Thea’s Christmas feast was much enjoyed at the castle, as was the celebration of Hogmanay. Just as Edmund had said, he, his sister, Thea, and even Mrs. MacDuffy and the other members of the staff joined together for a rousing singing of “Auld Lang Syne,” all of them standing cross-armed in a circle in the great hall. Edmund performed the first-footing ceremony, which Thea found fascinating. As a handsome, dark-headed man, his crossing over the castle’s threshold at midnight of the new year promised to bring a year full of luck and plentitude. The ancient custom seemed suited to the medieval castle and the simple yet bold way of life here in the Highlands.

This morning, Thea was getting yet another education in the holiday traditions of the Scots.

She’d been kept up all night so that at the stroke of midnight, she and the others could dine first thing on sowens, a porridge sweetened with treacle, by candlelight.

Now, as they were finishing their tea, a rumbling of voices rose outside the keep.

“The beggars!” Lady Clarissa cried, snatching up her doll and nutcracker from the table and bolting from her chair to the door.

Edmund grinned. “Come, sweeting,” he said, motioning Thea after his sister.

As Clarissa pulled open the door, weak morning sunlight spilled into the great hall—along with a booming chorus of male voices. They were singing a carol about an “auld woman” in need of grain for the winter. Each strapping farmer or village lad wore a canvas sack draped over one shoulder.

Thea stood with Clarissa and Edmund in the doorway until the men concluded their song with a robust flourish. Several women, whom Thea realized belatedly had been standing behind the men, rushed forward and planted lusty kisses on the singers’ mouths.

“We dinnae even need yer English mistletoe in the Highlands,” Edmund murmured into her ear, causing a blush to rise to her cheeks.

Edmund stepped in amongst the crowd and a ripple of excitement spread through those gathered.

“Do ye have yer cups, men?”

“Aye!” was the unanimous reply as they produced wooden cups from pockets and sporrans.

Thea watched as Edmund went to the cupboard inside and removed a large, full bottle of whisky. Striding back to the doorway, he extended the bottle to her.

“Ye are to be mistress of this keep,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “Which means it is yer duty to dole out the whisky.”

The gathered men stomped the frozen ground and murmured in anticipation.

Hesitantly, Thea took the heavy bottle and approached the first man. She slowly filled his cup nearly to the top.

“The lass may be English,” the man said loudly over his shoulder to the others, “but she isnae afraid to pour more than a wee dram on Yule!”

This was met with roars of approval and laughter.

“That lass is soon to be Lady Thea, Countess of Kinfallon to ye!” Edmund shouted good-naturedly over the ruckus, only drawing more whoops and merriment. Edmund had wished for the wedding to happen as soon as possible, but the snowstorms over the last week had delayed their plans. Now that the snow was melting at last, Thea hoped to make Edmund’s words true within the fortnight.

Her cheeks warming at the thought, Thea moved amongst the men, filling their cups and accepting their bobbing heads and bows of thanks.

When all the cups were full and the bottle nearly empty, she went back to the keep’s wide doorway, where Edmund and Clarissa stood.

“And now,” Edmund said, motioning to one of the servants in the kitchen, “it is time to make sure no ‘auld woman’ goes hungry this winter.”

The servant dragged out an enormous sack of grain, bringing it to the doorway. The top had already been opened and a large metal scoop rested inside.

Edmund bent to her ear and spoke softly. “As the lady of the household, ye are to put grain in each man’s sack, then the farmers and villagers will redistribute it to those in need so that no one will suffer in the cold months,” he said.

The men fell in line, lifting the canvas sacks from their shoulders and holding them open to her with warm smiles on their faces.

Just as she had with the whisky, Thea doled out the grain, making sure to heap each scoop high, much to the pleasure of those gathered.

When the last of the grain had been distributed, the men took up another merry tune as they began to disperse to their homes, the women trailing after them.

“Ye did well, sweeting,” Edmund said as they closed the keep’s door against the chilly air and returned to the table.

“We havenae celebrated Yule since the fire,” Clarissa murmured, taking her seat. She carefully set both the doll and the nutcracker on the table, but then she turned her attention back to Thea and Edmund. “It was good.”

The nutcracker bore a small cloth bandage around his head where Edmund had repaired his jaw, yet Clarissa said he would not need it soon, for he would be healed. Clarissa, too, seemed to be healing, for though she continued to grieve, she was slowly rejoining the world outside her chamber.

“Aye,” Edmund replied, squeezing his sister’s hand and giving her a soft smile.

“Are there to be more thirsty carolers and midnight porridges to eat, or might I steal a bit of sleep?” Thea asked, stifling a contented yawn behind her hand.

“Nay, that was it—well, until next year,” Edmund said. “And the year after that, and the year after that…”

Despite her sleepiness, Thea’s insides warmed and roused at that. Her future with Edmund lay bright and beautiful before her, just like the dazzling blankets of snow spreading out over the landscape surrounding the castle.

“Indeed,” she murmured, holding his gaze with hers and letting the love filling her heart shine in her eyes. “I cannot wait.”