By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (21 page)

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 joined 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.

“Boys, boys!” Across the table, Prudence wagged a chicken bone at them both. “You’re supposed to be gentlemen, now.”

Unrepentant, Sebastian and Christopher shrugged and, with Marcus and Michael, settled to demolish everything edible within reach. But after piling his plate high and swallowing several mouthfuls, Sebastian said, “Why don’t we just pass the baton, so to speak. I’ll start, and then whoever wishes can cut in and take over.” He glanced down at his plate. “That way, everyone else will be kept amused, and we’ll all be able to eat while the food’s still warm.”

Lucilla nodded. “As I can’t imagine you, Michael, or Marcus describing the birth, and as neither Prudence nor I know what actually happened when you and Thomas Carrick went out to fix that shutter, a round-robin will work better than one of us trying to cover it all.”

Mouths full, the others nodded their agreement.

Sebastian wiped his lips with his napkin, then rose. Stepping over the bench, he moved to the space before the main fireplace. With his back to the flames, he looked up at the high table and saw his parents smiling down at him. He inclined his head to them. “Your Graces.” Spreading his arms, he turned to include the entire company. “
Mesdames et messieurs
, our Christmas tale.”

Laughter greeted his opening. Encouraged, he went on, “It started with a ride through the forests in search of game. But a storm was blowing in, and….” With deft turns of phrase, Sebastian described the sudden eruption of Jeb, the crofter, into their path, and how his plea for help had had them turning aside to ride to his cottage.

Marcus rose. Sebastian returned to the bench and his meal as Marcus described the cottage in detail, from its unprepossessing exterior and rickety shutters to the newer stable-barn built at the rear. He also filled in the immediate geography. “So the front of the cottage was fully exposed to the brunt of the onrushing storm.”

Lucilla rose and replaced her twin before the fireplace. “I went in and examined Jeb’s wife, Lottie. She was already in labor, and I could tell the baby would arrive before dawn and also was not in the best position. As I had been summoned there, I knew I had to stay. I needed Prudence to help, and Marcus, Sebastian, and Michael elected to remain and see to our general safety. Christopher, as you all know, led the other boys back.”

Christopher stood at his place at the table to report, “And as everyone here knows, but you five don’t, we arrived in good order, just in time for dinner.”

Sebastian snorted. “Naturally.”

Christopher shrugged eloquently, and to a round of good-natured laughter, he sat.

Lucilla resumed her telling. “So the five of us and Jeb made ready as best we could, not just for the arrival of the baby but also to weather the fury of the storm.” She briefly described a few of the simple measures they’d taken—the blanket hung as a screen, the pots and pans of water.

Michael rose and took up the tale. “While neat and tidy, the cottage was not what one would describe as sound.” He outlined the various repairs they’d undertaken to weatherproof the cottage.

Prudence rose briefly to mention that there had been insufficient food to adequately feed anyone, and that they’d faced the prospect of having nothing but a thin broth to help sustain the mother. “And, of course, Lucilla’s tisanes—which did help.”

Marcus followed with a brief description of what animals they’d found in the stable-barn.

“And then,” Sebastian said, reclaiming the stage, “just as the storm was reaching its zenith and battering at the cottage as if intending to flatten it, there was a knock on the door.”

“More a thump,” Michael called.

Sebastian inclined his head. He went on to describe with melodramatic flair the arrival of Thomas Carrick, and all the food and drink Carrick had brought. “Like nothing so much as Good King Wenceslas, huge deerhound by his side and all. The weather meant he couldn’t ride up, so he’d trudged, hauling the supplies up on a sled.”

Rising to replace Sebastian, who pulled a face at her but gave way, Lucilla noted that, after an initial tensing about the high table over the news that some other male had arrived at the cottage, the older Cynster males, her father included, had relaxed somewhat; approval now tinged their features. Taking position before the fireplace, she declared, “The food Thomas Carrick brought was a godsend. As was the bottle of mead, the bottle of gin, and the bottle of whisky. The latter, sadly,”—she directed a severe look at Sebastian, Michael, and Marcus—“was empty by the time we quit the cottage.”

Laughter rolled around the room.

“So,” she said, letting her gaze sweep the gathering, “we had Good King Wenceslas and his hound. We had a poor crofter couple, with the wife having her baby on Christmas Eve in a rude, ramshackle cottage, little better than a stable. We had animals beyond one door—sheep, a goat, an old milch cow. We had”—she waved at Marcus, Michael, and Sebastian—“the three wise men?” Everyone hooted and cheered, especially the other Cynsters. “And,” Lucilla continued, as the laughter faded, “I believe that leaves Prudence and myself”—placing a hand over her heart, she half bowed—“playing the part of ministering angels.”

The company laughed and clapped. Huge smiles wreathed most faces.

Michael rose and shooed Lucilla from pride of place. “Regardless of the ministering that occurred behind the blanket-screen, I feel I must tell you more about the hound—for it was not just any old hound.” There were groans from various people; many there knew of Michael’s obsession with the hunt. Undeterred, he assured the company, “This was a hound among hounds.” He went on to describe Hesta with verve and flair, then proceeded to paint Jeb and his slowly unraveling composure, describing several of the attempts made to distract him from his wife’s quite obvious agony. “Not that anything actually worked. But as the screams and groans reached their apogee, and we were all on tenterhooks, waiting for the moment…a shutter blew open and the storm stormed in.”

Waved to his feet by Michael, Sebastian obliged and took up the tale. He was the only one present who knew what had happened while he and Thomas Carrick had wrestled to secure the shutter; listening as avidly as anyone, Lucilla literally shivered. She knew Sebastian well enough to read between his glibly delivered lines and to guess that both he and Thomas had come close to taking serious injury, courtesy of the iciness of the raging storm.

When Sebastian had the shutter closed and he and Thomas back inside, Lucilla reclaimed the stage. “If the shutter hadn’t been closed again, I don’t know what might have occurred, for the air was ice-laden and the winds were fierce, but the others built the fire up, and not long after that, the baby decided it was time.”

She described the birth only as “not straightforward, but working together, Lottie, Prudence, and I brought a perfect little girl into the world.” Lucilla directed a smile around the room. “At ten minutes past midnight.”

There were coos and sighs of “A Christmas babe” from numerous female throats around the room.

Prudence claimed another turn. In her usual practical vein, she described how they had worked through the next hours to set the cottage to rights, and to ensure that Jeb and Lottie had sustaining meals, and that their animals were fed and watered. “Carrick said he would stay until the snows thawed enough for him to bring up a party to ferry Lottie, Jeb, and their child down to Carrick Manor.”

Marcus rose to take Prudence’s place. “I don’t think any of us noticed when the storm ended. We suddenly realized that the winds had died, then we went outside, and silence engulfed us.”

Lucilla listened as her twin described with evocative eloquence the magic of that moment; he, like she,
felt
the land.

Sebastian rose and briefly detailed the last things they’d done—the wood they’d chopped, the cow Michael had milked without getting kicked.

But then Sebastian waved the others to join him—including Christopher. “We wouldn’t have been able to stay with the other lads, too, so Christopher’s contribution was significant as well.”