“Ah.” She followed him. They took their frames and bed roll and shifted them into the main room.
Fearchar went over to Eoin. The man had fallen asleep leaning against the wall. “Cummoan, doc,” Fearchar gently woke him with a shake on the shoulder. Eoin blinked awake, confused why he wasn’t looking through his mask. His hands clamped around Fearchar’s wrists like vises. He inhaled sharply, his heart beating fast. “Simmer, Eoin, calm yerself,” Fearchar shushed him, trying to shake the desire to run out of the house screaming.
Eoin blinked, finally focusing on Fearchar’s face. He released the red head. Fear? Eoin asked.
“We’re aw nackered. Ye need well kip,” Fearchar led him over to a stool near the fire. “Down ya go. Stay there a mome’.”
Fearchar turned to Seonaid. “Haw, le’s get the beds put t’gether,” he had her help him move the three frames together. They spread out their bed rolls once the frames were in place close enough to the fire to keep them warm. They piled their woolen blankets on thickly and Fearchar spread out his great kilt on top of it all, leaving himself bare to his long shirt.
“‘aven’t said mum since ye started sleepin’ ‘ere, bu’ f’r the grace a’ the li’l hen, ye’re nae sleepin’ in yer buits ‘n cloak,” Fearchar turned back to Eoin. Eoin looked up at him blankly. He was having difficultly keeping up with the man’s heavy brogue. Seonaid approached the doctor. Eoin swung his focus to her, pleading in his eyes. He was exhausted and half his brain felt like it was seeping down his spine in an effort to be away and to bed. Sharing took a lot out of a person. On top of that, he had been sleeping horribly by wearing his costume to bed for months on end.
“Spats n’ boots first,” Seonaid pointed to the wool covers and fine leather. He looked down at them, perplexed. It took him a minute to understand what she wanted. His fingers fumbled with the buckles that held the wool tight. She helped him ease them and the fine red leather boots off. How long had it been since he had slept free of them? He couldn’t quite recall. Not since Pozsony.
“Ah am gun’na take yer cloak off ‘n spread it on the bed. It’ll keep us aw sweltern’. D’ ye ken?” Fearchar asked as he reached for the large gold and turquoise brooch that held the garment on. Eoin reached for the brooch sluggishly.
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