A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift

David saluted with his free hand. He took another pull of whiskey as Hart closed the door, then tucked the flask back into his pocket.

"How are you, Eleanor? Truly. You can tell Cousin David."

"Truly wonderful. Running such a large household has its difficulties, but we are weathering."

"Even having to run it while you're laid up?" David gazed at her distended belly under the covers. "Once upon a time, I'd hoped that . . ." He gave the unborn Mackenzie a nod. "But it wasn't meant to be, I suppose."

"No, it wasn't. I'm sorry, David, if I ever hurt you."

"Hurt me? You ripped out my heart and kicked it about a mile, but no matter, dear lady. I'm made of resilient stuff." David decided to stop being selfish for two seconds in his life. He let his voice grow gentle. "You're madly in love, El. It shows on you, and it shows well. And it is obvious that Hart is madly in love with you in return. He always has been."

Eleanor's glorious smile spread across her face. "I believe he is, though when I when I was younger, I was too daft to understand that."

"And I have never forgiven Hart for the way he treated you." David got to his feet, alarmed when his legs swayed under him. "He deserves to be thrashed soundly. Although he paid for his mistakes, I would say." David leaned his fists on the bed, more to steady himself than anything else, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I am happy for you, El. And for Hart, the blackguard. I'm not so much of a bastard that I'd wish you any unhappiness."

"And you'll always be dear to us, David."

David snorted a laugh as he stood up, or tried to. The nips from the flask had been a mistake. "Don't grow sentimental. I'm only dear to Hart when he wants something. David does his dirty deeds."

"This one is in a good cause."

"For baby brother Ian? Yes, I suppose it is. And if you think I loathe to go to the Earl of Glastonby and threaten dire things, you're wrong. I'm looking forward to it." He leaned down and kissed Eleanor again, because what fool wouldn't when he had the chance?

"David." Hart's voice rumbled behind him. "Please take your hands off my wife."

David carefully straightened up, showing that he touched Eleanor only in friendship. Well, he didn't want to, but he'd keep it cordial.

"Leave me alone, you lucky bastard," David said. If he weren't so drunk and exhausted, he'd be more restrained, but if he didn't find a bed soon, he was going to die. He used Hart's arms to steady himself as he passed him. "If you make her unhappy for a single second, my friend, I will shoot you."

"My valet is waiting outside to help you. Sleep it off." Hart patted David on the shoulder.

The pat was friendly, but hard, and David had to struggle to keep to his feet. David blew a mischievous kiss to Eleanor, then swayed out the door and happily let the valet have his way with him.

*** *** ***

"There, guv. How's that?"

Ian, dressing in the dark morning, paused impatiently. He wanted to fetch his children, meet Cameron and Gavina for their early ride, and then get back to his task in the sitting room. Christmas was nearing, and he and Daniel weren't finished.

Now Curry had turned from the wardrobe in Ian's dressing room and faced Ian with something resting on his small palms.

It was a Ming bowl, or what looked like one, but cracked and crazed with bits missing. Ian stared at it a moment, then losing interest, went back to buttoning his riding coat.

"It's your bowl," Curry said. "The one you bought from the Russian. Me and the others below stairs, we stuck it back together for you."

Ian looked at the bowl again. He knew full well that it was the bowl Beth had broken, with its pleasing lines of dragon and vine, and the lovely blue. When Ian had first taken it out of the box, it had sung like a symphony. Now it was broken, like a violin that would never make music again.

"No need," Ian said. "It's ruined."

Curry lowered his hands, his brows drawing down, that look on his face that meant Ian had disappointed him somehow. "You know, working for you can be bloody painful, my lord."

Ian straightened his collar. So Curry had said before. Ian never had any idea how to respond to that.

"This took us a long time, guv. And some of the bits had been broken to powder, so of course it can't be all there again."

He sounded exasperated. But then, Curry often did. Curry had done so much for Ian, however, one constant in Ian's swirling madness. Curry had cared for Ian when no one else had, when the man could have walked away and let Ian drown in his own confusion.

"Curry," Ian said. "Thank you."

"Oh, praise from me master. Do you want the bowl, or not?"

Ian glanced at it again, but the bowl no longer sang, no longer eased his jangled world. "You keep it."

Curry's eyes widened. "You'd give me a priceless Ming bowl?"

"Not priceless anymore. Or throw it away, as you like. I'll buy you a better present."

Curry looked down at it, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'll keep it if ye don't mind. A souvenir. It reminds me of you, this thing does."

Ian had no idea why that should be, but he nodded, glad the discussion was over.

He pulled on his riding boots and took up his hat, forgetting about Curry and bowls, broken or otherwise, as his thoughts moved forward to spending a delightful hour with his children.