” ‘ll get wood f’r the fire. Seonaid, can ye,” Fearchar nodded to the fair haired man. The sky rumbled, causing the house to vibrate.
“I’ll see if I can find something warm to drink.” She went about making a heated ale.
“Thank ye, love.” He threw on a lined waxed canvas cloak and trampled out into the biting cold.
Seonaid returned to Eoin with the warm tankard. She used the bracers as a safe spot to draw the man’s attention. He looked up at her, his eyes unfixed and lost. “Drink this. It doesn’t have your sleeping powder in it. It may not help make everything better, but it might take the chill out.” She eased the wooden cup into his numb fingers. He stared at the swirling honey colored liquid. It’s fragrance made his stomach growl. “Hungry?” she soothed. His hand went to his stomach as he glanced away from her, embarrassed. He nodded. “I’ll get you some bannock, a’right?” She busied herself in the cupboards next to his bed. She returned to him with a stale loaf. He wolfed it down gratefully. Sharing his mind was exhausting and energy consuming. He was ravenous. The ale had been watered down. Eoin was thankful for that.
Fearchar returned with a sling of wood that would last them into the dawn. He stocked the fireplace high, raising the temperature in the room noticeably. Seonaid came up to hug him gently. “He’s spent,” Seonaid whispered quietly. Fearchar glanced back at the man. His head rested against the wall, his eyes glassy as he looked off into space.
Fearchar set aside the remainder of his wood. ” ‘elp me,” he nodded his head to the door that lead to their bedroom.
“What do you need?” Seonaid asked.
“The moon took a lover this evening. I saw the ring around it on our walk to Ian’s. We’re movin’ our bed in ‘ere t’night. It’s goin’ ta get baltic cauld ta ‘ave it so far ‘way from the fire.” He hung his cloak back on the peg and rolled up his sleeves.
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