By Winter''s Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2)

  He went into the house.

  It was too early even for a pot of coffee—not on Christmas morn; they all trooped past the kitchens and went their separate ways, returning to the different towers or suites where they’d left their still-sleeping wives.

  Devil entered the large suite he shared with Honoria. After silently closing the door, he shrugged off his greatcoat, tossed it on a chair, then sat to ease off his boots.

  Honoria lay sleeping, curled on her side, facing the window. Devil’s second boot heel clacked on the floor as he set the boot down, and she stirred.

  She turned her head and squinted sleepily at him. She frowned as she watched him undress. “Has anything happened? Where have you been?”

  Looking down as he unbuttoned his cuffs, Devil replied, “Nothing’s happened.”

  When he didn’t add anything more, Honoria turned fully onto her back, the better to view him. “And?”

  His lips tightened, but then he inwardly sighed and admitted, “I went out to see if I could spot them riding in.”

  “Ah.” Honoria eyed him with gentle understanding and a species of fond indulgence. “I take it they aren’t yet in sight.”

  “Richard checked from the highest tower—there’s no sign of them yet.”

  “I suppose that all of you were out there?”

  Devil hauled off his shirt and leveled a look at her that stated very clearly that he couldn’t believe she’d asked.

  Honoria laughed.

  But her laughter faded as he stripped off his breeches and reached the bed in one long stride.

  He raised the covers and tumbled in alongside her, simultaneously juggling her into his arms.

  On a laughing squeal, suddenly breathless, Honoria found herself trapped against him. She looked into his peridot eyes.

  Devil looked down at her and smiled his signature smile. “Merry Christmas, Your Grace.”

  Then he bent his head and kissed her.

  * * *

  Over breakfast, the Great Hall was awash with Christmas cheer. Courtesy of the host and hostess, there were small gifts beside every plate, and the children had already found more personal presents left by their parents and siblings at the feet of their beds.

  The chatter that swelled and filled the room was alive with happiness and warmed by good wishes.

  Everyone had noted the section of empty table below the dais, Christopher having been admitted once again into the company of his elders. But Catriona had risen, welcomed everyone, and reassured the company that their missing members would be home for the feast that was Christmas luncheon. Everyone had cheered, and thereafter, the delight and laughter flowed without reservation.

  On entering the hall, Claire had felt buoyed by the wave of festive joy; smiling unrestrainedly, she’d walked to her place beside Daniel, met his eyes, held his gaze, and said, “Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

  His smile had deepened; the light in his eyes had grown more personal. “And to you, Claire.”

  She’d given him her hand; he’d taken it and helped her over the bench.

  Settled alongside him, she let the joy of the morning have her, let it sweep her up and away from her cares. It was a time for rejoicing, and she gave herself over to the warmth of the fellowship she and Daniel shared with each other, and with Melinda, Raven, and Morris. All of them delighted in the numerous small gifts and expressions of thanks they’d received from their charges, as well as from the grateful parents of those charges.

  This wasn’t the moment to allow her dilemma to cloud her reactions; she opened her heart and let the happiness of the day be hers. Let Daniel and the warmth in his eyes and the simple pleasure of the moment be her guide.

  For his part, with Claire beside him and nothing to keep them apart through the hours, Daniel was content to let his direct pursuit of her lapse, at least for those shared hours on this most joyous of days. The son of a reverend, he’d never known a Christmas Day without a morning visit to church, but in the Vale there was no formal church, not even a chapel within the house. Instead, the household formed its own congregation, and it seemed to him that the merging of the pagan Yule, the Lady’s ways, and all the elements of the Christian celebration resulted in a richer, deeper, somehow more grounded and therefore more meaningful experience.

  The impromptu choir of the evening past formed again. They sang of bells ringing, of hallelujahs, of births and rejoicing. The voices rang out, the lighter tones clear and pure, the deeper voices providing a powerful rolling counterpoint.

  Daniel embraced the glory of the moment, embraced the sentiment of the day, and devoted himself to enjoying every second.

  At the next table, Louisa, Therese, Annabelle, and Juliet were thrilled with their gifts.

  After they’d each described what they’d received, Louisa looked around the room and gave a contented sigh. “It was worth every ounce of effort we made to convince the elders to hold Christmas here.”

  Annabelle arched her brows. “It’s not just Christmas—not just today. We’ve all the days to come, up to and including Hogmanay!”

  Juliet bent an interested look on Annabelle. “The way you say that it’s as if Hogmanay is even better than Christmas, and”—with a smile, she spread her arms, indicating the gaiety all around—“I don’t see how that could be.”

  Annabelle’s eyes twinkled. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “For me,” Therese said, “I’m content to take these holidays day by day—to enjoy each one. There’s so much that’s almost the same yet different up here.” She glanced around. “Partly that’s because here, it’s not just the family, with the staff having their own celebration in their quarters. Here, everyone’s together.” She nodded at the choir. “It’s more like a whole village celebrating all together.”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, “that’s exactly what it’s always like here. And it certainly helps with the numbers come Hogmanay.” Again, she grinned as if savoring some secret.

  “You’re teasing, now,” Louisa said, but she was smiling. “So,” she continued, “what’s next today?”

  “Actually, girls.” All four turned to find Catriona standing by the end of their table. Seeing she had their full attention, she continued, “I’m here to ask if the four of you will stand in for Lucilla and Prudence, and help me and Algaria and Mrs. Broom to box up the gifts for the Feast of St. Stephen.”

  The four girls exchanged a swift glance, then Louisa answered for them all. “Yes, of course.” The boxing of gifts for giving to the household and estate workers on the following day, St. Stephen’s Day, was a tradition on both sides of the border. Then Louisa’s gaze went to the empty end of the table and her expression sobered. “But…won’t Lucilla and Prudence want to help when they get back?”

  Louisa looked up at Catriona; beneath her joy, Louisa was very much aware that her big brothers were still out in the snow somewhere. They were annoyances more often than not, but still, she’d been looking forward to seeing them soon. She had presents to give them and, she hoped, presents to receive from them, but more than anything else, she just wanted them there…and Lucilla and Prudence were with Sebastian and Michael. Louisa fixed her gaze on Catriona’s face. “Aren’t they going to be back in time to help?”

  Catriona looked into Louisa’s large pale-green eyes and read the reality of the emotion swimming in the limpid depths. She smiled. “They’ll all be back for luncheon, as I said, but I can guarantee that both girls—and the boys, too—will fall into their beds after they’ve eaten. I sincerely doubt any of them slept a wink last night.”

  “Oh.” Louisa’s gaze cleared. She glanced at Therese, then back at Catriona. “In that case, when do you need us, and where?”

  * * *

  The morning vanished in a rush of activities. Breakfast had been served early, the better to clear the kitchen for the extravaganza of a Casphairn Manor Christmas luncheon. For the staff—kitchen, household, gardeners, gamekeepers, and all—it was one of their premier events
of the year.

  Luckily, not only had the storm passed, but the sun, weak though it was in this season and latitude, had decided to essay forth, glinting off the hoar frost the night had laid over the snow, and transforming the icicles hanging from all the eaves into a lacework of diamonds.

  The children, both Cynster and household, were happy to go outside, initially to stare in open-mouthed wonderment—then, at Raven’s suggestion, to build a small army of snowmen in the drifts along the drive. The competition was collaborative, and in some instances fierce, with results ranging from the dramatic to the hilarious.

  With Louisa and the other three fourteen-year-old Cynster girls busily working under Catriona’s direction, Claire donned her pelisse, gloves, and a knitted hat and scarf, and went out to join Daniel in the snow. He was loosely supervising the snowmen-builders. Without allowing herself to overthink things, on reaching him, she boldly twined her arm with his; when, surprised, he glanced at her, she smiled at him. He looked into her eyes; she saw the hope that infused his gaze, but other than drawing his arm closer to his body, anchoring hers more definitely, he said nothing. Then a child called, and he looked up and answered their question.

  They spent the rest of the morning promenading together. As the snow had iced over, especially along the drive, other women, too, had claimed a man’s arm; that she was on Daniel’s didn’t draw any real attention.

  But it was a different pleasure to be able to share the moments of the day—as they had over breakfast—simply being themselves without any demands or restrictions.

  That, Daniel thought, as he guided Claire along the line of snowmen, was part of the magic of the Vale of Casphairn; it was so far from any metropolis, so buried in raw and untamed country, the superficialities of their more civilized lives fell away, irrelevant.

  Then the great gong was struck, the deep boong resonating through the manor and out through the newly opened doors.

  With one voice, the children cheered, a spontaneous sound that placed a smile on every adult face. Snowmen and the question of which was best were left behind as, leaping and calling, the boisterous throng, followed by their highly entertained elders, streamed back into the manor.

  Among the last inside, Daniel released Claire to help one of the footmen close the big front doors. He glanced at the man. “Are the rest of the riding party back?”

  The footman shook his head. “Not yet. But as the Lady said they’d be here for luncheon, they must be close.”

  Daniel turned back to Claire. As she retook his arm and they followed the footman into the Great Hall, she tipped her head closer and murmured, “It must be comforting to have that degree of certainty.”

  He glanced at her, but she was looking ahead. “Truer words,” he murmured, and led her to their places at their table.

  The tables were already laden with covered dishes and platters, with branchlets of evergreen set around and in between. Fir, pine, and spruce lightly scented the air, adding to the festive spirit.

  Despite all beliefs and certainties, everyone’s gazes drifted to the section of table below the dais, still empty—

  “They’re coming!” Calvin came leaping down the stairs that debouched directly onto the dais. His face alight, he addressed the table of Cynster parents. “I’ve been keeping watch from Carter’s studio at the top of our tower—I took the spyglass and I just spotted them walking their mounts through the snow. They’re out of the forest and not far away.”

  By the time Calvin had finished his report, fully half the room had risen again. People made for the doors leading outside—the side door, the front door, the kitchen door. Expectant eagerness—expectant relief—had all the Cynsters bar the dowager spilling out to the rear yard, and a large number of the household followed, keen to see the absent riders home safe and to hear their story.

  Everyone who crowded into the rear yard was hoping to hear a fresh, new Christmas tale with a happy ending.

  The riders crested a rise, coming into view. They were walking their horses smartly.

  Demon, watching with his hands on his hips, nodded approvingly. “Good to see—this snow’s too deep even to trot.”

  From beside him, Felicity, his wife, qualified, “Not unless wolves were nipping at your heels.”

  Demon glanced down at her; they shared a smile, then both raised their heads and watched Prudence, their eldest daughter, guide her mount through the snow toward them.

  Sebastian, as usual and as expected, was in the lead. His heavier mount had less difficulty stepping through the snow. Prudence followed, her mount treading more or less where Sebastian’s had, and Lucilla followed her. Lucilla’s black mare was the lightest of the horses and usually headstrong, but in these conditions, the mare clearly appreciated the track created by the two heavier horses preceding her; she followed in their wake without fuss.

  Riding easily, Michael followed Lucilla, and Marcus brought up the rear, patently keeping a watchful eye on the little procession and the various tacks Sebastian chose to take over the snow-covered ground.

  And then they were in hailing range.

  “About time,” the duke called.

  Sebastian grinned, albeit wearily. “We came as fast as we could.” He tipped his head in the direction from which they’d come. “The drifts along the ridge line and in the lower reaches of the forests were deeper than we’d anticipated.”

  “Never mind,” the duchess declared. “You’re here now, home and safe, and that’s all that matters.”

  Rupert and Alasdair swung open the rear gate and, one by one, the riders passed through. Weariness, but also triumph, glowed in their eyes and lit their faces.

  As they brought their horses to a stamping, drooping halt, the company closed around them with cheers and calls of “Welcome home!” and “Merry Christmas!”

  Richard was the first to reach his eldest child. He lifted Lucilla from her saddle—noting as he did that she made not the slightest protest. Tiredness etched her face, but there was something else there, too—something precious and wonderful.

  Lucilla shivered. “I’m cold.”

  Richard hugged her. Then Catriona was there. She embraced Lucilla, then held her at arm’s length. The Lady of the Vale looked into her daughter’s eyes, then she smiled a smile full of love and approval. Laying a hand on Lucilla’s bright copper-red hair, Catriona gently stroked. “Well done. Now go inside and get warm, and we’ll all feast, and then you and the others can catch up on your sleep.”

  Marcus came up at that moment. Catriona hugged him, then released him and ran her gaze over him. Then, smiling in a slightly different way, she nodded. “Good. You, too—inside now. You will have to tell us all about your adventure, but get into the warmth and drink something first.”

  “Wassail.” Marcus looked at Richard. “Is there any left?”

  Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Bound to be—ask Cook.”

  Many willing and able hands gathered to lead the tired horses into the stable, making light work of unsaddling and tending them. Meanwhile, with the returning riders carried along in their midst, the bulk of the crowd streamed back into the Great Hall.

  Those who’d remained inside had been busy, making sure the riders’ table was set, and piled platters and warmed mulled wine were waiting, along with beakers of the reheated spiced ale from the night before.

  Sliding onto the bench in his usual place, Marcus lifted his beaker. “Wassail for us.” He sipped and looked startled.

  Polby, the butler, hovering to ensure that all was just right for the returning heroes, noticed and grinned. “It’s stronger from having sat overnight. Cook said you’d want it.”

  “Need it, more like,” Michael said, eyes closed as he savored a mouthful. Opening his eyes, he grinned tiredly at Polby. “And please tell Cook that if she ever wants to cure anybody of anything to do with being cold, reheated wassail is the trick.”

  “Excellent.” Satisfied that the six of them—the five now having been joi
ned by Christopher—had all they needed, with a wide smile, Polby withdrew, heading for his own place on the benches.

  At the high table, Catriona rose to her feet. Gradually, the chatter subsided and an expectant hush fell over the room. Catriona smiled, ineffable grace and warmth in her gaze as she surveyed the room. “Today is a day for rejoicing, for giving thanks for the bounties of the past year and looking forward in hope to those of the year to come. Whatever your leaning, to whichever deity you cleave, please take a moment to give thanks.” She paused, and not a sound could be heard. Many bowed their heads, their lips moving in prayer; others simply closed their eyes, while still others waited, wide-eyed and waiting, secure in the presence of their Lady.

  Finally, Catriona smiled and continued, her voice clear and pitched to reach the furthest corners, “We are doubly grateful, today, to have our young adventurers returned to us safe and sound, and as we’re all by now aware, they have a Christmas tale of their own to tell.” Her gaze lowered to the section of table immediately before the dais. “But the food is hot, and I’m quite sure they’re famished, too.” Laughter rippled through the room, and Catriona raised her hands. “Please, everyone—join in this feast, in this celebration, and perhaps, as they can manage it, our recently returned members can entertain us with their story as they may.”

  Richard, seated beside Catriona, had risen during her conclusion. Now he raised his goblet high and commanded, “Come one, come all—eat, drink, and let us be merry!”

  A rousing cheer went up on all sides and everyone happily complied with their host’s directive.

  Michael reached for a turkey leg, then looked around their table of six. “How do you want to do this?”

  Christopher grinned. “As I wasn’t there, I don’t have to do anything—I can eat, drink, and be entertained by you lot.”

  Sebastian, seated alongside, accidentally-on-purpose nudged Christopher away from the dish of pullets in red wine that he was reaching for.

  “Hey!” Christopher “nudged” back rather more firmly.