By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (20 page)

The wind had gone, vanished with the storm. The cold was sharp enough to cut; the air, as clear and pure as crystal.

To the east, the sun rose, painting streamers of gold and the palest blush-pink across the silent land.

Upon reaching the corner where the northern and western fences met, Devil halted. His pale green eyes narrowing, he scanned the darker snow-dappled line of the forests.

An instant later, he heard the crunch of someone else’s boot.

Long lips quirking, he waited and wasn’t surprised to be joined by his cousin, Demon. He met Demon’s blue eyes. “Honoria was worried—I thought I’d come and take a look.”

Demon nodded. “Felicity, too. Hardly surprising.” Prudence, their elder daughter, was still somewhere out there on this bright and sunny Christmas morn. Demon, too, stood and stared out.

Gradually, one after another, the others joined them. Gabriel, Vane, and Lucifer all had similar tales of worried wives who had sent them out to check…on quite what, none of them mentioned.

Finally, Richard strolled out and joined the gathering at the corner of his yard. After several moments of studying the forests, he said, “Ten minutes ago, I was reminded that our children—the five who, on Christmas Eve, stopped to help a crofter family because they were asked—are more than capable of taking care of themselves.”

Vane glanced at Richard. “Did she say they would reach home safely?”

All there knew that “she” meant Catriona, and that the Lady of the Vale was not one to hand out assurances unless she
knew
. And when it came to this land, if she said she knew, she did.

Richard nodded. “She said they would be back today. I was instructed to tell you that, and to point out that us keeping a vigil out here would achieve precisely nothing. It was suggested that we should all go back inside and let their adventure run its course.”

The others shifted.

“And,” Richard continued, “before I came out here I went up to the highest tower and checked with a spyglass. There’s nothing at all moving out there.”

With various snorts and grunts by way of acknowledgment or reaction, the others scanned the landscape again, but of course, as Richard had just confirmed, there was nothing whatsoever to see.

Richard turned away first; one by one, the others followed suit, and they all trudged back to the house.

Devil was the last in the line. At the kitchen door, he paused to look back over the white paddocks to the dark skirts of the forests surmounted by the white bulk of the higher peaks. And still not a soul stirred in the crisply cold landscape.

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.