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December 5th

There was a moment of slapstick the following morning, when Shelagh attempted to shave Colin's face after they got up. Shelagh knew, very roughly, the principle of the procedure, but discovered rapidly that shaving one's own legs did not really count as experience. Colin's attempt at instructions, while attempting to keep his face immobile, proved incoherent for the most part. Fortunately, their efforts dissolved into humour rather than annoyance or worse, and between them they succeeded at the task at the cost of both getting soaked, and by a miracle neither managed to get cut.

Although he now had some use of his hands, Colin found that he could not yet dress himself, as the gloves prevented him gripping zips and buttons easily, so he allowed Shelagh to dress him in the green blouse and grey skirt. She had suggested that they cycle through the three outfits in order not to overstress the clothes, because, as she said, women's clothing wasn't generally designed to be worn continuously.

Breakfast was the usual porridge and tea. Colin was, for the first time, able to feed himself for a full meal. Afterwards Shelagh refused his help with the dishes or washing, saying, "See? I told you that you'd want to start doing things once your energy came back. You'll have to wait another week at least, I think, before you will be able to use those hands properly, so just be patient."

So Colin stood and looked out of the big window while she did the morning chores. There was a fair amount of light, but the sky was overcast again with a layer of high cloud, and a definite breeze was moving loose snow about. Eventually she finished, and made a pot of coffee, the mugs of which she brought to the tables by the stove.

"You said the other day that you'd inherited this cottage from your grandmother. Why didn't it go to your father or mother?" Colin asked.

"She was my father's mother, and a pretty amazing woman in her own right," Shelagh replied, "There's a sort-of tradition that this cottage is handed down to daughter or grand-daughter. It's not a proper entailing, like with the clan-houses, or some castles, or anything like that, it's just informal. So I got it. I think if there hadn't been a suitable female in the line of descent my father would have inherited, but he would certainly tried to keep the tradition going and passed it on to a female in his turn."

"Oh. What a brilliant idea."

"Yes, it goes back a fair way, too. Long before suffragettes or any of that kind of thing."

"Is there any land with it? I mean, presumably it's not just a cottage in the middle of nowhere."

"No, there's about nine hundred and fifty acres of land here. It includes the loch, and both mountains you can see, and almost all the land either side of the access road. There's another parcel of land to the west, which is mostly plantation, which is what pays for the upkeep of it all."

"So you're a proper land-owner, then. How do you manage it all?"

Shelagh gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I don't manage it. I have an arrangement with a neighbour, Donal MacGregor, who owns most of the land adjacent to mine. I let him look after my land and farm it as he does his own, and he does any maintenance I need in return. 'Nan', that's my grandmother, had a similar arrangement with his grandfather. Any surplus from the plantation pays my bills."

"Which is probably just as well," Colin observed, "As a writer, you're in a pretty niche market, and I shouldn't think you get much income from it. Which is not to say," he added hastily, "that you should stop writing on that account. Sometimes money isn't the only motive for wanting to publish a book."

"No," she admitted, "I was fairly well motivated when I started writing, and money had nothing to do with it. Have you read any of my books? Not that you're part of the target audience I had in mind."

"I tried, when I ended up with your account," Colin said. "To be charitable, let's just say I found what I managed to read to be somewhat hard going."

She made a face. "Let's just say I was pretty angry when I started writing. I've calmed down a bit now, and when I look back to what I previously wrote I have difficulty recognising myself sometimes."

"Do you think there are more books in you?"

"Yes, I think so. It's going to be harder to write in the future, though, as things don't seem quite so black-and-white as I thought they were when I started."

"'All Men are Bastards'?" Colin raised an eyebrow.

Shelagh coloured. "Present company excepted, of course. But I thought I had good reason at the time." She held up her hand. "I don't think I want to explore this particular subject any more, if you don't mind."

Colin shrugged. "That's fine by me." Still skirting round the subject. But she doesn't seem so anxious today when we get close to it. He continued, "You were saying your grandmother was amazing."

"Yes! She was quite a strong personality and used to spend a good part of each year up here. This place was used as a holiday home for most of her life, but when my grandfather died, she moved up here full-time. Most of the furniture in the cottage is her grandmother's, apart from those new bookshelves and the computer desk. She ended up a compulsive hoarder, unable to throw almost anything out. I had to hire lorries to take most of the real rubbish away. You saw those boxes in the outbuildings?"

"Yes. I wondered what was in so many boxes."

"That's all her stuff that's left, well, apart from a couple of boxes of course notes and books I brought from university. I just haven't had the willpower to go through any of them. I fancy there's some quite valuable items in there, since most of it belonged to previous owners, but I reckon since it's been there a hundred years, a couple more isn't going to hurt it."

"I suppose it's something to do when you have the time, and you need a distraction."

"I might have had a go recently, except some man turned up and used up all my time and energy. Besides, all the boxes will be frozen up out there. As I said, it can wait." Shelagh continued, "What would you like for dinner, as a change of subject? I'm afraid we're running almost entirely on tins and the freezer now, so there aren't too many options available. I thought I'd let you make the choice today, rather than suffer my selections all the time. Would you like to come and see?"

The rest of the day was spent mostly discussing food. Colin's upbringing meant he had a better range of food experiences than Shelagh, but there wasn't a great deal in it. They spent so much time talking about 'meals they had eaten', in fact, that they left it too late to cook anything but a quick 'freezer surprise' on the top of the range.

*****

December 6th

The following morning the sky was darker when Colin drew his bedroom curtain, and the low cloud had that luminous look which meant that it held snow, but as yet nothing was actually falling. The wind had shifted to the north-west, and was now more than just a breeze. This morning's attempt at shaving was more successful, although Colin did sustain a small cut, which Shelagh was mortified over. After the usual breakfast, she dressed him in the white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the full skirt in the Fraser hunting tartan, and he went and stood by the window while she washed the latest set of dressings in the bathroom.

Shortly afterwards she came back into the parlour, and began the process of making a new batch of dough for bread. As she folded in the yeast, she realised that he was still standing by the window, and that he hadn't said anything to her since she came into the room, but was simply staring out of the window at nothing at all.

"Penny for your thoughts!"

"Um? Oh, just thinking. Wondering how easy it would be for me to, ah, obtain, um..."

"Obtain what?" Shelagh asked, curious.

"Ah," Colin coloured, "I was thinking, I could wear a skirt or two at home in Edinburgh, in my own flat. I've got somewhat used to the comfort of them. No-one else need know. I was wondering how I was going to actually buy the things. I'd be too embarrassed to walk into a shop and choose something."

"You'd really want to wear skirts at home? I'm impressed. Slightly worried, too. Have I woken some kind of monster within you?"

"I don't think so," Colin replied, "Until now I've never had the inclination, the need, nor the opportunity to wear such clothes. It's just a combination of circumstances, for which I have you to thank, as usual."

Shelagh waved a floured hand in dismissal. "You don't need to thank me, as I've said before. But, back to your original question, there's always mail order. Or, you're forgetting the most obvious point, which is that this is Scotland. Why not just wear a kilt?"

Colin smacked his palm to his forehead, which wasn't such a good idea, as he promptly said "Ow!" and shook his hand to try and reduce the pain and tingling he had caused to the tender skin.

"'Obvious' is right. I have in fact worn a kilt in the past, although I don't own any currently. It's not the same somehow. I think it's the fact that it's female clothing which is the attraction. I don't have any clue why. Another thing is that these skirts are about half the weight of a full-dress kilt, and feel a lot more light and airy to wear, despite being longer. I was also thinking of the summer, when even a thin cotton skirt has to be more comfortable than any pair of shorts. And my idea for buying the things was," Colin looked Shelagh full in the face, "to take a female friend who knew about my new-found tastes along to the shop with me to help."

She stared at him, stunned. Now he's organising shopping trips for the pair of us! He can't be- And yet, it's a logical development from what's gone on before. Do I trust him? Probably. He's behaved impeccably so far. Actually, if he does try anything funny, it would mean I have a hold over him. Ugh, even thinking of that idea makes me feel dirty. Why? He's a man, why would I not want to hurt him? Because I'm beginning to like him, I don't want to mistreat him. Oh God, what's happening to me?

"Shelagh? You all right? Have I said something I shouldn't?"

"No! I was... surprised... by your suggestion. Which I will consider carefully, and not reject out of hand. It's probably going to be a while before you're likely to extend the invitation, in any case, and probably going to be a lot longer before I have to go to Edinburgh again."

"True. I was only speculating idly, in any case. I expect sorting out the quagmire my life has turned into - no, not here, I mean in the rest of the world - is going to take me some months. I won't be able to consider what after all would be a leisure activity probably until the summer, at the earliest."

Confused by her own feelings, Shelagh concentrated on the dough, and turned most of it into two bowls which she covered with tea-towels to rise. The small amount she had kept back, before adding yeast to the rest, she added herbs to and fashioned into a small pile of dumplings for tonight's dinner. Finally, she cleared away and made some coffee which she brought over to the stove. Colin sat on the settee, while Shelagh sat in 'Nan's chair'.

They drank their coffee in silence, since Shelagh didn't want to bring up the subject again so soon, and Colin could see that she was disturbed by the previous discussion. Taking the empty mugs, Shelagh was halfway to the sink when the silence was rudely broken by the roar of a heavy engine, making the air in the cottage vibrate. She quickly dumped the mugs on the table, then looked out of the small window over the sink.

"It's the Marines!" she exclaimed, "Stay there," she instructed, as Colin began to rise, "I'll go to the door."

Colin heard the front door open and voices, and then Shelagh returned accompanied by two men, whose presence practically filled the parlour. She introduced them.

"Colin, this is Doctor Ferguson. He's come to have a look at your injuries." The doctor was in his mid-forties, and carried a medical case awkwardly over his snow gear. Shelagh indicated the other person, who was dressed in NATO winter camouflage. "And this is Sergeant Tilson, Royal Marines, who's going around the isolated cottages and villages checking that everyone's all right."

The doctor came and stood in front of Colin, then squatted so that his eyes were level with Colin's. Ferguson's gaze went up and down Colin's seated figure, and then returned to his face. The doctor's eyebrows both rose as high as they could, and stayed there. Colin stared back impassively.

"Which way did you come in?" he asked the doctor in a flat voice, "Past the crag?"

"Aye," replied Ferguson, "we did." Sergeant Tilson nodded.

"Did you see a pole sticking out of the snow with a flag on it?"

"Aye."

"Under that pole," said Colin, "is the burnt-out remains of my Range Rover, including every scrap of clothing I wasn't wearing. Plus virtually everything else I had with me. Most of what I was wearing ended up charred rags."

"Oh. Aye, I see. I do see. And what happened to ye?"

"I hit something under the snow. The impact knocked me out. When I woke up the car was well alight. I just got out before the tank blew. Miss Fraser here has looked after me ever since."

The doctor glanced at Shelagh, and then nodded. He bent forward to examine Colin's gloved hands. "May I take a look?"

Before he could continue, Shelagh said, "Doctor! If I can leave you with the patient, I've realised that there might be something Sergeant Tilson or one of his men might be able to help me with."

"If I can, Ma'am. That all right with you, Doc?" the Sergeant asked.

Ferguson waved his hand. "Yes, I can manage here, ye carry on."

Shelagh ushered the marine out into the corridor, talking as she went. Colin carefully peeled off the gloves, explaining about the dressings, and the chance discovery of the gloves in the village store days earlier.

"She's done a very good job on these," Ferguson remarked, as he examined Colin's hands, "as she should, her nursing performance was first-class before she stopped."

"You know she used to be a nurse, then?" Colin asked, surprised.

"Aye, she's a patient of a lady doctor in my practice," came the reply, "I had a look at her notes before I came, but I didn't have to, since she's well-known in the area."

"Hmm. I take it that's not necessarily 'well-known' in a good sense, then?" Ferguson's face was carefully neutral. "Are you able to tell me what happened to her? I'm beginning to have a bit of an idea, but it's hard work getting her to open up."

The doctor looked around the parlour while he considered what to say. He took in the bowls of bread rising on the table, the pile of dumplings, the empty coffee cafetiere and the two mugs, the dressings and underwear strung out across the ceiling over the range.

"I shouldn't tell ye anything, really. Much is well-known, but some is patient-confidential. She... had a traumatic event in her past. That led to a breakdown. Ye're settled in here well?" Colin nodded. "Then I think ye'll have a good chance to find out by yourself. Ye've already achieved more than any shrink has."

What on earth have I got myself into? Colin wondered. "Am I in any danger?" he asked, quietly.

"Oh, no. Ye'll do fine. And so will she, company is what she really needs. Let's have a look at those legs of yours."

The doctor gingerly lifted up the hem of Colin's skirt. He was hesitant, since under similar circumstances he would have considered it improper to lift up a woman's skirt, except under emergency conditions. He fingered the cloth.

"There's many hereabouts wear the plaid, ye're following a long tradition," he remarked.

"I may have the accent of a Sassenach, indeed I grew up in Hertfordshire, but my family's from Edinburgh," said Colin, "The tartan is Shelagh's, of course."

"Aye, of course." Ferguson looked at the dressings on Colin's legs, and began to unwind them. The cloth stuck to Colin's skin in several places on his left leg. The doctor pursed his lips.

"Not as good as your hands, especially the left leg. Ye're washing them every time the dressings are changed?"

"Yes, doctor, morning and night," Colin replied, "Then fresh dressings each time."

Ferguson nodded. "Then I suggest that ye leave the dressings off during the day. Oh, ye can put on the gloves while ye're handling things, but let the air get at everything otherwise. Wrap up your legs when ye go to bed, otherwise ye'll be sticking to the sheets. Ye should heal well, although ye'll always have scars on that leg, I'm guessing. Yon maid has done a fair job on ye. The clothing is a clever idea, too, allowing the air to circulate but keeping the cloth away from the skin."

"Thanks, doctor. Now I have a request to make of you. Several, actually."

When Shelagh and Sergeant Tilson returned to the parlour five minutes later, Colin and the doctor were sat together on the settee, the doctor writing furiously in his notebook. They looked up when the two walked through the door.

"This should present no problem, Mr. Anderson. May not be today that it gets done, as we're on our way up to the Rescue Centre."

"There's no hurry," said Colin, "just when it's convenient for you."

Shelagh said, "Sergeant Tilson fixed the generator! Turns out one of the breaker thingies had popped, probably when the line went down, and everything has to be set up just so for the generator to work."

"That's great!" said Colin.

"You have no idea," said Shelagh with relief, "Now we can use the toilet in the bathroom, and not have to risk frostbite going out the back all the time. And we get electric lights back, and I can run my computer, and I can get the CB radio going. And Sergeant Tilson says the mains power may be back sooner than I thought. Turns out the line is probably okay, there was a fault down in Achnasuidhe."

"Yes, Ma'am," added the marine, "The local substation got iced up, and there were some fairly expensive fireworks. It may be a week or two before they get it repaired, it depends on the weather and how soon they can get replacement parts. Are you ready to leave yet, doctor?"

"Aye, I'm about done here. Miss Fraser," he said as he rose, "if ye'll consent to have the patient here, he's getting better care than he would in the local hospital, or if he were to go home."

"Yes, doctor, he's welcome to stay," she said in her best professional voice. "What about his treatment?"

"Leave the dressings off during the day, otherwise continue as ye were. If Sergeant Tilson is coming this way again, I'll give him some odds and ends to make your lives a bit easier, but it may not be for a few days. Ye've done a good, professional job on Mr Anderson, Nurse Fraser."

"Thank you, Doctor." Shelagh blushed from the praise.

"Aye, well, we'd best be away. Looks like the weather is worsening."

Shelagh showed the two men out and closed the door, and then she and Colin went to the big window to watch. Two of the marines had walked down to the edge of the loch, and one of them called back to the Sergeant. He and the doctor climbed into the sno-cat, and the articulated beast roared down the slope to the frozen water's edge. The waiting two climbed in, and the vehicle drove off down the centre of the loch towards the distant village.

The vehicle faded in the distance, and Colin realised that not all of the airborne snow he was seeing had been lifted by the wind. It had begun, very gently, to fall again. He turned to Shelagh.

"You all right?" he asked.

She looked at him. "Why shouldn't I be?" she replied, but there was an edge to her voice.

"Your cottage space has just been invaded by two very large men," Colin explained, "and you've spent the last week telling me how you try to keep away from said gender."

"I-" She realised that she had stiffened up, and took and released a deep breath before responding, "You're right, I hadn't consciously realised. Is it that obvious?"

"Not really, but I was concerned for you. Actually, thinking about it, you went off with the Sergeant readily enough. Was it the doctor who upset you?"

"I'll have you know I do get men out here from time to time," she said, "usually to fix the wires, or the phone, or the drains or something. I'm not quite so isolated up here as you seem to think. The Sergeant's easy to explain. You forget I told you I was brought up as an Army brat, I know how to handle squaddies when necessary. I just needed his expertise, and I knew it would be safe enough with you and the doc in here." She was struck by a sudden thought. "What did Ferguson tell you about me while I was out the back?"

Colin backed a step away and waved his hands defensively in front of himself. "Nothing! That is, nothing I hadn't previously known." Or figured out.

"What were you talking about, then?"

"Oh, I gave him some phone numbers and asked him to contact a few people for me," replied Colin, "My head office, so they can start the insurance claim on the car, for example. The caretaker of my block of flats, so he can go and make sure my front door doesn't get jammed up by post and free newspapers. The hotel in Aberdeen where I had been staying. I also gave him my measurements, so he or someone at the practice can buy me some men's clothes to wear when I leave here. I'll need at least one of everything except boots. I think the boots I have will do, if we can find some laces to replace the ones you cut."

"I'm sorry!" she said, contrite, "I didn't mean to come over all suspicious. You're right, I think I've had just a little too much excitement for today. Thank you for your concern." He's genuinely concerned for me.

"Did Doctor Ferguson say how long he thought it would be before you have to go back to work?" she asked.

"Not really, he said it would be at least a month, though. In any case, I think the weather may have a part to play in any decision for me to leave here."

Why do I feel such a sense of relief that he doesn't have to go for a month? And why does that not worry me?

"Did the doctor say anything to you about the dressings?" she asked.

"Leave them off during the day. Wrap my legs at night to prevent the weeping bits from sticking to the sheets. Wear gloves during the night, and when I need a bit of extra protection during the day. Wash morning and night, as before."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, "We might have to change our arrangements slightly. We'll have a look at what might need to be done in the morning. In the meantime," she added brightly, "let us enjoy the power of locally-generated electricity."

"You can't keep that thing running all the time, can you?" Colin asked.

"No, an hour or so in the morning, then two or three hours in the evening should be enough. I've only so much fuel, though. I hope it lasts till the mains comes back on."

"Is it on now? I would have thought we didn't need it for the light at the moment."

"I'll have to keep it on for a bit to get the temperature of the freezers back down. They're well-insulated, but you always lose some, even in this weather. I'm not sure I can handle food-poisoning at the moment."

They talked a little longer, then Shelagh went to the table. She worked the risen dough and put a casserole (with the dumplings) in the slow oven. The two loaves would go in the fast oven later. Lunch was quiet, because Shelagh was still disturbed by the morning's encounter.

Afterwards, Colin said, "You knew those guys were Marines. Given what they were wearing, I wouldn't be able to tell one military type from another. I know you have had experience in the service world, but even so. Therefore, I guess they must have been here before."

"Yes," Shelagh replied, "Although not for, let me see, two years it must be. Some years before that, too. And not that particular crew, either. The Marines love it when they can buzz all over the landscape helping people, and it gives them extra cold-weather experience, as well. They told me they get bored going over the same bits of mountain in Norway all the time in training. They don't come that often, just when there's lots of snow."

"It must be comforting to know that there's help around even if you're snowbound."

"If the weather is too bad, I don't think even they go too far off the beaten track. Don't forget there's also the rescue helicopters from Lossiemouth, although they won't fly when the weather really deteriorates, which is what it looks like doing now." She gestured to the big window, where small flakes were now being hammered into the glass by the rising wind.

The casserole was checked, the loaves went in the oven, and Shelagh disappeared to do some housework. Soon, the lights had to be put on since the sky was darkening fast. Colin sat, mesmerised by the flying snow, mulling over the day's events and what Ferguson had said, or almost said, to him.

After the casserole had been eaten, Shelagh tested her CB set by turning it on. The locals had arranged that seven o'clock in the evening would be a regular calling in time, power supplies permitting, of course. Shortly after that time, the hotel in Saobhaidhe started calling, and Shelagh called in when a break came in the string of replies. Satisfied that they were now able to keep in contact, she shut everything down and stopped the generator. Colin and Shelagh then tidied up and retired for the night.

*****

December 7th

The snow had almost stopped, but the low cloud was full of it, and Colin had to squint from the glare when he entered the parlour. He had, for the first time, managed to use the toilet in the bathroom by himself and wash himself afterwards. He had drawn the line at attempting to shave by himself, though. Better to leave that for a week or so.

"Good morning!" Shelagh said cheerfully as he appeared. "Your breakfast will be ready in about five minutes."

"Good morning to you. You seem bright this morning," Colin replied.

"Having the generator running helps immensely. I can see what I'm doing properly, now."

"Well, I think one adapts to whatever light is available, but I must say, being able to use the bathroom is a godsend."

Colin sat at the table, and she served out the porridge when it was ready.

"Did you have a go at shaving?"

"I'm not that daft. I'll wait till my hands heal a great deal more before I attempt that little task, thank you."

Breakfast finished, they adjourned to the bathroom where Shelagh shaved Colin's face, removed his dressings, and washed his legs. Then, both still wearing nightdresses, they went into the big end bedroom.

"Now, after the doctor had been yesterday, I realised we'd have to put you in something different. That's because, with your legs unbandaged, there's a risk that you'd get the stuff that's oozing out of your leg on your clothing," Shelagh explained.

"Oh. Yes, I hadn't thought through the implications of not having bandages."

"That's right. So what I think you'll need are shorter skirts, with higher hemlines. Now my problem is, I don't actually own a lot of skirts. I did at one time, many years back, I was just like most young women, I suppose, with a crammed wardrobe. But since... I became a writer, let's say, and started living out here, I just don't have a lot of need for skirts. I do have some, but they tend to be thin summer skirts, most of which are as long as the ones you've been wearing up to now. There may be a couple of others I think should fit you, but I might have to consider getting out my sewing machine if you're to be here much longer."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble," Colin said.

"It's not you, it's your leg! If we want it to heal properly, and not take too long, we have to do this. Now, let me have a look in the wardrobe for that skirt." She rummaged through her double wardrobe and eventually emerged with a handful of skirts, which she laid on the bed. It was obvious to Colin that most of them would be unsuitable - for the present task, that is. He briefly envisioned himself wandering around outside the cottage on a warm summer's day, wearing the thin white tiered cotton skirt which was lying on the top of the heap.

Shelagh picked through the pile and held up the item she'd been looking for. It was denim, straight, and about knee length. She held it to his waist to check the length, and nodded.

"Would you like to try this one?" she asked.

"Of course."

"You'll need to wear a slip under it. There's some good news as well, if you can leave your gloves off while you dress you may be able to get into more of my tops."

"Oh, yes, of course," Colin said. He looked at his hands. With the bandages effectively off his hands, he would not be so restricted in what he could wear. He would still need help getting clothes on and off, however.

"Actually," he added, "It would be quite nice to wear some long sleeves for a change. It's not quite warm enough in most of the cottage to be walking about with bare arms. After all, you wear thick jumpers most of the time."

"That is true," she conceded, "and I must in turn apologise if you've felt cold over the time you've been here, although there wasn't really a lot we could do about it."

"I realise that," he replied. "You may have noticed I've made good use of the shawl over that time. Thinking about it, I don't think I've seen you wearing anything but jeans the whole time I've been here. Do you not wear skirts at all, now, if it's not too personal a question?"

"Actually, I do wear the tweed one quite a bit, but it's not easy when I have a choice and you don't, so I left that one to you. The grey skirt is a more formal one I wouldn't wear if I was just in the cottage. I had it for a family get-together my father took me to just after my mother died. The tartan one you wore yesterday I do wear mid-season, but usually only when I go to a big town, which as you might guess, isn't that often. I usually wear jeans, because the first thing I normally do when I get up is to go and top up the logs from the pile outside, and it's so cold at the moment I take every advantage I can get. This denim skirt," she waved the one she was still holding, "I do wear quite a bit when I'm doing things around the cottage and outside, but I wouldn't take it outside in this weather unless it was necessary. And do feel free to ask questions." Well, most questions.

Shelagh dressed Colin in white briefs, a white waist slip, a white cotton camisole, the denim skirt, and a slate-blue knitted jumper with puffy shoulders to the sleeves and a crew neck. It was the third jumper that he had tried on, the previous two had sleeves so narrow he couldn't fit his un-gloved hands through the cuffs. Then he walked back to the parlour while Shelagh dressed, noticing that yet again, the material, cut, style and length of the skirt made it feel different to all the others. He immediately became aware of the gap between his legs, in a way that the longer skirts had obscured, and he began to understand that shorter skirts made women feel both more vulnerable and more liberated. His sensory exploration extended to his jumper, which fit more snugly than any man's jumper he had ever worn, and he realised that he still had a lot to discover about the female world.

Colin found that he could, with care, pick and read a book, if he took his time. He found a classic on one of the bookshelves and took it to the big table to read. As he sat down, he became conscious of his knees being exposed as the hem rode up, and realised that women had to deal with this all the time. When Shelagh appeared, she noted what he was doing and went to get started with the morning's washing.

Lunch time came, and Shelagh came through to choose something to eat. After a brief discussion, she went into the back room and returned with soup tins, which she emptied into a pot and put on the range to heat. While that happened, she laid the table and tore up some of the new bread to eat with the soup.

"I see you're managing to read that book reasonably well," she commented.

"Not that easily, actually," Colin replied, "the skin on my fingers is now so hard that I've no grip to turn over the pages. I may have to give up for a few days, till the old skin peels off. What I could do with is some of those knobbly rubber things bank clerks use to count money."

"Hmm." Shelagh thought for a moment. "I may have an alternative." She walked over to her computer desk and searched, and came back with a wide rubber band, which she wound round Colin's index finger. "That not too tight?" she asked.

"Simple, and obvious, yet I didn't think of it. Shows what can happen when your thoughts get fixed in one single direction."

"I know. Tell me, how are you finding that outfit?" she asked.

"My arms are certainly more comfortable, thank you. The jumper's close-fitting, true, but it's not tight or constricting. The skirt, well, I keep wanting to pull the hem down at the front. It makes me realise that although you get a lot of extra freedom of movement, there's a downside as well. I certainly feel a great deal more vulnerable wearing this, as opposed to wearing some of the other skirts."

"Vulnerable?"

"Yes, but if you think about it, the average woman has worn nothing else practically from birth, so wouldn't necessarily find it a problem, but this is the first time ever I have worn something like this, and... it'll take some getting used to. In the summer I wear shorts that must be nine inches or more shorter than this, and I don't feel vulnerable in those."

Shelagh poured the soup into two bowls and they both concentrated on the meal. When they finished, Colin said, "There is one other thing that might be a problem."

"Oh?"

"My legs are cold. That's a combination of a shorter skirt and of course I'm not wearing bandages any more. I've thought about it and I can't think of any way round it."

Shelagh pondered. "You're right, we can't. Under normal circumstances, I'd wear tights of varying thicknesses under all my skirts, unless it was warm enough weather. You can't do that, not until those sores stop weeping. You'll just have to stay close to the stove for a couple of days, till your legs heal up a little more."

So Colin spent the afternoon on the settee in front of the stove while Shelagh did chores. Eventually it got too dark for either of them to properly see what they were doing, so Shelagh showed Colin the remote-control panel for the generator, and he watched as she started it up so they could switch the parlour light on.

"Now we've got power, I could put some music on, if it wouldn't distract you from your book."

"Not at all," replied Colin, "it's still not that easy to read anything properly with these hands. What have you got?"

"Nothing recent, I'm afraid. Half my collection is classical, the other half is ten-year-old easy listening," she replied.

"Put on whatever you'd like, then," he said, closing the book. He watched as she riffled through the CDs on the shelf by the little player, selected one, and placed the disk in the top of the device. Once the music started, he exclaimed, "Tchaikovsky! Excellent!"

"Are you a classic music lover, then?" she asked.

"No, don't know much about it. About any kind of music, actually. But I play a lot while driving, and I listen a lot to the radio in the car, as well, so I do know some composers. I like modern music as well, though, not just the old stuff."

Later on, Shelagh performed her CB check, made supper, and then the pair retired for the night.

*****

December 8th

When Colin pulled his bedroom curtain, the weather seemed much the same as it had been the previous evening, a breeze moving a light snowfall under heavy grey clouds. He went to the parlour via the bathroom, and found Shelagh stirring porridge, just as he had practically every other morning.

"How do you do that?" he asked, "I've no idea what time I wake up, but whenever I come in here, you're stirring porridge."

"I don't know," she replied. "You go to bed about the same time each evening, so I guess your body has found a suitable routine and you will tend to wake up about the same each morning."

"But that doesn't explain how you wake up, what is it, about half an hour earlier than me every day."

"There's no trick to it," she said, "I get up about the same time I've always done. Perhaps it's the smell of the oats cooking that wakens you."

Breakfast over, Shelagh shaved Colin, took off his leg bandages, washed and dried his legs, and then told him to go back into the parlour and wait. She appeared shortly afterwards with what appeared to be a skirt in a mid blue-grey colour over her arm.

"I wondered, seeing as how you were exploring your feminine side," she said, "whether you might like to try something a little different."

"That?" Colin gestured to the garment. "What's different about it? Oh."

Shelagh held up the item, which was not a skirt at all but a dress.

"You don't have to try it if you don't feel comfortable about the idea. It's just that it's been sitting in my wardrobe for a good number of years, and I wondered whether you might use the opportunity you have to see what it feels like. Wearing a dress is not at all like wearing a skirt and top."

"Presumably there's a chance it might not fit. Why bring it in here, anyway?"

"Because the light's better in here than in the bedroom, that's all. I thought you might like to look at it first before you decide."

They both went and stood in front of the big window. Colin saw that the dress had a fitted top - a bodice? - and sleeves which were full at the top, but ended below the elbow with cuffs seven or eight inches long. The neckline was wide, but not excessively so, and it didn't appear to be too revealing. The skirt, which was about knee length, was quite full.

"I don't see why I shouldn't try it, if you're sure you don't mind. It seems to be a quality garment, even to my untutored gaze."

"Yes, I had it specially made for me, about eight years ago. A bespoke tailor's in Edinburgh."

"If you don't mind me saying so, it doesn't look like the kind of thing I'd associate with you, style wise," Colin remarked.

Shelagh sighed. "It was made for me to attend a clan ball," she said, "very formal occasion, everyone done up like dogs dinners - or sacrificial victims. I went with my father, my mother wasn't well at the time. Hated every minute of it, although the dancing was fun."

"Ah. I've known occasions like that. There was this big factory function Dad took me to - never mind, I'll tell you another time. Do you want me to put it on here?"

"No, we can go back to the big bedroom now you've seen it."

In the bedroom, Colin took off his nightdress and put on a fresh pair of white briefs, followed by a white waist slip and a blue cotton tank-top. Shelagh undid the eight buttons on each cuff and pulled down the back zip of the dress, before carefully getting Colin to step into the opening. She pulled the garment up, guiding his hands into the sleeves, and then closed the back and pulled the zip up.

"That fits! I didn't expect it to, I know I was a bit heavier when it was made, but I didn't think it would do up that easily," she remarked. "How does it feel?"

"As you thought it might. Strange. The waist is higher than when I have a skirt on, but it feels freer because it doesn't need to grip my waist the way a skirt does. Do you mind if I wear it a bit? You're not afraid I'll do something to it?"

"No, I don't think so. Go and stand over there for a minute so I can look at you properly." Remarkable the change an item of clothing can make to a body. And to how one views said body. It doesn't look quite right, though. "Turn round slowly, please."

Colin complied. He could see himself in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe, and he could immediately sense a change in himself, and how he saw himself, but without being able to put a finger on exactly what had changed.

"I think you need some padding," she said, carefully.

He patted his hips. "My hips? I have thought of that, when wearing those skirts before. The fullness of the dress hides that, surely?"

"It wasn't your hips I was thinking of. Try higher up. Much higher up."

Colin got the point immediately. "Now wait a minute..." he protested.

"You can't exactly go round in female clothes without having the right shape, now, can you? If you're going to wear these clothes, you might as well go the whole hog and wear all the underpinnings as well," she said.

Colin looked at Shelagh for some seconds while he digested her proposal. "Logical, as ever. I thought it was supposed to be men who were logical, not women."

"That's a philosophical discussion for another time, I think," she said. "Some feminists think that the logical/emotional bias is overrated, others think that women having superior emotions is a good thing. What do you think to my idea? It'll make the dress hang properly, if nothing else."

He raised his arms in a mock Gallic shrug. "It's not as if I have anything urgent to do, and you are of course correct. Now I've got this far it would be amiss of me if I didn't take advantage of the opportunity. You are talking about me wearing a bra, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Now come over here so I can undo the dress."

Shelagh unzipped the dress and held it so that Colin could step out of it. She also removed the tank-top and the waist slip. Going to her drawers, she selected a plain white bra and held it up. "Arms out, please." Part of Colin thought that he could sense some ill-detected trap closing, while another part was becoming interested in the forthcoming experience. His arms went through the straps, and she pulled the two ends behind him to join them together. But, even with some strenuous pulling, she couldn't get the ends to meet. She took the bra off him.

"Looks like Plan A didn't work," she remarked. "Naturally, your ribcage is wider than mine."

"Oh. Does that mean we can't do it?" Colin was actually, to his surprise, disappointed.

"Maybe not. Bras stretch over their lifetime, and most of mine are reasonably new. I do have one or two older ones, though, where the elastic panels on the back have stretched. I keep them in case mine are all in the wash or I'm doing something scruffy in the yard, they don't fit me too well any more."

She pulled out a bottom drawer and rifled through it, pulling out two white bras. "Let's try one of these." The two bras had obviously seen much wear, but were clean and undamaged. Shelagh selected one, and Colin held out his arms again. This time, she could do up the hooks and eyes without any trouble.

"Hmm. Now we have to pad you out." She thought. "Traditionally, if a girl wants to make herself larger, she uses tissues or tights. Tissues would be wasteful, and I don't have that many pairs of old tights I'd care to donate."

"How about balled-up strips of linen?" Colin suggested.

"Clever man! I'll be right back." Since he was now only having his legs dressed at night, rather than hands and legs twice a day, most of the linen which Shelagh had prepared for bandages was now surplus to requirements. Shelagh returned with two handfuls of cloth strips. "The hand bandages are smaller than the leg bandages, so we can adjust to suit," she said.

Stuffing the cups was straightforward, and she said, "If you are going to be wearing a bra, you might as well wear a full slip to go with it. In fact, now I remember, there's a slip I got to go with the dress."

Folded up in a bag, she found the slip in a drawer. She unpacked it and carefully lifted it over Colin's head and pulled it down. It had softly-shaped cups which fitted over the breasts, and below the waist it flared to enable movement in the full skirt of the dress. The dress came next, and she carefully fed the hem of the slip through the waistline as she pulled the dress up. This time, as she pulled the zip up, there was resistance as the zip came past the breast line, but there was no real strain on the material. Finally, standing in front of him, she did up the buttons on each cuff.

"Wow!" said Colin, "Now this is a whole different ball game."

She nodded. "I thought you might find it an interesting experience."

He stood in front of the mirror and inspected himself. He looked totally transformed, and he felt a certain level of unreality. That's me. Wow do I feel different. This is going to take time. He opened his mouth to try and explain how he felt, and failed to say anything. Let's have the experience first. There's too much happening for me to make sense of it at the moment. He went and put his moccasins back on.

"Interesting," was all he could finally manage to say. Shelagh had another idea.

"Let me have a go at your hair. I don't think we can do a lot, not till it grows back, but I can tidy it up into a more appropriate style for the female you."

He nodded. "Okay." He went and sat in the chair in front of her dressing table, and she began brushing his hair. After a while, she pronounced herself finished, but he could see she wasn't happy with the end result.

"Having the front of your hair almost not there is a problem. It's going to make you look funny."

"And I don't look funny anyway?"

"Actually, no, you don't. You look quite good in that dress. Just as you looked quite good in my skirts, although I never said anything to you before. The only thing that was missing was a bosom."

"I must assume you're paying me a compliment. Just at the moment, I'm having difficulty adjusting to the idea of me as a woman, even a pretend one. Let me wander round like this today, and I think we need to have a good talk later on, okay? I'm finding out things about myself I never knew were there."

Shelagh nodded. She hadn't fully understood the full significance of what she had proposed, herself, either from Colin's viewpoint or from her own. The person who sat before her was not the same person who she'd dragged out of the storm. But then, she herself wasn't the same person who'd done the dragging.

"I have an idea," she said. Colin rolled his eyes. "You can get round the frontal hair problem if you wear a hat."

"A hat?"

"Yes! Women wear hats much more than men do. It's not that unusual. We wear them indoors, as well. It's only make-believe we're attempting, isn't it? I've just the thing."

She reached up on top of the wardrobe and pulled down a large cardboard box. Inside was her small hat collection. "This is the one." She took out a cherry-red cloche hat with a small upturned brim, and set it on Colin's head, adjusting it carefully. "Have a look at yourself now," she instructed.

He stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself again. The hat plus the hair changes made all the difference. She had brushed his hair to the sides so that it just covered his ears, and then swept behind. The hat hid the deficiency on top of his head. The fact that his eyebrows had not grown back also added to the effect. A young woman looked back at him.

"I am amazed," he said, "I wouldn't have believed it possible." His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Shelagh. "How much of this did you plan beforehand?"

"Almost none of it," Shelagh protested, "I saw the dress hanging there while I was trying to choose a skirt for you to wear yesterday, and I wondered if you might be interested. That's all. I hadn't thought of bras or hats or any of that at all, honest. The dress has been hung up in the wardrobe for years, it seemed a good way to get some use out of it."

Colin held her gaze for a while before saying, "It all just seemed a bit, well, preplanned, if you get my meaning. I don't honestly think for a moment that you had an ulterior motive."

"Let's tidy up and go back to the parlour," she said, "There's still jobs I have to do this morning."

They tidied away the bags and boxes and closed doors and drawers. Colin put his gloves back on before they walked back to the other end of the cottage. I even want to hold myself differently, and walk differently. It feels like I'm in a dream. A pleasant dream. Is this what real women feel? All the time? Even some of the time?

Entering the parlour, he did what he usually did, went and stood by the big window and looked out. The sky was still heavy with grey cloud, and the snow appeared to be falling a little heavier, blown by a brisk wind from the west. Shelagh entered the room shortly after, and was taken by the sight of Colin standing by the window.

"It's interesting," she remarked.

He turned towards her, increasing the effect she'd noticed. "What is?"

"You're wearing an 'occasion' frock and white gloves. If you had a white bag and shoes, you'd look just like a guest at a posh wedding," she explained. "The transformation is remarkable. Even how you stand is different."

"I know, and I can't explain it. Perhaps it's because it's a well-made item of clothing, and I want to do justice to it. Perhaps it's something else. Maybe I'll figure out what's going on today, as I get used to wearing it."

Shelagh watched him move to the settee and sit down. He even sits down differently! I must think about this, I've obviously triggered something off. I hope it doesn't come back and bite me.

"Do you want your book?" she asked.

"Oh! Yes, please. I should have got it before I sat down." Shelagh passed him the book he had been reading, and wound the rubber band round his finger again, so that he could turn the pages.

"I can hardly call you Colin while you look like that, can I?" she enquired, "Have you thought of a name that the new you might like to be?"

Colin was startled. The idea of a feminine name had not crossed his mind at all. Until today he had still simply considered himself to just have a masculine persona, albeit an odd one with a strange taste in clothes. Today's events had shown him that something had changed forever, and a part of himself he never knew existed had suddenly burst on the scene.

He considered, then said, simply, "Just drop the first syllable. Call me Lynne."

"Yes, you look like you could be a Lynne. Very well, Miss Lynne Anderson, if you will excuse me, I will go and sort out your bandages."

Colin was completely overwhelmed by the flood of ideas and images she had conjured up in his mind. As Shelagh left the room, he was forced to put down his book unread to deal with the new state he found himself in. He was still thinking twenty minutes later when she re-entered, rubbing moisturiser into her hands.

"Coffee?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, please. Boy, have you started something."

"What?" she asked as she went to fill the kettle. She looked closely at him sitting on the settee. "Have you moved at all since I went out of the room?"

Colin shook his head. "I've been thinking. Or trying to think, at least. I don't think you could have blown my brains out any more efficiently if you'd used a shotgun."

"If the outfit is causing you that much trouble I can take it off you."

"No! It's just that... it's a lot to take in. For example, these." He held his gloved hands against his padded breasts. "Having these, changes the whole way a person looks at the world. Interacts with the world. How the world sees that person, and how the world views that person. Now, I've had some experience of these," he reddened, "mostly when I was in college. I've been in the past what you might call a 'user' - "

Shelagh glared at him.

"Now, come on! You went to college, didn't you?" She nodded. "Even if you didn't participate yourself, you must have been aware of what everyone else in your year was doing evenings and weekends?" Reluctantly, Shelagh nodded again.

"So don't get upset with me, then. What I was trying to say was that these," he patted his breasts again, "from experience, aren't anything like the real thing. I know that real breasts are very soft, very mobile, very sensitive, and sometimes quite heavy. As a man, just something to ah, cause the young lady some enjoyment, let us say, and not much more. But I've today been thinking about them from, you could say, an owners perspective, and I find a whole different tale. Because the weight is hung off the front of your chest, it makes your centre of gravity different. They are going to move about all the time when you move," Shelagh nodded, "unless you use a very firm bra or something of that sort, so keeping your balance is not the same. Not really a problem, since every woman in creation learns how to do it, but still a difference. Then there's the fact that they are stuck out in front of you for everyone to see. Again, a lot of women would probably wonder what I'm going on about, because the breasts they have they adapted to as they grew up. So what? But every man notices them, and I bet some women check out other women's breasts just as men do."

She lifted the cafetiere out of a cupboard and opened the coffee jar.

"So, you've discovered breasts," she said.

"No, what I'm trying to say, I think, is that a woman has a whole different view of her body shape, and that affects how she sits, stands, walks, heck, even how she lies down! But because it's the only shape she knows, she doesn't realise that it's a different view to a man's. It's only people like me, who try out the other side's clothing, for example, who get to have a dim idea of the difference."

"Oh. Yes, you could be right." She spooned coffee into the cafetiere, and then moved to another cupboard to retrieve mugs. "You figured this out just because you're wearing a dress?"

"No, not the dress, although that drives the message home. While I was just wearing blouses and skirts, before, I didn't feel much different. The big difference is having a padded bra, that is, the appearance of breasts. It makes me feel as though I have a different body shape, and that makes me want to walk or stand or sit differently," he explained.

"Come and sit at the table a minute," she said, "I want to have a closer look at you while we wait for the kettle."

Colin got up and self-consciously walked over to the big table, pulled out a chair, and sat down facing her as she watched. She took account of the change of gait, the way he pulled the chair out delicately, the way he sat down carefully and didn't slump.

"You're not doing it deliberately?" Shelagh asked.

"Doing what? I haven't been trying to do anything deliberately, it just seems to come out that way."

"You're almost a different person," she mused, "If I'd realised this was going to happen, I'd never have suggested wearing the dress."

"Just let me have the rest of the day to explore," Colin pleaded. "Some of what you see, and what I feel, may just be newness. It may wear off as I get used to the clothes."

She waved a hand. "I wouldn't force you to take it off, I'm not that sort of person. It's just that the effects seemed a little strong, so I'm concerned. Besides, I'm as interested as you are in the results. From a feminist's viewpoint, you're supplying valuable experiences I think any woman would have a hard time imagining. The fact that you can do this, under reasonably controlled conditions, and describe what you're feeling, is very useful."

"You're treating me like a lab rat now."

"A lot of feminists treat most men as rats, whether or not they are in a laboratory. I hope I'm not that bad. Let's just say you've made yourself a subject in an ad-hoc psychological experiment."

"I can live with that."

The coffee was made, and they drank it at the big table, Colin holding his hot mug gingerly in his gloved hands.

"I'm going to have to ask you an odd question," Colin said, as they got to the end of their drinks. "Tell me, are you trying to boil a frog?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Shelagh, "What did you say?"

"I asked, are you trying to boil a frog? No," Colin held up a hand to forestall the protest he could see building, "I'm not advocating any animal cruelty, it's a thought experiment."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about," she complained.

"The idea is, if, hypothetically, you understand, you wanted to boil a frog, and you put your frog into a pot of boiling water, the frog would just jump straight out again. So what you do is to put the frog into cold water, and then bring the pot very slowly to the boil. The frog adapts to the gradual rising temperature, and by the time it realises it's in trouble it's too late," he explained.

"I think I see what you mean, but I don't follow how this has anything to do with me," she said.

"The point is, I'm the frog. Think about it," Colin went on, "when you first dressed me it was a skirt, a tank top and a blouse. Oh, and a shawl. Then it was waist slips, followed by briefs and gloves, then, today, it's a bra, a full slip, a dress and a hat! If you'd told me the first day I got up that I would be dressed like this in a week, I'd probably have run out the door. What's next, lipstick?"

Shelagh looked at Colin, horrified. "I never, it never crossed my mind," she stammered. "I swear, I never had any plan or scheme, it's just the way things worked out!"

"Are you sure? Just now you were talking about psychological experiments."

"I never meant that! For a start, how could I possibly know you were going to come through my door with your clothes half burnt off? I expected you to be gone in half an hour, leaving me in peace! I never expected to have to root through my wardrobe, trying to find things you could wear. I thought you trusted me, I ought to have known better."

"I'm sorry," Colin soothed, "I didn't mean to upset you. I do trust you, I've trusted you with my life, I see no reason to change that trust. I just wondered, thinking about that 'experiment' remark, whether you might have had a long-term plan in mind I ought to know about."

"There's no plan, so you can put your mind at rest. In fact, what's been happening since you arrived has been so far out of my normal routine that I really am making it up as I go along, so I wouldn't worry about anything so organised as plans."

"Oh. Well, again, I'm sorry to have questioned your motives, to have treated you with suspicion. I've been doing a lot of thinking this morning, and probably some of it is unworthy of me. Friends?"

"Yes, of course friends. And if friends can't discuss matters like this, what can they discuss?"

When time came to eat lunch, another problem arose, since Colin was reluctant to sit at the table and eat in case he got food on the dress. Shelagh found a spare tea-towel and pinned it to his front like a bib to protect the garment, and placed another tea-towel across his lap. Soup and bread disappeared without so much as a splash. Meal finished and plates put in the sink, she watched him walk back to the settee with interest, then cleaned herself up and joined him, sitting in the nearest chair.

"I think I might have some idea what's going on," she said, "have you heard of something called 'stereotyping'?"

"Yes, I think so," he replied, "but it's going a long way back to biology lessons in high school. Isn't it something that lets baby ducklings know that they're ducks, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, but it's a lot more powerful than that. It can affect everyone and everything they do at any time. It really means that creatures - or people - build up a generalised description, or picture, for a related group of animals, people, situations, and when they see a thing that matches a group they try to fit it into one of these idealised categories. What I think is happening is that your brain, over the years that you've been alive, has built up a picture of something you categorise as 'woman', or possibly, 'woman of a certain age and class', and your unconscious is telling you that that's how you would expect such a person to behave, so you're trying to fit yourself into that stereotype."

"I see," said Colin doubtfully.

"It's like... how to describe it. Imagine, in your mind's eye, what these look like when I say them: policeman, fireman, judge, nurse, burglar, milkmaid, housewife."

"I see! Yes, you're probably right, I'm using cues I picked up over my life so far to try and determine how I should be behaving," he said, "Or at least, how the woman I currently resemble should be behaving."

"You've got it! Actually, feminists believe that stereotyping is part of what's wrong with modern society, that it's men's view of what a woman should be that's keeping women from being equal."

"You mean the 'barefoot, in the kitchen, with a baby on the hip' stereotype? I agree that some of that is not good, but I think that getting rid of all stereotyping would be a bad idea, even assuming that it was possible in the first place."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because without a certain level of stereotyping, we wouldn't even know whether we were male or female, and how such beings were supposed to behave. The species would never reproduce. But the human brain is much smarter than that. I think it does a lot of that kind of categorisation behind the scenes, so far behind we don't even realise it's happening."

Shelagh nodded. "You're probably right. But I can't blame feminists for wanting to try and limit the worst excesses of stereotyping. We are all distinct individuals, after all, with hopes and fears, likes and dislikes, which are not shared by anyone else."

"I've no problem agreeing to that proposition. I think you'll have a hard time making much impression on the great unwashed masses though."

"'Great unwashed masses'? Now that's a true stereotype if ever I heard one. If you want, we can -"

Whatever Shelagh had been about to suggest was drowned out by a familiar engine roar. Her face changed, and she jumped up. "Oh, no! It's the marines again! They can't see you looking like that, come out of the parlour, quick!"

Colin understood the problem immediately. It was one thing to put on the barest minimum of available clothing for modesty and warmth, but to wear a dress with actual breasts sticking out would raise a whole lot of questions - and eyebrows - which would bring them both into disrepute.

"Into the bathroom, quick! No, wait, if someone wants to use it - in here!" She more or less pushed Colin bodily into the small pantry and pulled the door shut. Colin eased the door open again a fraction so that he could hear what happened, and prepare himself if exposure seemed imminent. He glanced around at the laden shelves, for a part of Shelagh's stocks were stacked in here. A reflection in a jar made him realise he was still wearing the hat, and he hurriedly took it off and held it behind him. He listened at the door, his legs beginning to feel cold in the semi-darkened room.

"Afternoon, ma'am, sorry to disturb you. The doc asked us to bring some boxes of stuff out for you and your patient, and the boys have added some extras to give you a bit of variety. Can't stop, we're off up the mountain centre to collect a broken leg. Er, that is, a broken leg with a climber attached to it, of course. Where do you want us to put these boxes?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, put them just in there."

"We've got to get two more boxes off the roof rack, ma'am. Be a few seconds. Jonas! Haven't you undone that tarp yet?"

A little later, "Here you are, ma'am. I'd keep most of what's in these two outside, and put the rest in the freezer until you need them."

"Put them down over here, please."

"Right, we'll have to be going. Is your generator working okay, now?"

"Yes, thank you, I'd never have realised that breaker was the problem."

"Well, you'll know to keep an eye on it in the future. Bye, ma'am."

"Goodbye, Sergeant Tilson, and thank you again."

Colin heard the door being closed, and then the roar of the tracked military vehicle faded in the direction of the loch, repeating the marines' earlier journey. He pulled the pantry door open and stepped out.

"I'd forgotten that the doctor had said he'd send some stuff next time the marines were passing. I didn't think he'd have enough time to get together what I asked him to," he remarked.

"It's just as well he didn't want another look at your leg," said Shelagh with relief, "I'd have had to move to England to escape the scandal."

"Four boxes?" Colin said as he counted them, "Seems a lot to me."

"What did you ask for?"

"Men's clothing, mostly, for when I leave," he replied. "Can you lift those? I'm sorry I can't help you yet, it's a job I should be doing."

"Careful," she said, half joking, "your stereotyping is showing."

Shelagh carried the four boxes into the parlour and placed them on the oak table. The two which had been stored on the roof rack radiated cold into the room. She picked at the tape and folded back the tops of the boxes.

"This one seems to just have a large coat," she said, pulling it out. It was the same pattern as the one Ferguson had been wearing, except in a dark red colour. It was bulky because it was designed to be worn in the mountains by climbers and walkers. "No, wait, there's more." She pulled out a pack containing walking socks, another containing a pair of men's briefs, and an envelope.

"It's addressed to you. Do you want me to open it?"

"Leave it till we've been through the boxes. I imagine it's probably a copy of the bill, which I asked him to forward to my head office."

The next box contained more clothing, a pair of sturdy walking trousers, a vest and a thick plaid shirt, a pair of heavy gloves and a woollen hat. At the bottom of the box were four large tubs of plain moisturiser, a comb, and a five-pack of ladies' opaque black tights. Shelagh's eyebrows rose when she lifted the last item out.

"Now who's the one who's keeping their plans secret?"

"Don't look at me, I didn't order them. Or, not exactly, anyway," he added after a thought.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Tell you afterwards. Let's finish the other two boxes."

The remaining boxes contained food. There was a bottle of red wine, another of white, a bottle of single malt Scotch, bags of potatoes, carrots, parsnips, turnips, broccoli, onions, sprouts, a net bag full of cooking apples, another of oranges, another of tomatoes, a bag of mixed nuts, a box of stuffing, boxes of eggs, packs of bacon, a small fresh turkey, a ham, a small Christmas pudding and finally a haggis. The pair sat looking at the heap on the table, overwhelmed.

"Did you ask Ferguson to get all this?" Shelagh demanded.

"No, I certainly didn't! Let's see, I thought you would appreciate the chance to have some fresh vegetables, so that's what I asked for. I didn't specify what sort, just whatever was in the local supermarket. The bottles of wine, yes. Whisky, no. Eggs and bacon, yes, because I thought I'd offer you an occasional change of breakfast. The turkey leads me to suspect we have the makings of a Christmas dinner here."

"That was thoughtful of you, thank you. I have to agree with your findings, although I don't think you've thought things all the way through."

"How do you mean?"

"Look, there's obviously a Christmas dinner here. That implies that you are supposed to stay here over the Christmas holiday. I suppose that's fair enough, it will certainly be better than if I was here on my own." I hope he takes the hint. I want him to stay. "However, the presence of the haggis and scotch leads me to believe he wants you to stay till the end of January, since that's when Burns Night is."

"You're right! I think it's time you opened that letter for me, and we found out what's going on."

Shelagh opened it and spread it on the table so Colin could read it, which he did, aloud.

Mr Anderson,

Find enclosed the items you asked me to get. I decided to upgrade the coat you asked for, since the medium range weather forecast is not good. The item I chose is the same as mine, and the cost very little more. I have also included some tights because you'll need something to protect your legs from the trousers when you leave. You can of course wear them at other times when you need to.

I have included some cream to rub on your hands and legs to help the new skin develop properly. You should apply this to your hands and legs three times a day, and after washing them.

I've spoken to your hotel, your caretaker and your office, and everything you mentioned is being taken care of. The bill for the clothes I have forwarded to your office. Because of the severity of your injuries, I have taken the liberty of signing you off until February 28th, by which date I trust you will have made your way back to civilisation.

Enjoy your rest and I hope you are fully recovered when the time comes for you to leave. Give my regards to Miss Fraser. I have taken the liberty of including a few extra items in the food boxes to provide you and Miss Fraser with some variety to your meals.

Andrew Ferguson, M.D.

PS Tell Miss Fraser that we have a vacancy for a practice nurse if she might be interested in returning to her profession in the near future.

They looked at each other.

"I think we've been well and truly set up by the good doctor," said Colin.

"That old coot!" exploded Shelagh, "what gives him the right to think he can order us around like this! I'd like to make my own decisions about when my guests stay and go, thank you very much!"

"Calm down! We're in this together." he replied, "He's more or less ordered me to stay here, too. Now if you don't want me to stay here, I've now got my male outfit to leave in, so help me out of your clothing and I'll put this new stuff on while you get on the CB. I'm sure the marines can drop in on their way back and pick me up. After all, it's not as if I have much to pack." It's a calculated risk. Let's see what she says.

She shut up immediately, wary. Since Colin was effectively an uninvited guest, reliant on her goodwill, there was a kind of unspoken agreement between them. The problem was that they were both too polite to discuss a specific departure date, and she wanted to keep it that way, although she wasn't entirely sure why. She didn't know whether he wanted to stay or not, she was unsure how he viewed her. Finally, carefully choosing her words, she spoke.

"I didn't say I wanted you to go, I said that Doctor Ferguson is making you stay, which is not the same thing at all. You heard the doctor say he was content with your treatment here, medically speaking, and you wouldn't get better anywhere else. I agree with that. I'm quite happy for you to stay here, at least until after Christmas, well, let's say till sometime early in the new year. We can decide after Christmas if you're fit to travel and when you might leave. Personally speaking, I have no objection to you staying, as a guest, especially now you've managed both to top up my larder and to provide us with a suitable Christmas dinner. Burns' Night we can talk about in the new year."

She stood up and picked up the turkey, effectively ending the discussion. "Right, let's get this lot put away before it thaws. I don't know how much you can lift, see what you find comfortable. Can you manage those bottles? We can just put them in the outhouse to keep cool."

All the food suitably dispersed to storage places, she helped Colin carry his new clothing to his room.

"Do you want to try it all on, to check that it fits?" she asked.

"I'll have to, I suppose, at some time," he replied, " but I'm in no hurry at the moment. I'd have to take off the dress and undergarments, and I'm rather comfortable just at the moment to want to start stripping. Perhaps I'll test them after my next bath, before I get into bed."

She found a spare hanger for the coat and hung it inside the back door alongside her outdoor gear. The rest of his 'man clothes' fit into one box, the other having been used to help organise the food.

She did have a question, "You were going to explain the tights."

"Oh, that's easy. The doc said he would get me some tubular bandage to protect my skin from rubbing against the trousers when I left. I said I would probably need something to keep my legs warm when the bandages came off, and would the tubular bandages do. He asked if I would still be wearing the skirts, and I said probably. He said he'd see what he could arrange. I never guessed what he'd do."

She nodded, then thought. "There was a line in the letter I thought odd at the time. 'You can wear them at other times when you need to.' I wondered what he meant, now I know."

"He read both of us rather well. Not surprising, he's obviously been a GP for a good while. What did you think about that last bit? He practically offered you a job," Colin asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, cautiously, "I'm a bit out of practice. It would also mean -" she stopped.

"It would mean having to work somewhere where there were men wandering about, is what you were going to say, wasn't it?" Colin supplied.

"I - " She looked at Colin. He had seen the 'trapped animal' look previously, so decided to change the subject quickly.

"Don't worry about that now. You won't have to think about it before next January, will you? In the mean time, I suggest we think about how we are going to use this abundance of fresh food. How about some menu planning? Some of it will obviously have to be reserved for Christmas, but we'll need to plan out the rest between now and then. Which reminds me, what date is it today, anyway? I've no idea."

"Neither have I, actually. Is it important?"

"It is if you want to have your Christmas dinner on the right day."

She smiled. "Yes, it might be a bit awkward if we had a feast and got it wrong. I usually get the date when I get online on the computer," she added, "for obvious reasons I haven't been able to do that lately."

"There's my phone," said Colin, "but if the battery's that low I don't think it'll co-operate. We'll wait till this evening, then check on the computer, if that's all right with you."

"I can't get online. The line's down, remember?"

"The computer has it's own clock, that'll be good enough. Note to self. Buy Shelagh an automatic calendar. One that's battery operated."

Shelagh busied herself with the evening meal, already selected and partly prepared before the deluge of fresh food arrived. Colin wandered about the parlour, restless, thinking about all that had happened that day. He decided that the dress had some special 'power' to affect him over and above the way the other clothing had, and he finally concluded that it was similar to the way that a good suit or a well-fitting uniform boosted a male wearer. Whatever the reason, he hadn't felt this good wearing anything for a very long while, and he added it to his mental list of items for future investigation. He also replayed the day's conversations, and realised that he could apply what he had learned in certain past situations to come up with some very interesting, and disturbing, conclusions.

She pinned the tea-towels to Colin's front again before they sat down for the evening meal.

"If this becomes a habit, I'll have to make you a pinny," she said.

"A what?"

"You know - an apron with a bib," she replied, "I've only got waist aprons, which I use sometimes while cooking, and those won't protect your upper parts while you're eating."

"I didn't think I was that messy," he said, mildly. "In fact, I don't think I've dropped anything yet."

"Mostly that's because I've been feeding you up to now," she said. "Until your hands heal up properly, you're a bit wobbly with the cutlery, and I'm only taking care of my wardrobe."

Meal over, Shelagh made a pot of tea and they took their cups over to the settee/stove area. By now it had gone dark, and she started the generator and turned on her CB radio ready for the check-in. Connection made, she shut down the CB and started her computer, discovering that it was December 8th, and that neither of them had estimated the date correctly. Finally, shutting the computer down, she came and sat in Nan's chair. Colin was relaxing on the settee, cup in hand.

"I've been doing some thinking," he began.

"Always worrying, a man thinking," she riposted.

"I thought I was 'Lynne' at the moment," he said, offended.

"You're right, I apologise," she said, contrite, "What have you been thinking about, then?"

"About stereotyping," he continued. "I've realised that although you profess to dislike stereotyping, you've actually been doing it yourself all along."

"Me? How do you figure that out?"

"I couldn't work out, when I first came here, why your manner kept changing all the time. You'd admitted to me early on that you didn't like men, so I just put it down to you trying to balance that dislike against the fact that I was here and neither of us could do anything about it. But I've been here now what, nine, ten days? In that time your attitude to me has changed significantly. I put it down to the fact that you've had time to see that I'm not a threat to you, and we've actually made a reasonable relationship, at least I think we have." Colin had noticed a flash in her eyes when he said the word 'threat', but he pressed on before she could respond.

"It finally dawned on me that you were least comfortable with me when I was being bathed, or changing clothes, and most comfortable when I was in a blouse and skirt. Now, today, with the two added features," his eyes flicked down to his 'breasts', "you are even more comfortable with me! It seems as though while I look like a female, you can cope happily with me, but it's taken a long time for you to adjust to the male me, if indeed you have yet."

Shelagh looked thoroughly miserable. "Yes," she whispered, "I didn't realise it was happening. I didn't understand."

"You have stereotyped females as friendly, and I therefore deduce you stereotype all males as hostile. 'All Men are Bastards', indeed. Now, given the very little you've said, I think something very unpleasant happened to you in the recent past, and a man or men were the cause of it. I think you've tried to push this out of your life, and it's given you a phobia about men. In fact, the only way I could have gotten into this cottage and into your life is exactly the way I did! You were forced to deal with a helpless male, but one who was no threat to you. Your nursing training took over, you said that yourself."

She nodded, fascinated by his analysis, but appalled by the dark thing that was materialising in the background. She could sense the approaching train-wreck, but words stuck in her throat. She was unable to stop or divert him, and unsure whether or not she wanted him to stop.

"Then what? You got used to the body, and I became conscious again. I had no clothes, so you were forced to share, and I was forced to wear. But that was the precise thing that we both needed to do to make the system work. As I started wearing more and more of your things, the happier you became, even if you didn't realise why. Am I right so far?"

Shelagh nodded, pinned like a butterfly.

"I think your stereotyping of men is what's causing you most of your problems. But there's an underlying cause, too. I think that somewhere towards the end of your nursing course, you got raped."

Her face had gone a white as parchment, except for dark rings around her eyes, which were fixed on a scene in another time, another place. The room became completely quiet, apart from the occasional tick as a log subsided in the stove.

"I was working in John Radcliffe, Oxford," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "it was six weeks before I qualified. I was assigned to a ward for practical experience, but there had been a stomach virus which had taken out about half of Accident and Emergency, and four of us had been drafted in to cover. I finished my shift that evening, put my coat on and walked home." Her expression was that of prey mesmerised by a large snake. "There was a walkway between two blocks of flats, they were waiting at the end. I - I put up a fight, but they beat me to the ground and... I woke up in the same casualty department I had walked out of half an hour before." Her eyes shifted, and she fixed Colin's gaze. "I was so badly beaten that no-one in the department recognised me. The police surgeon found semen from three separate males inside me." The tears streamed down her face.

Colin was appalled. No wonder she avoided men! Automatically, he opened his arms wide. Without thinking, she launched out of her chair and into his arms, clasping him tightly like a drowning woman clutching wreckage. She began weeping, and soon she was sobbing, her head upon his breast, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

He held her for a long time, until she quietened. Her grip upon his body remained firm, and Colin decided to let her dictate what happened next. In the end, she raised her wrecked face to Colin's and there was a question in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I don't seem to have my handbag with me, otherwise I'd offer you a tiny lace-trimmed handkerchief to fix your face with." But his grip stayed as firm as hers.

She gave a wan smile and hitched herself into a more comfortable position.

"It wasn't a laughing matter," she protested, her voice husky with emotion.

"It wasn't. But it didn't happen yesterday, either," he replied. "You can't go on living like a hermit on the basis of something that happened some years ago. Actually, you have been, but it's a dreadful waste of a talented individual. Look, I'm not your enemy, in fact, probably most men aren't your enemy. But I am the one who's here, and I will help you get through this. Talk to me, Shelagh, and I will give you my full attention. I respect your privacy, but I don't think you can do this on your own. Talk to Colin, or talk to Lynne, it's your choice. What we say in the cottage, stays in the cottage. Friends?"

She gave him another wan smile. "Friends, but you don't deserve to have me as a friend."

"Nonsense," Colin said. He smiled, "That's what friends are for, as you yourself said. You've done a great deal for me, including saving my life, so the least I can do is return the favour." He hugged her. "It seems that you are as scarred on the inside as I am on the outside," he added softly. "Now, sit up properly on the settee and I'll see if I can find some tissues."

"In my bedroom," she said, moving herself properly onto the seat, and reluctantly letting go of Colin, "on the dressing table."

Colin fetched the tissue box and returned. When he got back into the parlour, he said, "I remember. It was front-page news for a week. About seven years ago?"

"Five," she replied.

He pulled a tissue out of the box and said, "Let me." He gently wiped her face before pulling a second tissue and handing it to her.

"Of course, your name was never mentioned, as a rape victim," he continued, "Then, I remember, they thought they caught one of the men who did it, but there was some dreadful hoo-ha with the trial, and it all fell apart."

"Look," she said, "I've made a mess all over the front of my, your, dress." She pointed to the large tear stain at the top of the bodice. Then she looked down, pulled the front of her own jumper out so she could inspect it, and added, "Mine's not much better." She dabbed at their clothing with the tissue in her hand. She sighed.

"Yes, you're right. I tried so very hard to forget, but it never goes away, does it?"

"Do you want to talk about it any more, tonight?" he asked. "I want to help, and I believe you must keep talking, but we've had a somewhat exciting day today, so you may just want to turn in."

Shelagh nodded, her hands twisting the tissue. "I really don't want to talk about it, but, you're right, it seems that all I've done by not talking is to make things worse."

"Will you promise to talk later, if not tonight? It really wouldn't be a good idea for you to retreat into your shell, even though you think you have a very good reason to do so. Promise to talk?"

"I promise. I may not like it, but I'll talk." She straightened her shoulders. "Now, perhaps we'd better get ourselves out of these damp clothes and cleaned up properly."

"What about this evening's dishes?" he asked.

She flipped a hand in dismissal. "There's not much. It can wait till the morning."

Colin stood, and held out his hand to assist Shelagh to stand. She clutched it tightly, thinking, I could never have done this on my own. He's right. Exactly the right person, at the right time, and in the only way it could be done.

Having abandoned the dishes, they followed the usual evening routine for retiring. Shelagh undressed Colin, then he went to the bathroom and washed and dried his legs. An extra step was the application of the bulk moisturiser that Dr Ferguson had provided. Shelagh then wrapped his legs in the next set of fresh bandages. Finally, she supplied him with his nightdress and he retired, while she used the bathroom before stopping the generator and retiring to her own room. By the time she got into bed, the reaction had set in and she was shaking.

As Colin settled down to sleep, he realised that he at last had a purpose, he had to rescue a damsel in distress. But she was still incredibly fragile, and he would have to treat her very gently, despite the apparent unity of the evening. He finally drifted off, dreaming of standing in the middle of his Edinburgh office, surrounded by the other staff, dressed in Shelagh's dress.

Some time later, he was partially roused by the movement of his covers. A small, soft, warm body climbed in beside him. His arm automatically raised, and she snuggled down under it, her head on his chest, her arm around his waist. His arm automatically came down, enfolding her around the shoulders. His body registered her presence by making certain physical changes. He could feel her trembling, and it wasn't from the cold.

Still half asleep, he mumbled, "Are you sure this is a good idea? I'm not certain I can contain myself."

A tiny voice came from below. "I'm not certain I want you to."

Now entirely awake, he said, softly, "Then this definitely isn't a good idea." She stiffened, but he kept her from moving by gently increasing his arm pressure. "Considering the kind of day we had today, you're in no fit emotional state to go making decisions like that," he continued quietly, "and neither, really, am I. If you want to cuddle, fine. If you want to sleep, that's fine too. We can talk about it in the morning." His hand gave her arm a tiny squeeze.

She stayed rigid for a second, then relaxed. As time passed, she gradually relaxed completely, and her breathing became regular as she fell asleep. Colin briefly contemplated this new complication in his life before he, too, drifted off.

But in the morning, she had gone.

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