the sun or any other source fell upon it, the shine was magnificent. ‘I cannot under the cloudy sky accept such a bonny thing, now put it back into the box and away with you.’ Smiling, he simply ignored her protests and slipped it on her slender neck. ‘Christmas gifts must never be refused, sure now, that’s the height of ignorance. Anyhow, what’s a little bit of gold between friends?’
    At his words her chest thumped like a hammer—gold! She’d never ever seen the precious metal, let alone been given it. His gift would indeed be kept close to her beating heart, but it was the last part of his comment that felt good—the word friend. Yes, if he was to be a friend, then she could keep it that way. Yet all the time, her wildest innermost thoughts were of intimacy. It would be so much easier if they were friends. She took his hand, shook