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“Hi,” he mutters.
“Hi.”
“Could you pass me that glass please?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that is a good idea.”
He frowns, his blue eyes clouding. He looks down, plucking at the thin cotton of his Bonnie Prince Charlie shirt. He jiggles his legs and the sporran resting in his lap jingles.
“I need…”
“No, you’ve had enough.”
“I’m not…that’s my…”
“No. I’m not giving it to you.”
He opens his mouth to speak but his lower lip trembles so much that he can’t get the words out.
“I’m freezing,” he eventually stammers.
I grab a blanket from the bed. As I tuck it round him, my hand grazes his. It is ice cold. How did I not notice that?
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling into a smile as they meet mine.
“Is there heating in here?” I ask, feeling unusually flustered.
“Yes, just there.” He indicates a dial on the wall. “Please, turn it up.”
I turn the dial, feeling awful for presuming that he was drunk and just looking for more alcohol.
I give him the glass. He downs the dram in one mouthful.
“Better?”
“Much. Thank you. Must have gotten a bit chilled lying on the tiles.”
“I thought you were dead.” He might be cold, but since his life is clearly not in any danger, I decide to give him a bit of grief for my fright.
He laughs. “I just like a nap after training. I was exhausted. Got home and it was straight into organising the party organisers, then getting ready. No time to recover. I was done in. I put in an extra practice session today too…”
Despite myself, I can’t help but be curious.
“What do you do?”
“What do I…?” He looks at me quizzically, then his face breaks into a smile. “I’m a rugby player.”
“Interesting. Who do you play for?”
“The Gossies, of course. Are there any other teams?”
“Not if you come from Oakheart Glen.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope, I’m just here visiting my great-aunt. She lives next door.”
“Ah, Molly. Great lady. Scary, but in a loveable way. I help her with her garden on occasion.”
