A better surprise.
As the snow continued to fall outside and the wind continued to howl, he could only smile in anticipation.
His forever…Bébhinn.
nineteen
DAGR
“Damnit!”Dagr cursed, frustrated that he’d miscalculated the weather front’s speed. He’d slowed to a walk an hour ago and had only gotten as far as he had because he knew the trail well.
He could keep going, but the snow was accumulating fast, and the fog could quickly become disorienting with or without his compass.
He needed to pack it in. He might know the trail, but the deepening snow would hide rocks and branches that could easily trip him, causing anything from a twisted ankle to a fall and possible head injury.
“Damn,” he cursed again. Shaking his head in disgust that he hadn’t made it to Conwy in time, he sighed and turned off what little of the trail was still visible and started toward a line of rock outcroppings that had a few caves big enough to settle in until the storm passed.
He hadn’t gone a hundred feet before he saw an orange glow through the thinning trees. If another hiker had gotten stranded,perhaps they wouldn’t mind sharing their fire. That would save him from starting one himself.
As he approached a second row of trees, he scouted for bits of wood beneath the trees yet to be buried by snow. The least he could do was not show up empty-handed when he was hoping to mooch a spot.
Cradling what wood he’d managed to scavenge, he brought his fingers to his lips and blew, whistling loudly to make whoever was in the cave aware that they had company.
He was close enough to see a shadow flicker behind the flames at the mouth of the cave. “Hello, in the cave! Mind some company?”
Silence for a beat greeted his salute and then, “Of course. Come in,” a woman’s voice called.
The mouth of the cave was surprisingly wide but low enough that he had to practically crawl until the space opened up enough to shuffle on his knees. He dropped the wood behind him before scooting further toward the fire.Christ, but the heat felt amazing.
“Hell of a storm,” he said while pulling off his balaclava. “It came up fas—” He was interrupted when the woman launched herself at him.
“Bran, you bastard!” she laughed and wrapped her arms around his back where he kneeled, half turned her way.
Her smiling face landed on his surprised one, and she froze, going stiffer than one of the frozen puddles outside.
She quickly scrambled back so fast she fell on her bottom before rapidly rolling up to her knees, mirroring his position. Her mouth was opening and closing, hands raised in a helpless “what the hell” gesture.
She was young, in her early twenties maybe, and…stunning. She was a tiny thing with a long, thick black braid draped over one shoulder. It was her eyes, though, that drew his attention.Even widened in surprise, they were slightly slanted, almond-shaped, and a stunning golden amber. Striking didn’t come close to describing them.
“I’m not sure who Bran is, but I guess you’ve figured out that I’m not him,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
She finally shifted, easing back to sit on her feet. She grinned, making her dimples deepen. “Good grief,” she started, shaking her head. “You must think I’m a lunatic,” she laughed.
“Were you expecting Bran?” He glanced out of the cave and noted the snow was heavier now. “Should we search for him? I’ve a sat phone if you think he got turned around.”
Her hands flew up in a stop gesture. “Oh no! I just mistook you for one of my brothers. He’s just that level of overprotective that I instantly thought he’d tracked me down because of the weather and was here to ‘save me,’” she said using air quotes.
“You thought I was your…brother?” he asked, not understanding how she’d come to such a conclusion when she hadn’t even seen his face until he’d turned.
Seeing his skepticism, she grinned and pointed toward his head. “The hair.”
He touched his hair automatically. Not a week past, he’d had the sides shaved and the top trimmed. It hung in a waterfall of loose waves that reached mid-ear. He kept it shaggy and falling across his eyes when he wasn’t working and slicked back and out of the way for work.
“It’s white,” she continued. “My brothers and nephews have white hair. It’s unusual enough, and if you knew my family and their overprotective tendencies, you probably would have jumped to the same conclusion. Anyway, I’m Bébhinn O’Faolain. Dublin.”
At her outstretched hand, he automatically took her hand in a respectful shake. “Dagr Griffiths. Carmarthenshire andLondon.” He felt ridiculously off kilter. Her self-assured, no-nonsense demeanor was refreshing but also…something else.
She made him feel like a young, brash teenager facing a beautiful woman for the first time. He wanted to appear like the confident man he was, but was surely coming across as a backwards simpleton.
