Chapter Twenty-Eight
Reality remains fixed in the perception of the beholder.
But love lives in the heart.
—Maeve Montgomerie
With misgivings gnawing at her, Skena looked across the room to Noel, standing before the fireplace. He pretended to be absorbed in watching the festive start of the celebration of Yuletide, smiling at the dancers. Merely a pretense. As if he felt her eyes upon him, he glanced up and met her gaze, their eyes locking. His expression was haunted, almost accusing.
Two days had passed since he had told her how Angus died. Two days since she nearly lost her life. Two long days since her daughter told Noel that her father was responsible. Noel refused to believe that. That impasse little changed between them. During the day he was polite, even supportive in anything she brought up concerning the fortress. He had toured the cellars to take stock of the meager supplies stored below the frost line, and went over the tally books for Craigendan, showing a clear interest in every aspect of its running. Only, he kept himself at an emotional distance from her.
At least, during the day.
The night before, she had started to retire to the small room down the hallway. Just as she closed the door, it went flying against the wall with a loud crack. Noel stepped in and swept her into his arms. Her face was so close to his that she could see the soul-stealing silver eyes, see the sensual curve of his mouth. Deep inside, in spite of the troubles, in spite of what he told her, that he would not believe her, she loved him. Noel was that other part of her heart she had waited and pined for. With that emotion growing between them, somehow, they would work things out.
He said nary a word, but spun on his heels and carried her down the hallway. Once inside the lord’s chambers, he kicked the door shut with his heel, and then dumped her in the middle of the huge bed. With a tone that said he would brook no opposition, he ordered, “Do not contrary me, Skena.”
That night and the next, he undressed quickly, slid into bed, and then pretended he went to sleep. Skena lay in the dark, hearing his breathing, feeling his heat warming the bed, almost willing him to touch her. Later, in the deepest darkness, he had turned to her and silently taken her. She offered no resistance, welcomed his loving as a means of bridging the distance between them. Skena used that passion to block out the horror of what had happened. Sorrow and regret came only in there were no words of love between them, just the mindless, blazing passion, a passion that left her sweaty, wrung out, and clinging to him, helpless against needing him all the more. Even so, she craved the physical contact, a reminder that she was alive, and safe with Noel, for when she closed her eyes all too vividly she could recall being pulled through the crenellation, feel the weight of Angus dragging her over the edge by her long braid.
Noel taught her pleasures she never imagined, how he could bring her to that pulsing black magic with just his hands or his mouth. They had come together in near violence, yet turned around and loved so slowly, so exquisitely that tears formed in her eyes. When the morning light was slipping around the edges of the shutters, he rose and prepared to face the day as if nothing had happened in the long hours of the night.
The abrupt switch left her confused, unsure of what he was thinking. Noel seemed to be waiting, wanting some response from her, yet she remained puzzled what it was. Fearful of making the situation worse, she breathed in fear of losing his love.
She had never known love before. Oh, she understood there was a hunger for the elusive feeling had existed within her, a sense her life had been lacking. Noel had showed her the reality of the bonding of their bodies, minds and souls, so much more than the dreams of her young girl’s heart. Now, she comprehended just how precious and rare the emotion was. To lose him would be too much to bear. She could not imagine how empty her life would be without his gentle magic.
Noel made her believe in wishes. Yet, with the deft pass of a wizard’s hand, he could destroy the fragile, divine spark of hope. Destroy her.
She inhaled, trying to think of something to say to the stubborn man to end the impasse, but no words of healing came to mind. This night was Yule, the longest night of the year, with the hours of daylight being scant few. A season of endings and renewals, a time for new hopes. A time to leave old regrets behind, she thought. She had to reach past the confusion and embrace the new life he was bringing to her. Staring at his silver eyes, all else about her faded to mist. She needed to mend this breach, explain to him that she had overreacted on learning of how Angus died. Whilst he had not given any more details, she recalled the vision of Noel taking the sword to his back, how close he came to dying, and knew a coward had wielded the blade. Noel was obviously leaving it to her to come to him, say she trusted him to be an honorable man in all.
Sucking in her breath, she picked up the sides of her kirtle and went to him. His eyes watched her with a banked hunger as she crossed the room and stopped before him. He waited for her to speak.
“Why do you not talk to me, Noel?”
He gave a small huff at all self-derisiveness. “What should I say? I know that was not Fadden who attacked you, Skena. You want me to keep saying I killed your husband?”
Skena laid a hand on his arm, gently stroking the hard contours of his muscles. “There be answers to these riddles. A time will soon come when we understand all.”
“’Til then, you will believe he is alive and stalking the corridors of Craigendan?” he challenged.
She pointed out, “’Tis no’ only me. Annis swears it was her father. You heard her, Noel.”
“She saw a bearded man in shadows. How long since she last saw him? Nine months? A long time for a child. Memories oft blur. As I pointed out, a man of similar size and coloring, and wearing long hair and a beard could very easily be mistaken—especial by a child that was frightened, and her memory of her father already fogged by time’s passage.”
“Has the memory of your parents faded with time?”
His hand closed over her upper arm and he gave it a small squeeze. “I recall my mother clearly, but in truth, I recall my father only because I see his face when I stare into a looking glass. I remember things about him...the scent of leather and oiled mail as he reached down to pick me up. Odd how feelings, scents and tastes come to you so sharply, yet faces of those gone take on a blurred image in the mind’s eyes. Annis is a small child. Nine months is a long time to her, and remember children as small, their angle of view is not the same as ours.”
“Annis oft failed to look at him direct as she aged.” Skena tried to keep back the tears threatening to clog her throat. “When she wouldst start toward him, he would bark something that scared her, and she hung her ahead and cried. He thought her weak.”
“Tear-filled eyes? Mayhap she had not looked at him clearly for a long time,” he suggested.
Skena knew Noel’s logic was true, and she so wanted to accept it, only she knew in her gut that it was not some man pretending to be Angus.
“The voice was the same. You might appear the same, but sound the same?
His eyes pleaded. “Trust me Skena. I will protect you and the children. This evil miming a ghost will cease.”
Covered in snowflakes, Squire Emory Maynet came rushing in. Shaking them off, he hurried to Guillaume, standing not far away. “Riders and wagons come, my lord―under the pennon of the Baroness Lochshane.”
Guillaume’s hazel green eyes reflected a mix of emotions. He put down the tankard of mulled cider in a façade of indifference. “I suppose ’tis Rowanne’s way of reminding me that she still rules Lochshane and the wagons come under her largess.” He said lowly to Noel as he started past, “I am naught but the bastard knight forced upon her by Julian and an English king.”
Noel patted Guillaume’s back. “Methinks these long nights are grating on your soul. Come, let us go bid well-come to your lady.” They started out of the Great Hall, but then Noel hesitated and turned back to her and offered his hand. Skena understood he wanted to present a united front. “My lady?”
Skena came forward and placed her trembling hand in his.
Huge flakes fluttered down as Skena stepped out into the wintery gloaming. The short day was fast quickening toward night, rendering the snow-covered landscape in shades of magical blues and purples. She breathed in the air, not too cold, but moist, carrying with it the promise of heavy snow. The renewal of Yuletide slowly filled her spirits. Mayhap on this magical of nights all things were possible.
By Guillaume’s surprised expression, Skena assumed the rider at the lead of the procession was unexpected. The falling snowflakes covered the pale blue mantle the woman wore. Riding sidesaddle, her massive cape half covered her legs, hidden by the robin’s egg blue kirtle. Her long, pale hair flowed out from one side of the mantle’s hood lined with white fur. A princess of the Snow Fae, Rowanne of Lochshane reined the dapple grey palfrey to a stop and merely sat, staring with an aloof air. Her beautiful countenance reflected serenity, though the brown eyes flashed with a banked fire as she stared at Guillaume, almost saw none but him.
She waited until he came to help her down. His hand gently touched her booted foot, lingered on her leg as he gave her ankle a squeeze. Then, he unwrapped her legs from the horns of the sidesaddle. Seizing her about the waist, he lifted her down. The regard in which Guillaume held her cousin was clear to Skena. Harder to judge was Rowanne’s reaction to the handsome Englishman that would soon become her lord husband. They made a striking pair.
A knot of envy formed in Skena’s throat. Rowanne MacShane was a woman men called beautiful and truly meant it. Always attired in rich fabrics and jewels, she could present herself at English Court and hold her head high. By comparison, Skena suddenly ranked herself shabby in her dark blue kirtle. Well, there was naught to change it. Steeling herself to the sting of comparison, she went forward to greet her cousin.
“Tides of Yule and well-come, Rowanne.” Skena embraced her.
“I have long missed you, Skena. Our duns keep us too busy to visit as we oft did when we were children.” Not sparing a word for her betrothed, Rowanne linked arms with Skena and started up the stairs to the entrance. “Could you show me the room where I will stay? The ride in the cold was not an easy one. I should like to rest before supper and the festivities.”
Guillaume spoke from behind them. “She stays in my room.”
Red shown on Rowanne’s cheeks, as she whipped around. “I shall do no such thing.”
“You shall,” Guillaume countered with clear determination. “Never fear, I shall sleep on a pallet upon the floor if you don’t trust me to―what is it you Scots call it—bundle? But you will stay in my room. There has been trouble here, and whilst methinks it shan’t extend to you, I want to know where you are at all times.”
Rowanne’s amber brown eyes went to Noel, judging his reaction to the claim, then back to Skena. Skena nodded faintly. “Very well, Baron Lochshane, you may sleep on the floor.” With that, she lifted the hems of her mantle and kirtle and swept regally into the fortress.
Guillaume arched an eyebrow at Noel in silent male communication, then said, “This should prove an interesting Yule.”
♦◊♦
The Great Hall rang with laughter and good cheer, mayhap for the first time in nearly a year. With the meat the men had added over the past days and the wagons loading much needed supplies, everyone had plenty to eat. To the delight of all, Galen spun a tale of olden days—a favorite, of the great warrior king, Fhitich, and his lady love Anne, one of the Cait Sidhe, and how they fought the Norsemen together to save their people.
Seated at the great table, Rowanne leaned forward to look past Skena and smile at Noel. “Have you heard the lore before, Sir Noel? Of how the women of our line came from witches that had the ability to turn into a catamount?”
“Damian spoke of it in passing when he was in Berwick last August,” Noel answered, making room for Annis to sit upon his knee. He handed her a slice of bread sweetened with honey and cinnamon. “More recently, Guillaume warned me of such after he came to stay. Methinks you ladies of Clan Ogilvie like to rattle us poor mortal men with such stories.”
Rowanne’s laughter rang out. “You will find out the truth one day, Lord de Servian.”
Skena watched her daughter blooming under Noel’s gentle attention. After the terror of being dragged over the battlements, she seemed to cling to Noel. In the crook of her elbow was a puppet, fashioned to look like a noble lady. Noel had given it to Annis just before the meal—her Yule present. Behind them, Andrew dashed hither and yond, fighting a mock battle with the knight puppet that was now his.
“They dearly love those hand-poppets. Where did you ever find such wondrous gifts?” Skena touched his arm, needing to feel his warmth.
He shrugged as if it were a minor matter. “I bought them off a street mummer in Berwick right before I left. I saw them and thought there was something special about them. I do not know what pushed me to offer for them.”
“Neither child ever had such a beautiful present.” She leaned over to brush a kiss to Noel’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Annis wiggled up so she could bestow a kiss as well, leaving bread crumbs sticking to his cheek. Skena smiled, and brushed them away with her thumb. Andrew and his knight finally stopped slaying invisible dragons, and came to get a piece of the bread. Noel shifted Annis to his other thigh, so Andrew had space to sit on a leg as well. Annis let her puppet kiss Noel, and then she fed him a part of her second piece of bread.
Rowanne watched the goings on of both children, clamoring for attention from Noel, each receiving their share. “He wins the hearts of the twins, especial Annis.”
“Aye, she steps out of the shadow of shyness with his patience.” Skena could barely take her eyes away from Noel.
Rowanne reached out and squeezed Skena’s hand. “Judging from that look in your eyes, I wouldst say the Lord de Servian has captured your heart, as well.”
A blush flooding her cheeks, Skena’s hand dropped from where she was touching Noel’s upper arm. Finding no words, she merely looked down at her trencher and nodded.
“Guillaume said you wed with Sir Noel in three days’ time, without waiting for banns to be cried. Malcolm be down with the ague, or he wouldst have made the journey from Lochshane with me. I did no’ ken what he meant when he passed me a message for you. Now it makes sense. He said to tell you that he was sorrowful to miss this special time with you, but to speak your words before all. Then, he expects you and your English dragon at the church when the snow melts to give you Holy Communion.” Rowanne offered a reassuring smile. “Methinks our dear uncle’s Ogilvie blood has been whispering to him.”
♦◊♦
Skena tired as the celebrating went on and on. Yuletide was the longest night of the year. The custom was to keep the fire burning bright in the Great Hall through the whole night, to hold at bay the darkness and light the way for the renewing sun’s return. Galen shared more legends of the Highlands, spoke of the meaning of Yule and the great battle between light and dark.
As she watched the children holding their precious poppets, she regretted she had no gift for Noel. Her mind brightening with a notion, she hit upon a small one, a gift of peace and rebuilding between them. Gathering her sewing basket, she took a small piece of sun-bleached baize and began sewing. In each corner she stitched a runic symbol, and in the center, fashioned an empty knot circle.
Noel finally took his eyes off Rowanne, who was now telling a story of the Selkies. Noticing Skena sewing, he reached over and touched his fingertip to the designs on the cloth. “Making a kerchief?”
“Nay, something different. ’Tis your Yule present. Sorrowful I be ’tis all I have to offer.” Skena gave him a shy shrug. “I sew with a finer stitch, but such attention to detail be unneeded required for this. ’Tis a Yule Cloth.”
“I have never heard of such. What do you do with a Yule Cloth?” His hand took her right wrist and gave it a small squeeze.
“Each corner has a symbol―a rune. This one be called Wyrd―Fate. This corner has Algiz―the defender. The third one I selected is Wunjo for bringer of joy. And lastly, Inguz―beginnings,” she explained. “Now, you needs must tell me one word that shall give you what you wish for the most.”
Noel stared at her for the longest time, as all around them receded to shadows. Then he spoke, “Skena.”
She offered him a mysterious smile and then began sewing. But not her name. The needle quickly worked through the cloth to form the word love. Before he could see what she had done, she took his hand.
“Come. I will show you what to do with the Yule Cloth.” At one of the posts, she paused. “Pick three leaves from the holly branch―careful, as they are prickly―and three berries.”
Noel did as she instructed. Carrying the items, he followed her to the fireplace where she opened the cloth, showing the word in the middle of the circle.
“I said Skena was my wish.” The pale eyes moved over her, touching her with the power—the Kenning.
She gave a brief nod. “Oh, aye. But this be a spell for us both. You are the Algiz the protector. Fate―Wyrd―sent you to me. Together we have a joyful beginning that brings love. That is my gift to you, Noel―this Yuletide spell.”
Forming her hand to make a cup with the word love against her palm, she took the leaves and berries from him and placed them on the cloth, then folded the corners over each other. Stepping to the fire, she started to toss it onto the blaze, but Noel caught her hand. The pale silver eyes locked with hers, stripping away any protection and touching her soul. Together, they tossed the cloth into the flames.
“By the fire burning bright, yield this blessing upon us this night. Adhnadhe anthroxs oothras beytharde dethiale deindhe. Three upon three, let this be,” she whispered the Charm of Making.
Noel’s grip upon her wrist slowly pulled her to him. “I once asked if your name, Skena, had a meaning. You answered not that you ken. But it does. It means love.”
He brushed his lips over hers lightly, instantly igniting the ravenous hunger, the yearning for him. His hands cradled her back as he deepened the kiss, speaking his emotions in this silent bond. Speaking his love as the Yule Cloth burned to cinders, setting the spell.
Finally recalling they stood before the whole of Craigendan, she broke the kiss and stepped back. Though her cheeks burned as all eyes were on them, she was pleased by the gift she had created for Noel, knew it was the perfect gesture to heal the breach between them. Whether it was the Yuletide spell working, or simply her love for Noel, joy filled her heart to overflowing.
Seeing Galen bring in the box of apples, she went to pass them out. They were small and fewer in number this year. Everyone would have to share. As she reached for the first one, her eyes accidentally spotted Dorcas in the kitchen doorway. Though partially in shadows, Skena saw enough of her sister’s face. The look of pure hatred and envy sent a chill up her spine.
Ignoring her sister, she passed Noel an apple. “Women usually peel them—careful to see if they can remove the skin whole. Then, she tosses it over her right shoulder and quickly looks back. ’Tis spake she might see a glimpse of the man who will be her husband. The crop was so small we needs must share. Few apples, fewer husbands.” She tried to make light of the situation. “Another way apples can be used for divination is to twist the stem. You say the names of eligible men and whichever name spoken when the stem breaks will be the one you will wed with...”
Her words died as she saw Dorcas again, speaking to Andrew. He proudly held up the poppet to show her, but then, Dorcas leaned down to whisper something to the little boy. Foreboding crawled up her spine as she watched the two, alarm turning to panic as she knew precisely what her sister was doing.
“Oh, mercy, no!” she gasped in horror.
Skena ran toward her son, to snatch him away. Like a wild woman, she pushed through the dancers trying to reach Andrew. But it was too late. She did not know where Dorcas had learnt the details of Angus’s death, but the bitch knew! The truth was there when Dorcas raised up—she wore a smug smile upon her lips and the light of triumph flashed in her dark eyes. Blindly, Skena struggled to get through the crowd, crashing into bodies, barely seeing who they were. One man tried to spin her into the circles of dancers, getting her to join the merriment. Skena pushed out against the man’s chest, almost fighting to break free. Suddenly, Guillaume took hold of her arm. She heard him asking if something was wrong. She mumbled a vague reply and jerked away from his grip.
By the time she reached Andrew, Dorcas was gone. Her son stood pale and shaking, staring down at the poppet held limply in his hands. Her heart broke as she saw the slumped shoulders. Skena reached for him, only he jerked away. He looked up at her with wide, haunted eyes. Then, his head jerked around to Noel, coming up behind her. The blood seemed to drain from his face as he turned and fled.
“Andrew!” she called, but he did not stop.
Noel caught her upper arm as she started after him. “She told him?”
Skena nodded, tears burning her eyes. “Damn her. Damn her soul.”
♦◊♦
Noel wanted to strangle Dorcas for her evil deed, but his first concern was Skena’s son. “Let me go after him.” Noel held her arm firmly, fearing she was not really hearing him. “Trust me to handle the boy, Skena.”
She stared up at him, trying to focus through the tears, then her head finally bobbed consent. Noel handed her to Guillaume and asked that he keep a close watch on her. He growled, “Set men to searching out that bitch.” Then, he went to find Andrew.
The child was not hard to find. The fortress door had been left open a crack, where the boy failed to push it closed securely. From there, it was easy to follow the track in the freshly fallen snow. Andrew had gone to the stables. His small footprints stopped there.
Not wanting to set the child to running again, he moved into the darkened barn in silent steps, leaving the door open to increase the light within. He took time, allowing his eyes to adjust to the enclosed barn. Slowly, he began to see the shapes of the stalls and horses inside them. Brishen was in the largest one at the end, the white of his stallion standing out clearly.
Appearing so much the little man, Andrew stood before the stall, looking down at the poppet still in his hands. His chin quivered. Life had cruelly intruded on his happy world, but then it always had a way of shattering childhood innocence. It had for Noel. Andrew was two years older than Noel had been when he lost both parents, learnt just how brutal the world could be.
Andrew had lost only one and had made a reasonable adjustment to that change. In time, he would accept Noel in the place of a father—if he handled this gently—just as he had accepted Michael Challon as his. He needed the right words to reach the child. If not, he could harden the boy against him forevermore. Knowing how tender a child’s emotions were, how deep they wound, he had hoped to put off telling Annis and Andrew about Angus until they were older and more able to understand. His hand had been forced by that vicious bitch Dorcas. Oh, Noel would deal with her shortly. For now, he had to try and salvage his honor before Andrew’s eyes.
The little boy was pretending to be strong, but the faint trembles of his shoulders revealed his inner pain. Noel’s heart ached for the child, understanding life could be scary when you felt so alone. Once upon a time, Michael Challon came and saved him from the unending nightmare, gave him a new father and brothers to fill his empty world. Now, it was his turn to offer the hand of solace to Skena’s child.
“When I was five years old my father died.” Noel broke the silence. At the sound of his voice, the child jumped, but Andrew feigned disregard toward him. “He died in a tournament. A bizarre accident. One day he was there. The next he was buried.” His hand itched to reach out and squeeze the child’s shoulder, yet feared being rebuffed. “I was so confused, scared. I did not know what wouldst happen to Mother and me. Then, I learned those fears were only the start. My mother howled in grief and never seemed to stop. You see, she loved my father very much. My heart hurt as I could do naught to stop her from crying.”
Andrew’s head slowly lifted, confused. “She cried for him?”
Noel’s heart ached for the small boy, truly knowing his pain. “One night the crying stopped. I awoke and wondered why there was silence. She was so beautiful with her dark hair and big blue eyes, like some faery princess. I oft wouldst peek behind her back to see if gossamer wings were folded there. Methinks the silence terrified me more than the endless tears. I went to her room, hoping to find her there. I imagined she would pull me into the big bed, cuddle and kiss me and tell me everything would be fine soon. She was not there.”
“Where was she?” Andrew’s voice quavered as he sniffed back tears. Tears for himself. Likely, tears for Noel.
“The servants carried her back into the castle. She had thrown herself into the lake. She did not want to live without my father.”
Teardrops spilled down the child’s cheeks. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his sark. Andrew looked up at him, troubled. Even in the shadows, those eyes were so like Skena’s. “She drowned? You lost your mother and father? But who took care of you?”
“A brave and valiant knight came, a warrior true, named Michael Challon. He told me that I did not have to worry. I was going to go live with him and be safe.”
“And were you…safe?”
Noel nodded. “Yes, I had a wonderful home, had brothers. I never had any before, so it was a happy time to have others my age. We grew up together and I was loved and protected. Earl Michael was true to his word―I was safe.”
Andrew swallowed hard. “Why did you kill my father?”
Noel turned his back to the child and lifted his sark. Shifting the bandage up, he exposed his still raw wound. “Because he tried to kill me.” Putting the shirt down, he turned to face Andrew again. “War is hard to understand sometimes. Men do very ugly things. Many times, they do not even know each other―as it was with your father and me. Simple truth―we were warriors and met on a field of war. Nothing more, nothing less. Either I killed your father, or he killed me. That is how a battle is. Why we spend years training to fight. To save our lives, the lives of those we love. ’Tis a hard lesson, but men learn it. ’Tis the way of things. Sadly, there is no changing it.”
Looking down at the puppet, Andrew’s head gave a small shake of understanding.
“Many years ago, Michael Challon said he would be my new father, that I had a home with him and his family. I loved him for that. Loved my new brothers. I will always honor my father, but I made room for Michael Challon in my heart. He gave me so much. I hope I can make the same offer to you and Annis―to keep you safe. I will protect you with my life. Will you permit me to do that?”
Andrew raised his head again, the brown eyes staring at him with wisdom beyond his years. Skena’s wisdom. “My mama never cried because my father was...dead. Methinks sometimes he made her sad. She did no’ smile around him. Annis never cried for him, either. I think my sister was scared of him.”
Noel squatted before the solemn child. “Women are tender beings. They need men to protect them and to make them smile. Will you allow me to help you do that?”
Brishen moved to the opening to stick his head out. Andrew avoided answering by patting the horse’s nose. Just when Noel thought the boy was not going to give him a response, he asked, “Mayhap…sometime I could ride Brishen again? I rode him the night we found you covered with snow.”
Noel smiled in relief. “I think Brishen wouldst like that very much. Come spring, I shall find a good mare and breed her with Brishen. The colt can be yours. You two could grow up together.”
Andrew nodded. “I wouldst like that.” He was trying to hold the emotions in, but his chest heaved with a sob.
Noel finally allowed himself to touch Andrew’s shoulder, give him a small squeeze for reassurance. It seemed the final straw to the boy’s defenses. Throwing his arms around Noel, he held on and sobbed. Noel knelt and took the child in his arms and allowed him to cry. In an odd way, Andrew shed his tears of grief, but they were also tears Noel had never permitted himself to cry all those years ago.
“Noel, might I ask something?” he asked, choking back the tears.
“Ask whatever you want.”
His face was so sad. “Your wound…’tis in the back.” Too smart by half, the lad was already making the leap from two men fighting to one almost dying from a wound in the back.
“Men do not always face each other continuously when fighting. I turned and he caught me in the back because he had already swung.” Noel did not precisely lie. It was hard enough for the child to lose a father, the difficultly compounded by having to accept Noel in Fadden’s place. Telling him the full truth would serve naught at this point. He could leave Andrew’s childhood memory of his father unblemished.
Andrew’s head bobbed twice, but avoided looking at Noel, as if he did not fully believe him. Skena’s son was bright, his mind incisive so like his mother.
“Come,” he said rising. “Your lady mother will be fretting about you.” Putting a hand behind Andrew’s shoulders, he gently steered him from the stables.
Outside, Andrew took hold of his hand. “Soon we will light the Cailleach Nollaich. Nollaich means like your name, Noel, in our tongue.”
“What will they burn?”
“At middle night they will light the Cailleach Nollaich. It’s a big log with the face of a woman carved into it―the Cailleach, the Lady of Winter, the Hag of the Long Night. They will burn it through the darkness to drive away winter.”
“Sounds like we need to be there to make sure they do it right, eh?”
“Noel, wishes do come true? I mean if you wish for something with all your heart it will come true?” Andrew asked.
Noel looked to see Skena in her mantle before the door, waiting for them. “Aye, wishes do come true. Especial Christmas wishes.”