"I have to confess I cursed you all the way from Ullapool. It wasn't very gentlemanly of me, especially considering all you've done since. Perhaps we can start by using each other's first names. Would that be all right with you?"

"I - I suppose so," Shelagh said, somewhat hesitantly. Inside, part of her wanted to run, to bang the door shut and barricade it with furniture. Men had not treated her kindly when she was younger, and now she had a man in her house for possibly some time to come. She had every reason for mistrusting the male gender, and yet this one was different.

---

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2009 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Certain products or services may be mentioned as part of the story. As this is a work of fiction, neither endorsement nor criticism should be implied from any such mention of any products or services.

This story is set in Scotland, and as such is written in UK English.

*****

November 28th

Damn that woman! Colin Anderson muttered yet again as he drove the main road from Ullapool. He'd spent four frustrating hours waiting for a delayed ferry and it would be getting dark by the time he reached the woman's cottage. From there, the drive back to Aberdeen would be done entirely in the dark, and there probably wouldn't be anywhere to get a meal when he got there.

How did I get involved in this mess anyway? he wondered. He'd wanted to fly Aberdeen to Stornoway and back, and then use his Range Rover to travel out to the remote cottage Shelagh Fraser lived in, but the pattern of flights meant he couldn't do that in the same time-scale, so he'd had to drive out to Ullapool and take the ferry.

Damn that woman! Of course, it being late November, there had already been several falls of snow on the east side of Scotland, and Aberdeen Airport had closed briefly a couple of times already. His Range Rover was well-prepared, and stocked against the coming winter weather, and the west side of Scotland had been clear, so the instruction had come from on high: go by car and ferry. We have to have that contract signed immediately. You're going to Stornoway, her cottage is 'just off' the trunk road, you've even been there, drop in on your way back.

Unfortunately, his previous visit had, although business-like, not been particularly cordial. Shelagh Fraser had treated him like something she'd fished out of her septic tank, and Colin hadn't needed any urgings to leave. I won't need any urgings to leave this time, either.

Colin had resented being told what to do by someone who had little idea of the conditions in the remoter parts of Scotland. As it was, he was running a calculated risk: if the weather worsened, he might get stuck on the road, however major a route it might be. It wouldn't be a huge problem, since there was sufficient traffic he could always get some help, even a lift from a trucker if need be. In fact, if that happened, he would be a double winner, since he would miss visiting the feminist author and would also be able to tell his bosses 'I told you so'. Unfortunately, the road remained clear, although the sky looked very ominous. Damn that woman!

He had stopped, briefly, in Inverness for a burger and coffee before pushing on. He had considered stopping overnight in Inverness, since the weather was coming from the east and there were already warnings on the radio of worsening traffic conditions near Aberdeen. But that would cause a delay that might make his life even more unpleasant, so he continued. Some miles further on, he turned off the trunk road onto one that struck south towards the mountains. He was off known territory now, but his map-reading skills were reasonable, and he'd eventually meet the route he'd used before. He turned east again, and threaded his way between snow-covered mountains. The sky was black ahead.

That's it! He recognised the name on the sign, where he had turned from the other direction on his previous visit. The name was in Gaelic; he had no idea how to pronounce it. Now he was on a single-track road leading to a couple of small villages and, eventually, a ski lodge and mountain rescue centre. The road, although narrow, had been well-swept, and only a thin layer of snow remained covering the surface. Colin considered stopping and putting his snow chains on his tyres, but decided against it for the time being. Flakes of snow promptly started to fall in front of his windscreen. Crap.

A huddle of houses appeared out of the gloom, the first village. Colin pulled over, got out, opened his boot and retrieved the snow chains, which he carefully fastened around all four wheels. He got back in, and decided to spend a few seconds having some coffee from his flask before continuing. It wasn't far from here, he could replenish when he got there. In conditions like these, how could he be refused?

It was snowing properly now, although he could still see his way, with difficulty. If something came the other way things could get awkward, although the vehicle's lights should just about be visible from one passing-place to the next. Several miles later he nearly drove past the cairn which stood opposite the track which led to Shelagh Fraser's cottage, as it was almost entirely buried in a snowdrift. He was getting higher in the mountains, and it had obviously snowed more here - a factor Colin hadn't taken into account. He backed up to the turning and considered the state of the track, which led off into the darkness.

There were tractor tyre marks going up the track, and it seemed that the vehicle had had a scraper, since the snow had been levelled off over the width of the track way, to a depth of about a foot. At the junction, the marks went both ways, so it was evident that someone had driven up to the cottage and back again to ensure the cottage wasn't cut off. Colin considered carefully, then decided he was already committed. If he turned round in the entrance, he only stood a 50/50 chance of getting back to a main road before conditions stopped him. If he got this far and then didn't get the contract signed it would probably be 50/50 that he kept his job, too. So he took a deep breath, engaged the lowest gear, and turned into the access road.

The snowfall had increased, almost to white-out conditions. Fortunately, the tractor that had cleared the way had left two deep, wide ruts and Colin concentrated on keeping his wheels in the ruts, ignoring everything else around him. The road climbed gently but steadily for four miles, then topped a notch in a ridge and started descending.

Colin remembered his previous visit to the cottage. It had been spring, and the scenery had been breathtaking. When he had got over the ridge, he had involuntarily stopped and stared. The road had meandered down and then followed a small burn for about a mile, before turning behind a crag. The burn had emptied out into a small, long loch which had Shelagh Fraser's cottage at one end and the other village at the other end. The cottage had been hidden behind the crag, and all he could see was the idyllic landscape laid out in front of him.

That's it. All I have to do is follow the ruts down to the crag, and turn the corner. Why am I doing this again? Damn that woman! The snow was now so thick that he had difficulty following the ruts, but it got a little easier as he descended. The fact that the walls of snow either side of the track were four feet high here also helped, but of course the cab of the Range Rover stood up much higher than that.

He followed the track down, with difficulty, and the crag loomed up above him, to his left. The track began to curve to the left to pass under the face of the rock. Things happened very quickly.

First there was a bang, and the front of the vehicle bounced in the air. When it came down again, there was another bang, and the Range Rover stopped abruptly. So abruptly, in fact, that Colin's upper body carried on going forward, to be met by the air bag coming the other way.

Colin became aware of a strange wailing noise. He was jerked back to full conciousness by the realisation that the noise was himself, screaming. The Range Rover had caught fire, and was well ablaze. Desperately he pushed at his seat belt buckle, finally releasing it. The buckle had already got very hot. His trousers were on fire. He clawed at the door, burning his hands in the process, but finally jerking the catch and shouldering the door open. He rolled out of his seat, but his arm got caught in the retracting seatbelt and he was spun round as he staggered down into the surrounding snow. As he freed himself and turned to run, the tank exploded and he was hurled bodily head-first into a bank of snow.

Shelagh Fraser had been waiting at a window of her cottage for Colin's arrival. Despite her antipathy towards men, her visitor was still a human being and the worsening weather made her concerned for his safety. She had also realised that he would have to stay the night, and had decided to try and treat him somewhat better than she had done on his previous visit. After all, the snow wasn't his fault. He had also telephoned from Stornoway and explained the circumstances, and a bad atmosphere wasn't going to help either of them.

When the headlights first appeared round the crag, through the driving snow, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least he's not stuck on the moor. She steeled herself for the act of greeting him, but that feeling changed into wonderment as the lights stopped moving, and a yellow flickering became visible behind them. After a few seconds the headlights abruptly died as the wiring burned through. With mounting horror, she realised that the vehicle was on fire. Rapidly, she jammed her feet into boots, grabbed her coat, and ran for the door.

Shelagh had got within fifteen feet of the vehicle before it exploded. She raised her arm against a sudden wave of heat, but still managed to see her visitor stagger out of the car and get flung into the dark like a rag doll. She ploughed through the waist-deep snow at the side of the track, trying to find where he had landed. Eventually, she located him, face down in a snowdrift, and managed to pull him out onto his back. With a finger, she cleared his mouth of snow, and was rewarded with a cough. With difficulty, she grabbed both arms and began pulling him over the snow towards the cottage, away from the fiercely burning vehicle.

*****

November 30th

Pain. Light, dark. Struggling with someone. Warmth. Sometimes wetness. A soft voice. Pain.

Colin came to, his mind suddenly clearing. He opened his eyes, to see that he was in a darkened room. He was lying in a bed, his hands above the covers, his head and shoulders propped up by (he guessed) pillows. Over the lower part of the bed the covers were somehow tented up, as though a box had been put underneath. Facing the foot of the bed was a large dark wardrobe which had garments hanging from the front of it. On his left was a dresser with an oil lamp burning on the top. On his right, closed curtains hid a window. In front of the curtains was a long, low chest, and in front of the chest, sitting in a chair, leaning towards him -

"Welcome back, Mr Anderson."

The thoughts in Colin's brain swam for a moment, then stabilised. He opened his mouth, then licked his lips.

"Uh, Miss Fraser?" She inclined her head. "This is your cottage?"

"Yes. Do you remember what happened?"

A whole host of impressions flooded through his thoughts, most of them unpleasant.

"My car? It ran into something, I think. I don't remember much more."

"Ran into something? Well, it's going to be some time before we find out what. Your car is underneath a snowdrift right now, and could be there for weeks if not months."

"Underneath a snow - How long have I been lying here?"

"This is the third day since your accident. I saw the whole thing from the house, and ran out to try and help. You stopped about a hundred yards away. I saw you get out of the car, and then it blew up. You ended up buried in the snow, so I pulled you out and dragged you all the way back to the cottage."

Up to that point Colin had only moved his eyes and his tongue. He tilted his head forward, and realised that his hands were both bandaged. The dressing on his left hand went up his arm to the elbow. He raised his arms and rotated his hands to look at them.

"What happened? I got burnt?"

"Yes. I had to clean you up and put you to bed. You were in agony, so I found some painkillers and fed them to you, which is why you are missing a day. Your legs are also bandaged. Fortunately for you, I don't think you are too badly injured. The pain should pass in a few days."

"Painkillers?" he asked, dully.

She nodded. "I had some codeine left after a twisted ankle some time ago. It's lucky I remembered I still had some left, you were becoming... unmanageable."

"Oh. Thank you. You seem to have done quite a professional job."

The life seemed to go out of Shelagh's face. "Yes. In another life, I was a nurse." She gazed past his shoulder for a moment, then looked directly at him again. "I would rather," she paused, "not talk about it, if you don't mind."

Colin shrugged his shoulders. At that moment he hadn't really thought about his situation, his mind was still absorbing the fact that he was still alive.

"What can I smell? Is that food?"

"Yes. While you were sleeping yesterday morning, I made a pot of broth ready for when you woke. I expected you to wake up yesterday afternoon, actually. Are you ready to eat some?"

Colin, who hadn't had any food or drink for more than two days, suddenly realised that he was very hungry.

"Yes, please. But how?" He waved his bandaged hands.

"I'll have to feed you." Colin attempted to protest, but Shelagh said, "Don't be silly. You obviously can't hold a spoon, and it's no trouble. I'll go and fetch some."

Shelagh shortly returned with a tray bearing a bowl of broth and a spoon, and she began feeding him. Once he had started accepting the rich liquid she began speaking.

"Now. You must understand the situation we're in. The electricity is out, as you may have noticed. This happens all the time here, two snowflakes fall out of the sky and the power goes. It's not a problem, we have oil lamps and such, I'm quite used to it happening. No power means no phone. I don't have a normal land line, it's too complicated or something, not to mention too expensive. There's a microwave phone link from here down the loch to the village, but it relies on mains power both ends - and good weather. I also have a CB radio, but that's not working either. That's because my backup generator, which I did start when the mains went, for some reason isn't connecting properly.

"It hasn't stopped snowing since you came. I reckon, if it stops now, we could be up here for ten to fourteen days before anyone thinks to check on me. Don't worry, I have ample food to keep us going all winter, and huge piles of wood for the stoves around the house, even with two of us here. This sort of thing happens most winters, I prepare well beforehand."

"People might not be too worried about you," Colin objected, "but eventually they are going to notice me missing, and start a search party."

"Not necessarily. Your people knew you were coming here, didn't they?" Colin nodded, his mouth full of broth. "Then they are going to assume that's where you are. They'll know you are most likely safe, especially if they start phoning anywhere local around here."

Shelagh sighed. "I guess what I'm leading up to is, we're going to be stuck here together for a while. I treated you, well, unkindly, when you were last here. The cottage isn't that big, and you are going to need my services for some days yet, so I propose a kind of truce while you're here."

"I have to confess I cursed you all the way from Ullapool. It wasn't very gentlemanly of me, especially considering all you've done since. Perhaps we can start by using each other's first names. Would that be all right with you?"

"I - I suppose so," Shelagh said, somewhat hesitantly. Inside, part of her wanted to run, to bang the door shut and barricade it with furniture. Men had not treated her kindly when she was younger, and now she had a man in her house for possibly some time to come. She had every reason for mistrusting the male gender, and yet this one was different.

When she had dragged him into the cottage, and into the light, she had discovered that his hands and lower legs had been burnt. She had laboriously lifted him into the bed in the spare room, and her nurse's training had automatically taken over. She had cut off his ruined clothing and set water to boil to wash his wounds. While the water was heating, she had delved into her linen stores and selected a sheet to tear into strips to use as bandages. When she had returned to the bedroom, she had recoiled from the male body in front of her. No. This one is innocent. He didn't ask to be burnt. He needs your help. Woodenly at first, she began to clean his wounds and wrap them in the linen. Gradually her training had taken over, and she had let it push the revulsion in her mind down away from the surface.

Later that night he had woken, screaming with the pain. Shelagh had contemplated tying him to the bed to prevent him injuring himself, or disturbing the bandages, before she remembered the high-dose codeine tablets. With a combination of those and some other painkillers she had sedated him enough to be able to sleep a few hours. The following day she had changed the bandages, realising belatedly that she would have to clean and re-use the soiled ones or run out of sheets trying, so she had set more water on to boil.

She had finally got used to ministering to the semi-comatose body in the bed, and now he was awake, she would have to adjust all over again. Perhaps I'll make an exception just this once. He never did anything to me, did he? But what if he does in the future? How can I ever trust any man again? Only one way, I suppose, to find out.

"Yes, I suppose so," she repeated, "call me Shelagh. It seems silly to call each other Mister and Miss when it's likely to be just the two of us here for a while. You're Colin, aren't you?"

"I am. Colin Anderson, at your service," he nodded, as he couldn't do much else. After a pause he said, "Your excellent broth has filled me up and made me sleepy again. Do you mind if I drift off for a while?"

"By all means. I have to sort out your bandages before tonight, so carry on. Call if you need anything, I can hear you anywhere in the cottage. Do you want me to leave the light?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks." He watched her pick up the lamp and put it on the tray, then walk with the tray to the door. "Uh, Shelagh?"

She turned at the door and looked at him.

"Thank you, Shelagh Fraser. Thank you for saving my life, and for looking after me."

Shelagh said nothing, merely dipping her head once, and then walking into the dark beyond the room. Shortly afterwards, the door was closed, but by that time Colin was already asleep.

He came to suddenly and completely. The room was completely dark, but a small gleam of light filtered under the door from beyond. Colin called out.

"Hello! Shelagh!"

There were sounds from beyond, but it was nearly a minute later that Shelagh appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a nightdress under a thick wraparound dressing-gown. In one hand she carried the lamp, the other was brushing the long blonde hair out of her face while she yawned prodigiously.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were asleep. What time is it anyway?" he asked.

"It's around seven in the evening. Us country folk tend to go to bed early, especially in wintertime. Do you need something?"

"Yes, I need to use the toilet, and fairly soonish, if that's possible". To Colin's complete surprise, he could see Shelagh blush deeply even in the low light of the oil lamp. "Oh. Did I say something wrong?"

"No! No, it's nothing you've done. At least, not consciously." She put down the lamp and came to the side of the bed. "If you need to go, we had better get you out of bed. It'll have to be the privy, I'm afraid. I do have a proper flush toilet here but it needs the electricity to work, and it's probably all frozen up by now, anyway. Here, lift your arms, let me pull back the covers."

She pulled the covers back and Colin had another surprise. Around his hips and leg tops was wrapped a large towel, folded and pinned like a nappy! Shelagh stammered an explanation, obviously embarrassed by the situation.

"Your body didn't stop functioning, just because you were sedated, you know. I've had to clean you up three times, once at the back and twice at the front. You've cost me a lot of extra washing and nearly ruined the mattress. Let me pull the covers right back, then I can remove the box."

She had found an old cardboard box, cut one side and most of the ends away, and used it as a tunnel so as not to allow the blankets to cause pressure on his legs. When she lifted it off he saw that his lower legs were both bandaged from ankle to knee. He swung his legs one by one onto the floor. When he put his arm on her shoulder for support while he stood up, he realised that she was trembling as much as he was. She draped his arm over her shoulders, so that his hand wouldn't touch anything, and held him by passing one of her arms round his waist. As far as he knew, it was the first time she'd touched him since he'd been conscious, and he was very aware of her hand on his body, supporting it. Although his legs stung like crazy, he felt confident enough to walk through the cottage with her support. Picking the lamp up with her free hand, she guided him out of the bedroom.

They walked through the cottage in the near-darkness, both shaking, and Colin began to feel the cold. Apart from the towel, the only thing he was wearing was his vest. Although the temperature of the air in the cottage was not that cold, it wasn't particularly warm either. The floor felt chilled beneath the soles of his feet. Fortunately, most of the floors in the different rooms were covered with rugs, but that in the passage was not.

At the other end of the house, Shelagh led him to a wooden door, and through that to a store room. At one side were two large freezers and shelving stacked with packaged food, on the other were piled boxes and crates of all sizes. In front of them were two doors, and cold winds blew under both of them into the house. Shelagh pointed to the right-hand door.

"That's the privy. I'll have to come in with you, since you can't take that towel off by yourself, and you'll need the lamp in any case."

It was Colin's turn to flush scarlet, but it faded when he realised that she had already washed his body a number of times. She opened the door and they entered.

"Gosh, it's colder than when I used it earlier. Since I had the flush toilet installed, I don't use this one very often. I should have brought you a blanket or something."

Bodily functions dealt with, she led him back to the bedroom, with the towel this time wrapped round his waist, and helped him back into bed. Leaving him alone temporarily she returned with a shawl, which she wrapped around his upper body.

"Now would be as good a time as any to change your bandages. This may not be very comfortable for you, but you'll get a chance to see what the damage is."

She made a couple of journeys to fetch fresh linen strips, a cloth and a bowl of hot water. Deftly, she started unwrapping the dressings, easing them away with the cloth dipped in hot water when the linen stuck to his skin. Once his hands were released, Colin carefully flexed his fingers.

"Good! You must do that every time I change the dressings. You'll notice that your hands are mostly burnt on the palms, and at the finger tips. I assume that was when you opened the door?"

"I suppose so. I don't really remember much."

"If that's the case, it's a hot metal burn, not naked flame, so the damage to underlying tissue won't be so great. It'll hurt for a while, then the burnt skin should blister off and new will grow."

"You seem to know about such things."

"I told you, I was a nurse." Shelagh stopped, took a deep breath, and resumed, "However, one of my friends got burnt and I saw how it affected her body, so I did a bit of reading on the subject, seeing as I was in the trade, so to speak. Now, try to flex your fingers every time I do the dressings. That will help make sure that any new skin isn't too tight for your hand, or you might end up with clawed fingers. I don't think it will happen, but it never hurts to be prepared. Perhaps we should leave those to air while I look at your legs."

She peeled away the linen wrapped around his legs. The markings revealed looked dark, red and angry. She cleaned the wounds with water and patted them dry with the cloth.

"They look bad, but I think you got lucky with your legs as well, although in my view they are worse than your hands. Your trousers were obviously on fire, looks like they melted. See these marks here? That's where I had to pick strings of plastic out of your skin. But you were wearing some long woollen socks, and that's what saved you from much worse damage. You are going to be scarred, I think, but no-one will see that under your trousers. It's all at the front, too, your calf muscles look mostly undamaged."

She made sure his legs were dry, then wrapped them carefully in new strips of linen. His hands she wrapped again in the same fashion. Before she bandaged his left arm, Shelagh pointed to a dark ring round his wrist.

"That's where your watch was. The watch is destroyed, I'm afraid, but I've kept it in case you need to make an insurance claim. You can see where the metal strap has sunk in. You'll most likely have a permanent scar there as well. Fortunately I don't think it's deep enough to have damaged any tendons."

She finished securing the dressings and then arranged the bedding back over his body. She carried the washing bowl and the old dressings out of the bedroom, returning with two bowls of broth on a tray. Alternating spoons and bowls, she fed both of them with the steaming liquid.

Noting that Shelagh seemed tense, despite the companionable silence, Colin eventually asked, "Miss Fraser? Shelagh? Is something the matter? Something I should know about?"

Her spoon clattered into the bowl, and she drew a breath.

"Yes. I'm finding this very difficult, and I'm also not finding it as difficult as I thought I might have done." She paused, then added, "There... are... issues. Issues which are to do with me, not with you. It's just bad fortune that you happened to come here when you did, and that you won't be leaving for a while. If things had worked out the way they should have, you would have been gone in an hour, and none the wiser." She grimaced. "I have a poor reputation so far as men are concerned. In fact, that's why I moved all the way up here, to get away from them."

She held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. "I say again, it's nothing to do with you, you're an innocent party. I don't wish you ill while you're here, I want our relationship to be as civilised as is possible under the circumstances. Please forgive me, I'm being a poor host." She smiled, wanly, "I'll try and treat you as well as you should be treated, as well as you deserve. Do you think you can put up with that?"

Colin nodded slowly. "I've heard stories about you, but I have to tell you I didn't believe most of them. In fact, I'm not sure I believe any of them. My presence here is obviously causing you some stress. I'll try not to do anything that might increase that stress. However," he added gently, "I have heard that sometimes it's good to talk." Shelagh looked alarmed. "Not just yet, perhaps, but in a day or two, once I'm up and about. You are going to let me get out of this bed, aren't you?"

Shelagh rallied, "Of course! Now you are taking note of what's around you I want you out of that bed, starting tomorrow. We need to get everything aired, in any case." The brisk nurse's tone came back into her voice. "Have you had enough to eat?" she asked him.

"Yes, thank you." He decided against asking her if broth was all she was going to feed him, in case she took it the wrong way. She's quite near the edge, and I have no clue why. "I've been sleeping for days, and I'm still tired, I don't know why. Perhaps I can get a better night's sleep now I've had some food."

"It's mostly shock. You can't go through that kind of physical experience and not suffer for it. So we'll be taking it gently for the next few days. Let me tuck that shawl round you, and then I'll bid you good night."

"What time does your day start?"

"Don't worry about that. You sleep as long as you need. Just call out when you're ready for breakfast - or another trip to the privy," she added. With that, she picked up the lamp and let herself out, bidding him "Goodnight," as she closed the door.

*****

December 1st

Colin woke, in the faint light of the dawn. The wind was whistling and moaning around the timber parts of the roof, the sound oddly flattened by the blanket of snow he knew lay outside. He felt refreshed, and although his hands and legs still hurt, he felt up to the challenges of the coming day.

"Shelagh! Miss Fraser!"

She came fairly promptly, already dressed in thick jumper and jeans. She went to the window and pulled the curtains, showing the unearthly glow of low cloud over banks of snow. He could see that it was still snowing, although nothing like the volume it had been when he had arrived at the cottage.

"Good morning to you. How are you feeling today?"

"Much better, thanks. I don't know what you put in that broth, but it's certainly done the job."

"That's what I want to hear. Ready to get up?"

"Yes please."

Shelagh pulled back the blankets, and Colin looked around for the towel.

"Oh! Wait a minute, you won't be needing the towel." She bustled out of the room and returned clutching his boxer shorts. She felt the edges carefully.

"Hmm. The top edge is still slightly damp, but I don't think that's going to matter too much. Let me pull the covers off you so I can slide them up your legs."

How did she? Oh. When I did 'bodily functions' before I woke up. She must have washed them.

She carefully manoeuvred the shorts up his legs over the bandages, and when they got so far up, he swivelled his legs onto the floor and stood, so that she could pull them up to his waist.

"Ready? Let's put the shawl round your shoulders, there. Put your arm over me, like you did last night."

She helped him out of the bedroom and along the passage to the parlour, the big room which occupied the whole of one end of the cottage, nearest the loch. This room had been the kitchen once upon a time, and still had a range along one wall, but Shelagh had decided to modernise it when the cottage became hers.

An oak table stretched across the room in front of the range, used both for preparation and consumption of food. In an opposite corner, a wood stove glowed. Ranged around it were two antique chairs and a two-seater settee. In the fourth corner stood a small desk bearing a computer.

The end wall of the house had originally contained two small windows. Shelagh had had them taken out and a large opening made which held a triple-glazed patio-style full-height sliding window that currently looked out on to a sea of snow. Colin squinted at the blaze of whiteness pouring through the big window. She guided him to the wooden door, in the wall next to the desk, and Colin realised he was in for another trip to the privy. Afterwards, she cleaned him up, then guided him over to the wood stove.

"I'll sit you in Nan's chair, it's a bit more upright and you should find it more comfortable." She eased Colin into the chair, and then went over to the range. "Breakfast is porridge, of course, and I can make you either tea, or coffee. I'm sorry, there's no bread until I get time to make some."

Porridge was fine, and so was tea to follow. Shelagh put his cup on the oak table when he'd finished and came to sit in the other chair, her face both thoughtful and anxious. She took a deep breath, and then began.

"You, I mean we, have a problem the size of which I hadn't really registered till last night, when I took you to the privy. To put it bluntly, you have nothing to wear. In fact, you have no possessions at all, full stop, except the two garments you currently have on. Everything else you had on was damaged by fire in some way, and I had to cut most of it off. Standard A&E procedure," she explained, "once I got you inside my training just took over."

Colin nodded, "And am I thankful you had the training! I did briefly wonder, last night, about clothing, but decided that it wasn't important at the time."

"While you were in bed," she agreed, "it wasn't. But now you are up, it is. You can't go round wearing just those two things all the time, for several reasons. Firstly, it's not quite warm enough in here, and if I have to put more wood in the stove to make it warmer my wood stock probably wouldn't last the winter out. Secondly, this is the fourth day you've worn that vest and I can tell that from the aroma. The shorts have already been washed, the vest very definitely needs washing, and it'll take at least a day to dry each time, since it will have to be done indoors. I don't think you can spend all your time wrapped in a blanket, either."

"What about the car? I had an overnight bag full of clothes."

"Your car was a shell by the time I'd pulled you back to the house. I shouldn't think anything survived. Look, I'll not beat about the bush. There's no men's clothing in this house. In fact, if there had been, I'd have got rid of it, I want, wanted, no reminders of, well, never mind. I have some jeans, but the legs are so narrow they'd never go over your bandages, and I suspect they'd be both too short, and too tight round the waist. I have a practical alternative, and I emphasise practical, but it might make you think twice about how you view me and about what you've let yourself in for."

"Surely not," Colin protested, "I've trusted you with my life up to now, I see no reason to stop."

He trusts me? I suppose he does. I haven't given him any reason not to, yet. Let's press on.

"What I am talking about is skirts. I have two or three long skirts which will probably fit you. They will leave your legs free, won't get in the way of bandages, but still keep your lower half warm. What do you think?"

Colin understood the logic of the situation. "I understand why you'd be cautious bringing the idea up. I don't think I can object too much, though, do you? After all, there really isn't much alternative."

"Very well. It's going to be an unusual situation for both of us, so we'll have to try to be practical about the whole business. I also have drawers full of jumpers and tops, but again, the sleeves of most would never fit over the bandages on your hands. So what I am proposing for your upper half is actually blouses or shirts. Some of my collection, rarely worn these days, I have to say, have largish sleeves that will go over the dressings easily. And for a vest, I can't do a direct substitute but I do have some cotton tank-tops which might do." She ended with the first slight hint of humour Colin had noticed since he had first met her, "It seems that as well as sharing my home, and my hospitality, you'll also be sharing my wardrobe!"

It doesn't matter what I wear out here, cut off from everyone else. And it will be practical. But what's going on in her head? She's a feminist, is she trying to prove something? Set me up? Or am I looking for motives where none exist? And what is she afraid of?

"Wait a minute," he replied, "I personally don't have a problem with your suggestions, but have you thought this all the way through? Are either of us about to do something that either or both of us might regret in the future? What I mean is, I've no fear of looking a laughing stock in front of you, after all, you've tended my injuries, bathed me, fed me, and now you're offering quite openly to clothe me from your own resources, for which I am rightly extremely grateful. But this cottage won't always be isolated, some time soon someone will appear to check that you are all right. If they find me here in a skirt, will you be worried that you or I might be the subject of public ridicule and rumour, and that our reputations might be ruined?"

"I'm sure my reputation amongst the sisterhood has already been destroyed by the mere fact that you stayed here, and over several nights already, too. I don't think the locals will be too concerned, though. Once they understand that you had no option at all, because everything was destroyed, there won't be much trouble. The people who live in these parts tend to be very practical folk. There might be the odd chuckle in the village bar for a day or two, but it'll soon blow over. Don't forget, also, that you'll soon be long gone, and what folk say up here won't matter to you any more."

Colin considered, and then said, formally, "Then, Miss Fraser, I agree to your proposal."

Shelagh stood up and left the room, returning with an armful of clothes, which she placed on the settee.

"Lean forward and hold your arms up so I can get that disgusting vest off you. Easy, there! Now, this top is not far different from a vest, just pop your arms through there, and - ah, it fits better than I expected." The tank top she had chosen was a pale blue. "Oh. How are we going to do the blouse? I think you'll have to stand, so I can come behind you."

She helped Colin up, and she carefully worked the sleeves of the white blouse over his bandaged hands and up his arms, and settled the garment on his shoulders. Seating him again, she buttoned the front up, and fastened the cuffs of the full sleeves, which reached to just above the elbow. Then she undid the zip of a bias-cut A-line green tweed skirt and worked it over one leg at a time. Finally she got him to stand while she pulled it up to his waist and did up the zip, tucking in the blouse.

"I am astonished," she said, "given the difference in our heights, I didn't think anything of mine would fit you. Apart from a larger gap between the hem and the floor, the skirt is just about right, even the waist. The blouse had to be a short-sleeved one because of the bandage on your left arm. It looks like I am going to be able to clothe you as long as you need, although some of the colour combinations might be a little strange."

Colin sat down again, and Shelagh arranged the shawl around his shoulders to provide additional warmth.

"I feel like a little old lady," he said.

"Actually, you look a bit like a little old lady, dressed like that, and especially sitting in that chair. Only your hair lets you down."

"My hair?"

"Oh, of course, you haven't seen your face, have you? I'll get a mirror from my bedroom." She bustled out and returned with a large hand-mirror, which she held up for him.

"God, I look terrible! Just like Queen Elizabeth. The English queen, I mean, Good Queen Bess."

The fire had singed all the hair off his face, and from the front part of his scalp, up to a line from ear to ear across the top. The tip of his nose was red, as were parts of his forehead and the edges of his ears. His hair was normally auburn, but with the combination of smoke and scalp oils looked almost black in parts.

"Looks like what's left of my hair needs a wash, too." He gently rubbed his bandaged fingers along his jawline. "Funny, it's been four days since the accident. I can't feel any stubble." He brushed under his chin. "Oh, yes, there's some there, wonder why there's none on my face?"

"Possibly shock, again. It sometimes happens after trauma that hair stops growing for a while. Do you mind if I check you?"

"No, go ahead."

She gently ran a fingertip across his face, over his top lip and under his chin, then transferred her touch to his scalp. He could feel the rasp of the stubble under his chin and on his throat, but everywhere else seemed smooth, even on top of his head.

She commented, "Odd, that. It helps, though, since the razor I have only gets used once a month to do my legs. I doubt if it'd last very long with you hammering it every morning."

Colin held up his bandaged hands. "If I tried to shave at the moment, I'd probably cut myself to ribbons. No, I think we'll leave facial hair for now, if you don't object."

"Fine by me. Look, now I've got you dressing and undressing, perhaps you ought to have a bath tonight, before bed. I'll take off your bandages, you can have a good soak, we can do your hair, and then I can dry you and put clean bandages on. That seem a good idea?" He nodded. "Now, are you comfortable? I have a lot to do this morning, so I'll have to leave you for a while."

"Lot to do?"

"Yes! There's last night's dressings, this morning's dressings, this horrible thing," she held up his vest fastidiously between two fingertips, "and my own washing to do, not to mention some soiled sheets and towels I didn't have room or time for yesterday. Thanks to you, I've been busier these last three days than I have been the previous three months."

With that Shelagh carried the offending item out of the parlour and off to the bathroom. Colin was left alone with his thoughts. He realised abruptly that he could actually do very little, apart from stand up and wander round the cottage. He couldn't read a book from the several bookshelves full against the walls of the parlour. There was no TV, not out here, no evidence of a radio set either. There was no electricity, so he couldn't even amuse himself with Shelagh's computer, or listen to the small tape/CD player on one of the bookshelves. Finally, the warmth of the fire combined with the inner warmth of the porridge to gently send him off to sleep.

The clattering of the mugs as Shelagh washed them and put them on the draining board woke Colin. She heard him stirring, and called, "Hello again! Would you like some tea? I've just put the kettle on."

He yawned. "Yes please. What time is it?"

"About eleven, I think. I don't bother too much about clock time here. I just fancied a cup of tea."

Colin yawned again. "I know what you mean. I'll try not to ask you the time too often in the future, although my stomach may disagree with that policy."

Shelagh made two mugs of tea and brought them over to the sitting area. Putting hers down, she fed half of Colin's to him, then sat in the opposite seat and regarded him over her own mug.

He said, "I realised when you left just how useless I am at the moment. With these bandaged," he wiggled his hands, "I can't do a single thing. Would you be offended if I suggested we talk to one another? I mean, I don't want to stop you doing things, especially as I am the cause of all your extra work, but I wondered if you would welcome a little conversation now and then."

"Of course! Even though I'm quite self-sufficient out here, it's nice sometimes to have a chat with someone. And you shouldn't worry about the work, either. For some strange reason, I'm finding it quite therapeutic. Your unexpected presence here has shaken my usual boring routine and I find I'm enjoying the challenge, hard work though some of it is."

"Okay, and I promise to try and keep off sensitive subjects. Fair enough?"

They talked, then, about many subjects, and the tea that was left in their mugs got cold. After more than two hours, Shelagh realised that she was hungry and got up to organise food. She had, before Colin had woken that morning, got some cubed beef out of the freezer and browned it while she made some dumplings. She had placed everything into a cast-iron dish, together with some fresh vegetables and what was left of the broth and put the dish in the "slow cook" oven.

She set the table and helped Colin to sit at it, seating herself next to him so she could feed him. The meal was delicious, but Colin still felt terrible at being so helpless and unable to even feed himself, although he tried not to let anything show. Afterwards as he made his way back to the chair, Shelagh made another pot of tea.

"Shelagh? I'm going to have to ask you to be creative again, I'm afraid."

"How so?"

"My feet are cold. It's not so bad over here, where I'm on a rug, and next to the stove, but sitting at the table my feet were on the flagstones, and they're not that warm."

"Footwear! No, I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to think about shoes or anything like that." She walked over to the stove and looked at his feet. "Your feet are going to be too big for anything I wear. I doubt you could even squeeze into any of my outdoor socks, and they're practically the size of sleeping bags. Let me think about the problem while I pour the tea."

She returned, and put the two mugs on one of the small tables which were either side of the settee.

"I don't think I'm up to making proper footwear, even though I do some of my own sewing," she mused. In her mind's eye, she saw the dressmaking scissors she had used to cut his burned clothes off. "Ah! I have an idea, and in fact you provide the material." She left the room and returned with the winter weight fleece he had been wearing during the drive. The sleeves had been cut from cuff to shoulder, and then across the front to the opening. The left sleeve was almost burnt completely through up to the elbow.

"God, you went to town on that!" Colin said, "It cost me a fortune, too. Still, the insurance should pay up. What's your plan?"

"I'm going to try and make you a pair of slippers out of this material. I know I had to hack it about to get it off you, but there's still some pieces big enough to use, especially if I cut the soles out of the back."

She found some paper and traced out the shape of his feet. Then, measuring and cutting, she sewed the pieces into rough shape, testing them against his feet as she went. The end result was effectively a pair of thermally-lined moccasins.

"Mmm. That makes quite a difference. Something else I have to thank you for."

Colin woke up with a start. The room was almost dark, but he could hear Shelagh moving around near the range.

"Hey, every time you feed me, I fall asleep! Are you slipping me something to keep me quiet, Shelagh Fraser?"

"And good evening to you too! No, of course not, it's your body busily repairing itself. I wouldn't be too worried about it. The time to be worried is when your energy returns, which will be in a few days, but you still won't be able to do much because your fingers are too tender." She added, "I think it might be a good time to get you in the bath. If I take your dressings off, you can have a dip. By the time that's done with it'll be supper time, then after that I can put new dressings on and get you into bed. It'll give your skin a chance to get some air."

Shelagh lit two oil lamps and took them into the bathroom, then returned and helped Colin in. While the water was running into the bath, she carefully removed his clothing and then got him to sit on the edge of the bath while she unwound the bandages.

"This room seems a bit out of character with the rest of the cottage," he remarked.

"When I inherited the cottage, just like every new owner before me, I made improvements," Shelagh replied, "As I had no need of the extra bedroom, I decided to get some mod cons put in. So, a proper toilet bowl, a washbasin and a full-size bath. There's a hot-water cylinder in that cupboard, fed by the new range that's installed in the parlour. Bit of an improvement on what was here before. When I used to come as a child, we had to use a jug of water heated up on the range, or several jugs poured into a tin bath."

As she helped Colin get into the bath, Shelagh froze. Fighting herself the whole way, she helped him to sit down, and then began soaping him. What on earth is happening to me? I've spent days handling him, I ought to have got over it by now.

Colin discovered that, in the warm water, his hands weren't quite so sensitive, so he could handle the soap himself, if he was gentle. What happened to her when she came to sit me in the bath? She was a lot more friendly today, and now this. Is it me, or is it her?

Shelagh was virtually silent as she helped him to stand, and then started to dry him with a towel. Colin had discovered that his hands were too painful out of the water to handle the towel, so he had to let her dry all of him. He could sense that things had changed somehow, and decided just to remain passive until he could find out if there were some way of improving the situation. The situation will probably only improve from the moment I wave goodbye. But if that's the case, why did we have such a good time today?

When he was mostly dry, she wrapped the bath towel round his waist and made him bend over the washbasin so she could wash his hair, wrapping it in another towel. She then left the room, and returned bearing a knee-length short-sleeved cotton nightdress.

"I'm sorry, it's all I can offer you. You obviously can't wear pyjamas, not that I own any." She helped him into the garment, then, moccasins on feet, he followed her back into the parlour.

Supper was a subdued affair, even though Shelagh once again appeared to relax. Colin had a number of questions, but he decided to leave them for another day. Supper finished, he watched her clean up the kitchen area before she led him first to the privy, and then to the bedroom. Winding a fresh set of dressings around his hands and legs, she helped him into bed before saying "Goodnight," and closing the door.

*****

December 2nd

The wind sounds louder than yesterday, thought Colin as he wakened fully. He lay there puzzling over yesterday's events until Shelagh came to get him up. The previous routine was followed, except that she brought him a lemon-coloured cotton tank-top, a dark green short-sleeved blouse with a gathered yoke and a full-length straight dove-grey wool skirt to wear. Breakfast was again porridge and tea. She indicated two large bowls at the other end of the table, each covered by a tea-towel.

"I decided to leave the washing for a bit, and sort out some dough for bread," she said, "I've had to double my usual amount. One of those usually lasts me three to four days, but your appetite might be greater than mine, so we'll have to see how far they go."

"I doubt mine's greater," Colin replied, "You're doing all the work, after all."

After breakfast, he got up and went to the big window and looked out.

"Is it me, or is the wind stronger today?"

"I think it is. I think the snow's easing up, too. I went out into the yard before you got up, to fetch some more logs for the range, and it seemed to me that there's less snow. The wind direction might have shifted, as well, round to the north. The thermometer that's out in the yard said minus eight. If you're in the wind, it'll be a great deal colder."

"You said, the evening I woke up, that we could be here for some time. How long have you been snowed in here before, then?"

"Year before last, seven weeks, most of January, half of February. That's the longest so far. Usually it's a week, couple of times a winter, maybe. Last year was warm, so I didn't get cut off at all. A few years back I went four weeks or so. It's unusual for it to happen this early in a winter, though."

I could be here seven weeks? Ouch. "Can you tell how long it's likely to last?"

"Not at all. Sometimes there's as much as there is now, and it stays for weeks. Other times, if the weather changes and we get a day of rain, all this could disappear overnight. It's pure chance what happens."

He stared out into the featureless whiteness until spots started dancing before his eyes, then went and sat in the chair. Within five minutes he had fallen asleep. Shelagh, still in her dining chair at the oak table, watched him moodily. How is it I can bear the sight of him now, and not last night? Is it the sight of him naked? Can't help that, at the moment he needs Nurse Fraser and that's that. How is it part of me wants to see the back of him, and part of me wants him to stay for the company? And I like the extra work he's given me. What's that all about? Speaking of work, time to do more washing.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Despite the snow, there was not very much light coming into the cottage, and the gloom affected both occupants. Lunch was canned soup. Shelagh put the loaves into the oven after lunch, and the cottage soon filled with the smells of fresh bread. They had talked during the afternoon, mostly about topics connected with the literary world, but Colin could sense that she was not as forthcoming as she had been the previous day, and kept the conversations light. Supper consisted of fresh bread and cheese, followed by fresh bread and jam. The wind was still howling when they retired to bed.

*****

December 3rd

Colin had managed to lift, awkwardly, the covers back on his bed, so that he could get himself up. He walked into the passage and, hearing sounds from the open bathroom door, poked his head around it.

"Good morning, Shelagh!"

"Well done!" she replied, her arms submerged in a bath full of soapy water, "And good morning to you! I wondered whether you'd manage to get yourself up. Go through to the parlour, I won't be a minute with this lot."

He sat at the table, and shortly she came into the room, wiping her arms with a towel.

"Just let me get the porridge going, and I'll be there to do your dressings."

"How are you managing with the washing?" he asked, since he had surmised that was what she had been doing.

"I'm keeping abreast of it," she replied, "It's been a lot easier since you got up. I've still got a pair of sheets to do, it's going to be difficult finding some way of drying them."

"No tumble dryer? Oh, stupid, no electricity. Ignore me, I'm a man."

She eyed him, uncertain about his humour. "You're right, actually. There is a washer/dryer in one of the outbuildings, but I can't use it in this weather because the pipes will be frozen. I don't think I could run it on the generator anyway, even if I got that fixed. So until the electric people come to fix the line, which could be weeks, it's all got to be done by hand."

"I'm sorry I've caused you all this extra trouble."

"Stop apologising! That's what friends are for," Shelagh said.

"Are we friends, Shelagh?" Colin asked.

"I-" Shelagh stopped. 'That's what friends are for' was a common enough saying, and she had said it without thinking. But the current circumstances were far from common. "I think that 'friend' is probably too strong a word to use right now," she said slowly, "We've been pushed together by circumstances, after all. But I begin to think that I would not object to having you as a friend in the future, Mr Anderson. We'll have to see how things pan out."

After breakfast, she brought out today's wear, consisting of a white cotton sleeveless top with a lace infill between the straps, a white long-sleeved fitted shirt, and a mid-calf full skirt in the Fraser hunting tartan. The long sleeves, which were fairly voluminous, she rolled up back to Colin's elbows. Colin held his arms out and twirled round to make the skirt bell out.

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am. This is something I've seen girls do, and of course women also do it in films and on TV. I just never imagined in a million years I'd be able to have a go myself."

Shelagh rolled her eyes. "Simple pleasures are sometimes the best," she said, thinking, Well, he's a man, it's probably all a complete novelty to him, "You've had a skirt on three days now, how do you feel in them?"

"As you said, practical," Colin replied, "but I really like the freedom as well. It feels sometimes like you're not wearing much at all below the waist, but at the same time you know you're well covered. I've noticed that the cut of the three you've lent me are all different, and they all feel different to wear. And skirts are warmer than I expected, although this one feels different somehow. This one doesn't feel so smooth."

"Ah, that's because the first two were lined, this one isn't. What you need is a waist slip, I'll see if I can find something suitable." She went and fetched a white slip with an elasticated waist, which she pulled up his legs under the skirt, and over his boxer shorts. "That better?"

"Thank you. I'll have to move about a bit to get the feel of things." He walked over to the big window, and stared out.

"Do you know, I don't think it's actually snowing out there," he said, "I think what I'm seeing is just drift being blown about by the wind. And the sky looks much brighter, too. Perhaps the storm has gone over."

"It's still blowing a gale out there," she replied, "so there's no chance of help arriving yet, I'm afraid."

"Fortunately, I don't think my situation's urgent any more, so I'm quite content to wait. Nurse Fraser seems to have it well under control."

"Nurse Fraser has it under control, does she? Ha! More like Nurse Fraser has been running round, waiting on you hand and foot for a week. Nurse Fraser can't wait for her patient to be discharged, so she can get her peace and quiet back," retorted Shelagh.

Colin threw his hands in the air. "I can't win. She won't allow me to apologise, then she tries to make me feel even more guilty." He looked at her. "Besides, yesterday you told me you'd enjoyed the change in routine."

"I did! And meant it, too." She paused. "Right, I have to do last night's and this morning's dressings. Amuse yourself for a while."

When she came back, she found him dozing in front of the stove. On hearing her come back he revived, but just sat there watching her prepare dinner and put it on the range to cook. She noticed him watching.

"Do you cook at all?" she asked.

"I can do, but because I'm spending so much time on the road I don't get enough opportunities to make my own meals. When I get fed up with the usual road burgers and suchlike I can usually find a decent restaurant somewhere nearby, at least I can be sure of some healthy food then." He added, "When I get the use of my hands back I'll cook you a meal or two, if you like. You seem to have a decently stocked larder."

"A promise! I'll keep you to that, if I may. You don't sound too sure about your job."

Colin sighed. "Like, I suspect, a great many jobs, it seemed a good idea at the time. They needed someone to cover Scotland, and they knew I had Scottish roots, so they asked me. I thought it would be a good chance to come and see some of the old country, but I didn't realise just how far apart everywhere was."

"I thought you were English, I didn't realise you had roots in Scotland."

"Yes, both my parents are Scottish. Dad was an aircraft engineer and went south in the eighties when his job moved. I was actually born in Edinburgh, at my grandmother's house, but was brought up in Hertfordshire. We used to go back to Edinburgh every year for holidays, so I know that area reasonably well. When the job offer came, I accepted, little realising that Head Office had no idea how awkward my job would end up up here."

"You have any family?"

"Mum still lives in Hertfordshire. Dad died of lung cancer six-seven years ago now. Got an older brother, Andy, he's in London. Oh, do you mean a w-, er, partner? No, I've been on the move too much since I moved up to Scotland again. Perhaps one day. What about yourself? Your accent is about as Scottish as mine."

"Oh, well, my family was from Dundee, but my father is in the military, so I moved all over the place following him. My accent changed every time he got posted. Mother died of cervical cancer four years ago. Father is in Afghanistan currently, he's a senior surgeon. No brothers or sisters, unfortunately."

"You father is a surgeon, is that why you decided to become a nurse?"

He's getting a bit close. "Yes," she said, "but I don't think it would be a good idea for me to talk any more just now, let me concentrate on getting this meal right." If I tell him any more, he might ask- But a little background either way can't hurt, can it? Shelagh turned away, to inspect and stir her pots.

After lunch, they talked about the different places that they had lived when younger, Shelagh carefully avoiding her student nursing time. Colin noticed this, and kept the conversation to childhood times.

By mid-afternoon, the sky had cleared completely, and was a deep blue. The wind had dropped considerably. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains Colin got up and wandered to the window, as the light had moderated enough to allow him to look outside without his eyes watering. The sky was almost visibly darkening as he surveyed the small valley in front of the window.

"I can see a light!" he exclaimed. "Two lights, down there. I didn't know you had neighbours this close."

Shelagh came to stand beside him at the window. "Oh, yes, that's Saobhaidhe. It's not so easy to see it in the summer because of the trees that grow in the shelter of the mountain."

"That's the village? And no, I'm not going to attempt to pronounce it. There's only a couple of lights."

"Most of it is round the corner of the mountain. It's not that big anyway. Because of the shadow of the farther mountain, it gets darker over there first, so they have to put lights on before we do. Looks like they've no power there, either. That looks like oil or gas lamps."

"But if the village is just there, then why does your access road go way back the other way, miles over the moor? Why not over there?" he asked.

"What you can't see because of the snow is that the mountain slope either side of the loch is all loose scree. It's far too dangerous to go from here to Saobhaidhe most of the year. It would have cost more money than this whole estate is worth to make a road over there, even though it's only about two and a half miles or so. I can't even walk there in the summer, for two reasons. It would take me all day, picking my way over the scree slope, and any noise I made on the way would bring down more of the stuff. I have walked to the village, but I have to climb up to the top of the mountain first, and then walk along the ridge, and then down again. In fact the scree is falling all the time, I think the loch used to be much wider when I came here as a child. Eventually I suppose the loch will fill up and there will just be a valley."

"Oh. Then you'll lose your view."

"It's still an excellent view. Now, listen. I said it's too dangerous to go to Saobhaidhe most of the year. This is the time of year when it is possible, because I can just ski down the centre of the loch. I can't ski over the scree slopes for fear of causing an avalanche, but the middle of the frozen lake is okay. If the wind dies completely, I think I will attempt to get over there tomorrow, if that's all right with you, then I can let someone know that you are here, and what state you are in."

"You'd leave me here on my own? How long will it take you?" He held up his bandaged hands. "I still can't do anything at all, so supposing something happens?"

"It's only just over two miles or so, so it shouldn't take me any time at all. I doubt if I'll take an hour for the round trip, if the weather stays good. I'll leave your hand dressings off tomorrow, and we can set things up so you will be able to look after yourself if there's an emergency, or if I'm delayed. I don't think you'll come to much harm, but we don't have to take unnecessary risks. How does that sound?"

Colin considered, then nodded. "It will stop people running round trying to dig me out of snowdrifts, I suppose. After all, the last sight anyone had of me was a burger bar in Inverness. I just dropped off the map after that, although the office did know I was coming here."

"Good. We'll have to get up a little earlier tomorrow, then, because I want to get away as soon as it's light enough. Again, no unnecessary risks, I don't want to be coming back with the light fading behind me."

When getting Colin ready for bed Shelagh discovered a light fuzz on top of his head. It appeared his hair had got over the shock of the accident.

*****

December 4th

When getting ready for bed the previous evening, Shelagh had taken Colin's boxer shorts and washed them, hanging them over the range to dry overnight. She had discovered in the morning that they hadn't dried enough for Colin to wear them again, so he had offered to 'go commando' until they were dry again. Shelagh was forced to agree, since she had decided that, although he was wearing a lot of her clothes, lending him a pair of her briefs was getting a bit too personal. She compromised by getting him to wear a waist slip again, to provide the skirt with a little bit of extra protection.

She washed Colin, fed him, sat him on the privy and cleaned him up afterwards, then dressed him in the green tweed skirt and white short-sleeved blouse he had worn the first day out of bed. Then he was left to watch the day break while she went and climbed into her ski wear. She came back in a powder blue one-piece suit and carrying her boots, gloves, a lightweight helmet and a dayglo-orange backpack.

"Skis are by the front door. I'll wait a few minutes until it's really light before I go. How do you feel?"

"Fine, if a little tired. I think these hands are getting better. There's not so much pain any more, and I think the damaged skin will dry up and flake off in a couple of days."

"Do you think you can handle food and drink, if I'm delayed at all?"

"Maybe. Can you put some bite-sized bits and pieces on the table for me? And something to drink, water will do fine. I don't think I'm going to be doing any food preparation just yet."

"Can you manage a spoon, do you think?"

"I don't know. I don't think today is quite the right time to find out I can't, though."

Shelagh nodded. "Of course. It'll be just bread and cheese and odds and ends, then. Will that be enough? I intend to be back before lunchtime, anyway."

They stood by the big window and watched the day develop. When Shelagh judged it light enough, they walked out into the hall where she put on the rest of the gear. Cracking open the front door, she gingerly pulled it wide. Outside, the snow rose up in banks, but right next to the house there was almost none, since the overhanging roof mostly protected the cottage, and the crag also sheltered it to a certain extent. She picked up the skis and walked outside, Colin following her. Already the sun was bright enough to make him squint against the snow.

"You ready for this? The first thing I'll do is tell someone you're here. Then even if something happens to me, you should get some help up here pretty quick. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Colin returned inside, and Shelagh pulled the front door shut. Pulling her snow goggles over her eyes, she gave one last glance at the cottage, and then set off. Colin walked to the big window in the parlour and watched her slowly get smaller in the distance, till the strengthening light forced him to turn away from the scene.

I suppose it's not much of a risk, Shelagh going to the village. It's just awkward I still can't do anything at all. I'd have been a lot more worried if she had had to go to the other village, over the moor. That must be six-seven miles. Although I suppose, on skis, she can cut straight across the moor, be a bit shorter that way.

What happens if someone turns up while she's gone? They'll think I've done her in, and that I'm some kind of pervert who gets his kicks wearing her clothes. Actually, now I think about it, I do quite like wearing her clothes. Not because they're hers, maybe, but... I've got used to them now, and I quite like the comfort, and the fit, and the freedom. And who would have guessed that not wearing boxers would make such a difference? The feel of the slip against my hips and thighs is quite... interesting, and the lining of the skirt does the same to my legs.

Colin sat on the settee and soon dozed off, waking about an hour later. He drank a little water and decided to wander round the cottage to stretch his legs. The cottage was almost symmetrical, with the parlour at one end and the main bedroom at the other, each taking up the whole width of the building. Connecting them was a passage, and a cross-passage in the centre led to the front and back doors. From the main passage, at the parlour end, doors led to the bathroom and opposite it a pantry. At the bedroom end of the passage doors led to Colin's bedroom with a store room opposite. He also knew there were outside buildings built against the back wall of the cottage, but apart from the room with the freezers that led to the privy, he had no way of exploring further.

Returning to the parlour, Colin inspected the books on the shelves, identifying a number of them as being either Shelagh's or belonging to one of the other authors his publishing house had acquired when they had bought out her feminist publisher from administration. He had done his research on her titles before he had paid his previous visit to her, so he knew that they were fierce stuff: All Men Are Bastards. Does a Woman ever need a Man? Man, the Dysfunctional Gender. Rebalancing the Female-Male Continuum. Colin was slightly puzzled. He had read part of her first book, All Men Are Bastards, and given up, shocked by the level of rage it contained. The other three titles were less virulent, but still tough going. But the person who had taken him in, looked after him and talked to him didn't quite seem to be the same person who had written those books. Sure, she had an axe to grind, but she was going out of her way to be pleasant to him personally. What on earth had happened to her originally to make her that way? What had happened to change her now?

After two hours Colin was beginning to get a little fidgety. The day was still fine, but a little very high cloud was beginning to take the edge off the brightness. He decided to nibble a little food, out of boredom, then thought better of it, since it might have resulted in a tricky solo trip to the privy.

A some time later he realised, gradually, that he could occasionally hear a faint noise somewhere in the cottage. He searched for it without success, listening at the doors of rooms he couldn't open. Giving up, he returned to the parlour and succumbed to the bread and cheese, washing down each careful mouthful with a little water. Presently, he spotted a skier in the distance, poling along the snow-covered surface of the loch with economical cross-country strides. He soon recognised Shelagh from her outfit, and she reached the end of the loch and began climbing the slope to the shelf on which the cottage stood. Shortly, the front door was opened and she appeared, tapping her skis gently on the step to dislodge loose snow, before bringing them in and shutting the door.

"Whew! That was some trip! I'm sorry I was so long, I'll explain in a bit. But first of all I have a job to do," she said to Colin, who was standing where the two passages crossed, "Have you managed okay?" she asked, taking off her backpack, her helmet and her ski boots.

"Yes, thanks," replied Colin, "But I'm glad you're back."

Shelagh glanced at him sharply, before heading towards the back door. Just inside were her normal winter boots, and she put them on before opening the back door. "I have a job to do, and I might as well do it while I'm togged up, then I'll be back," she said before going out the back door and closing it.

After a while there was the sound of hammering, and then Shelagh opened the door to bring in a twelve-foot birch pole to which she had nailed a large piece of old reddish cloth. She closed the door, and then opened the front door and took the pole out. Colin followed her out, and he watched as she took the pole over to the crag and used the end to probe into the mound of snow which hid his car. Satisfied she had located it, she drove the pole into the snow bank, so that the flag stood about four feet above the surface. She returned to the cottage and gesticulated to Colin.

"Look at that!" she said, pointing to a telephone pole at the loch end of the cottage. He turned and saw that whatever equipment was at the top of the pole was hidden under a mass of ice, some forming long icicles, topped off by a 'head' of snow which looked like something off a huge ice-cream cone. "That's why I've got no phone."

The two of them returned to the warmth of the cottage, and Shelagh began to take off the rest of her ski wear. Smiling, she brought her backpack into the parlour, where Colin now sat waiting.

"I've had a profitable journey, although I'm sorry it took longer than I thought." Shelagh sat by the table and began wolfing down what remained of the bread and cheese. "I'm starving! Let me have some of this-" she filled her mouth and went to fill the kettle and start it boiling, "-come over here and sit down. I'll cut up some of the meat left over from yesterday to add to what's here."

She got out more things for a mid-afternoon meal, and the two of them concentrated on eating for a while.

"What was all that about with the flag?" Colin asked after a time.

"When I got back to the cottage I realised that your car, rather the wreck of your car, lies exactly where someone would drive if they came along the track," Shelagh explained, "so I thought that if I put something there to warn them, they would probably drive round it."

"Good thinking. If I can run into something, then so can other people, and my car makes a larger target. Now, what happened? Did you run into a problem?"

"No, not at all. I got to Saobhaidhe easily enough, and went to the hotel to notify someone of the situation. Most things in Saobhaidhe are centred round the hotel," she said as an aside, "so I knew people would be gathered there. The power is out up there, as well, so although they now know about you, there's not much they can do. But they suggested I go up to the mountain rescue post, because, firstly, they have a generator, and secondly, they have a satellite link."

"Oh. So you could contact the outside world?"

"Yes. The rescue centre is in part of a hotel-cum-ski lodge about the same distance the other side of Saobhaidhe as the village is from here. It's uphill, but that didn't cause me any trouble. The guys up there are snowed in, like us, but they could still offer help and advice. I managed to phone my local doctor and got some more advice, as well. I told them I didn't think that your situation was too urgent, so, the bottom line is, you're fine as you are. Someone might be along in two or three days to have a look, but it looks like I will be stuck with you for a while."

"Are you going to find that a problem?" Colin asked cautiously.

Shelagh coloured. "Actually, no, I don't think I will. I must admit, when I first found out you were coming here I got a bit, well, anxious let us say, but since you've been here I've been surprised how smoothly things have gone, extra workload notwithstanding."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence."

She continued, "With your extended residence in mind, I decided to drop in the garage on the way back to see if they had anything that might be useful, and came up trumps."

"The garage?"

"It started out as a garage, so that's what everyone calls it, although they don't sell petrol any more. It's effectively the general store, post office, chemist and anything else you might want around here. The old Polish chap, who's run it since the war, and his son, never throws anything away, so the old workshop out back is stuffed to the roof with all kinds of amazing bits and pieces. No-one knows what half of it is any more."

Shelagh went and fetched her back pack and put it on the table. She searched around inside and produced two plastic bags full of disposable razors. "I decided, since your fuzz started growing again, to stock up on these. Even if you don't use them all up, I should have had a supply on hand in case any visitors, male or female, need the use of one."

Next out came a pair of pink toothbrushes. "I'm sorry about the colour," she said. "There's one for you and a spare for any future visitor."

Then she brought out three plastic bags each containing a pair of white gloves. "Old Mr. Kaminsky suggested these when I told him about your burnt hands. No-one knows who ordered these, or how long they've been in the store, or even much what exactly they are. The theory they first brought out when they found these is that they are women's gloves, but the wrong size was ordered. Someone else muttered something about keeping hands clean while replacing bearings in heavy machinery. But looking at them, I would rather think they are the sort of thing butlers used to wear when they polished the silver. Whatever the reason, try them, they might make your life a little easier."

She opened one of the bags and handed the gloves to Colin. The gloves appeared to be made from two layers of thin cotton. He found that he could just put a glove on his left hand, but with that glove in place, he was unable to put on the right hand glove. When Shelagh fitted the right-hand one for him, he discovered that he could peel both gloves off as necessary.

"These are a good idea. I'll have to get along sometime to see Mr Kaminsky and thank him," said Colin.

"You might not be so impressed with the last thing I found," Shelagh said, pulling two more bags from her pack. "The one thing you were short of, that I couldn't really provide, was underpants, or equivalent."

Colin was still digesting the 'or equivalent' when he realised what was in the bags she held out to him. One held three pairs of white ladies briefs, the other, three pairs of ladies briefs in pale blue, candy pink and lemon. It was Colin's turn to colour.

"I'm sorry, I did look for men's briefs or boxer shorts or any of those things, but these were all they had which were anywhere near your size," she apologised. "Considering you'll be wearing them under a skirt, I don't think you've really got a problem. If you want to just wear the white ones, that's fine. If you want to leave them all behind when you go, that'll be fine with me as well. It's just that you can't keep on wearing the same pair of boxer shorts all the time, they'll be rags in a fortnight."

Colin nodded. "As before, I understand the logic of the situation. I don't think I'll have any problem putting those on. That's providing they fit, of course. Thank you again, Miss Fraser."

He asked Shelagh to put the pair of gloves back on his hands, and discovered that although they interfered somewhat with his grip, as might be expected, they didn't hamper his fingers anywhere near as much as the dressings did. He celebrated his increased independence by helping her clear the table, and discovered that while he could lift and hold things, applying pressure still caused some pain. Still, it was a start.

He decided to try on a pair of briefs, and was surprised to find that they fitted him better than his boxers did. Shelagh looked at the label on another pair, and discovered a Lycra content to the cloth. Colin had never experienced anything like the feel of the snug garment, and decided that, whatever they were called, and whoever they had been meant for, he was going to take them with him when he departed.

They spent the afternoon discussing Shelagh's trip in detail. Colin had never been further along the road than the turning to her cottage, so he was interested to learn details of what lay beyond. He asked her about her skiing ability, and discovered she had originally been taught by her father, then honed her skills on winter visits to the cottage when it had been owned by her grandmother. Apart from a couple of trips to the Alps with mates when he had been in college, Colin had little experience of the activity, and told her so.

"If you like, you can come back when you're better, and I'll take you on one or two routes around the mountains," she offered. "You'll have to bring your own kit, I don't have enough for two, and if I did it wouldn't fit you the way that the clothes you're wearing do."

"You'd let me come back for a visit?" Colin asked.

"Yes," Shelagh replied slowly, suddenly realising what she'd said, "I think I wouldn't object if you came back." Now why doesn't the idea of Colin coming back upset me? A few days ago I had to grit my teeth just to stay in the same room as him. Now we're having cosy chats. What's happening to me?

"There it is again!" Colin suddenly exclaimed, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what? I didn't hear anything."

"Every so often, while you were out, I heard a kind of chirp. I had a look round, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It just happened again."

"A chirp? A bird, do you mean?"

"No, more an electronic kind of noise. It's not a smoke alarm telling you the battery is run down, is it, or something similar?"

"I do have smoke alarms all through the cottage, but they are mains driven with backup batteries. It's possible, since the power has been off for some time, that one of the batteries has run down. I don't remember them making any kind of chirping noise, though. Where did you think the noise came from?" Shelagh asked.

"The other end of the cottage, I guess," Colin replied. "Can we go and see?"

The two walked into the main bedroom at the far end of the cottage, and looked around.

"All the electric gubbins is in here," said Shelagh, pointing to a twin of the wooden door in the parlour. "Shall we have a look?"

She opened the door, and a blast of cold air rushed into the bedroom. Carrying her oil-lamp, she led Colin into an outbuilding, the twin of the one which held the freezers. Part of the back wall of the cottage supported a large panel containing switches, circuit breakers, control boxes and wiring. There was no need to check the panel, however, since they could both see a glowing blue-white rectangle on top of one of the many boxes crammed into the room.

"It's my phone!" exclaimed Colin. He walked over to it, and the words 'BATTERY LOW' could clearly be seen on the tiny screen. Next to it, on top of the box, was his wallet, the remains of his watch, and a charred pile of his clothing. On the floor alongside were his boots.

"Oh, yes. The phone and wallet fell out of your pocket when I cut your coat off you. I forgot all about them."

"Ah. It's a fairly new phone, I've only had it a fortnight, and I kept it fully charged all the time, so I wouldn't have recognised the sound anyway. Let's take this stuff back into the parlour, I want to have a look at it all."

They retraced their steps back to the warmth of the parlour. Colin showed Shelagh how to unlock the keyboard and then turn the phone off, to preserve what battery he had left. Both of them had realised that his charger unit had been destroyed in the fire, and they were very definitely in a 'no signal' area, so there was no need to keep the phone running at all.

Colin's wallet turned out to contain cash and his credit cards, as well as many receipts, which meant he wouldn't have to go through the complex procedure of having his cards re-issued when he finally departed the cottage. His clothes, principally his shirt and trousers, were charred rags and fit for nothing, so he told Shelagh to throw them away. His boots were in a slightly better condition, since although the left one was charred somewhat on the ankle, they were just about wearable, provided he could get new laces, since she had cut them to get the boots off when she had first rescued him.