She dragged leaden feet across the floor and dropped onto the rustling heap. Both her cloaks were wet, and her boots were all but dripping where she sat. She shrugged off the cloaks, throwing them off to one side, then shucked her boots. Both pairs of hose were soggy, so they were added to the pile of wet things beside her. Scrabbling into the middle of her makeshift bed, she curled into the tightest ball she could manage, tucking her chilled feet up and under the weight of her skirts.

Footsteps headed her way. She tucked her hands under her arms and wiggled further into the bedding. She heard rustles of fabric and a sigh. “Ahh, Nora, you’ve done a proper job on wetting things haven’t you. I’d hoped to use that furry piece for our blanket.”

She bolted upright. “Our blanket? You can’t sleep here!”

He didn’t respond, instead collecting her discarded clothes and taking them over to the cart, where he draped them over the sides. She lay back down and tried to will herself warm and comfortable, ignoring the movement and rustling of Cadan presumably setting up some sort of bed elsewhere.

The lantern light shifted and grew stronger and she turned her head in time to see him hang the lantern from a pole near the hay pile. He had her woollen cloak over one shoulder and tossed it towards her before pulling off his boots.

“Arrange that as our over-blanket. It should give enough warmth for sleep.”

She sat up again and gaped. “I told you, we’re not sharing.”

He shrugged. “I’m sleeping on the bed I made on the hay. If you want to sleep elsewhere, that’s your decision. You could sleep on the cart seat, it’s a bit hard and you might fall off if you roll. Or you could take the floor, it’s stone so might be a touch cold.”

He turned out the lantern as he finished speaking and she squealed as a hand landed on her ankle. Cadan sighed. “We’re married, remember? And it’s too cold to sleep separately, even if you hadn’t spoiled the heavy blanket.”

He crawled up next to her and began pulling and arranging the cloak. He found one of her hands and put something in it. “My spare hose, put them on.”

Eleanor considered throwing them away, except they felt thick and warm and her toes were like clammy ice. She put them on, then curled onto her side, her back to the irritating man who’d stolen at least half of her cloak as covering.

He was warm though, it felt as if she was snoozing on a hearth with a steady fire in the grate behind her. Her breathing slowed as her body eased and she slid into dreamless sleep.

She was rudely awakened by a wash of cold air, followed by a booming voice. “Oh ho, what have we here? Looks like the forester’s lad’s got himself a fancy piece.”

Her pillow replied. “Please don’t antagonise my wife, she’s fierce and it’s too early.”

Eleanor jerked and Cadan sighed before easing free of their sleeping spot. How had he ended almost completely underneath her?

He met the newcomer at the edge of the pile of hay. “I hope the lumber was enough for what you needed?”

The older man said. “Oh, aye, well enough. Always plenty of places it’s needed round here.”

Eleanor went to stand, then realised she was still wearing Cadan’s hose beneath her dress, with no waist tie to keep them up. Instead, she sat under her cloak in their hollowed out nest, and nodded as elegantly as she could to the man peering at her.

“Is she not capable of walking?”

Cadan answered before she could. “More than capable, but she’s a modest lass and won’t be parading before strangers with bare feet.”

That made the farmer laugh for some reason, but it also made him leave. Taking the cow with him. “I’ll leave you in peace, Bessie can be milked in the open today. Come by the back door for breakfast when you’re ready.”

As he left, cow ambling behind, Eleanor frowned. There was something familiar about him…

Cadan distracted her by bending down to put on his boots. She looked away and focused on wriggling out of the too-large hose. Puling her legs free, she stood and shook out her skirts, then pulled her bodice straight.

Cadan dropped her boots and stockings on the ground where the hay met stone, then ushered her off his cloak before shaking it out and putting it on. Even with the shake, there were bits of hay sticking out all over it.

Eleanor said. “You look like an unpruned blackberry bush.”

He glanced down at himself, then picked up her cloak and his hose. “Tis perhaps a good thing you don’t have a mirror to hand.”

She glared, and waded through the hay to her shoes, refusing to put a hand to her hair. “You need to learn some manners, and why did you tell that man I was your wife? He’s bound to gossip.”

Cadan was rummaging in the cart. “You are my wife.”

No she wasn’t. This was a temporary mess, a little skirmish with her father that would end very soon. She picked up her stockings, only the thicker pair were there. “We are not married, and where is my other pair? These ones itch.”

He reached into a corner of the cart, then held up a damp, muddy, screwed-up ball of fabric. “These? I stuffed them in your boots to help the leather dry.”

She felt the boots. “They’re still wet.”

“They’re barely damp and will dry quick enough with you wearing them.”

Eleanor looked at him, then at the boots. She didn’t have a second pair, and he clearly wasn’t going to be helpful. “Very well. Bring me my pillowcase.”

Cadan shook his head. “We’ve a long way to go and need to be leaving, not primping about with fancy new clothes.”

He was impossible! Rude, inconsiderate, dismissive and uncouth. One of the leeches would have been better. Peter maybe? Or was he the one with the long, pointy nose?

She pulled her thoughts back to the annoyance at hand, shoving her feet into her stockings and boots, then stomping over to the cart. “Give me my pillowcase.”

Cadan fastened the edge of the waxed sheet covering the careful stacks of odds and ends in the cart, then handed her a cloak. “Good, you’re dressed. You can deal with your hair on the road.”

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