An Island Apart by Lillian Beckwith

Author:Lillian Beckwith [Beckwith, Lillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447220411
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Eight

Kirsty thought she had slept only lightly, if at all, that night but when the night sky was beginning to be washed by a grey dawn she became conscious that she was alone in the bed in a quiet bedroom, a quiet house and, since she could hear no wind, a quiet land. Evidently Ruari had managed to slip away in the early dawn during one of her fitful spells of slumber and what she had keyed herself up to expect some time during the night had simply not happened. There had been no intimacy. She was still a virgin.

For a few minutes she lay examining her emotions, identifying a sense of relief mingled with an unaccountable sense of disappointment. She hadn’t looked forward to intimacy but she had prepared herself to submit to it, and now she was experiencing an inexplicable sense of letdown. Was this marriage, she asked herself. Had he been too drunk? Or too shy? Was he impotent? Was he too much in awe of his brother’s disapproval? On the other hand, was there something about her which on closer acquaintance, had made her less attractive to him? She wondered how long it would be before the answers were forthcoming. Meantime she must be prepared to respond to him whenever he might approach her. And if he proved to be impotent, she reminded herself, it would make not the slightest difference to her. She had married him for a home and the ring on her finger.

It was still dark in the bedroom so she lit the lamp, dressed and went through to the kitchen. The glowing peats gave her a snug welcome, the kettle came to a swift boil and within a minute or two she had made a pot of tea and had a pan of porridge summering on the hob. Since there were no used bowls on the table she assumed the two Ruaris had taken only a mug of thin brose before going about their morning chores; probably fishing, she deduced, since fisherman were known to favour the early hours.

After she’d eaten her own breakfast she finished unpacking the portmanteaux and not until then did she realise how unsuitable were her clothes for even the lightest land work. She’d thought her old clothes would serve but inspecting them she could see how flimsy and inadequate they were for conditions she would now have to face. She urgently needed to get herself a serviceable waterproof and a pair of gumboots. Last night she’d noticed a supply of oilskins hanging in a recess at the back of the passageway and a row of gumboots ranged below them. She looked to see if there were any there now and was relieved to find there were. Investigating them she found a pair of gumboots that were not too roomy to stay on her feet, and an oilskin that was not too voluminous to restrict her movements. Donning them she ventured out to feed the hens. They seemed surprised to be called to feed and she put it down to the earliness of the hour.

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