Scotland, 1891
“DOES THE LOCH ever completely freeze in winter?”
Light from a full moon shimmered on the icy water and reflected off Schiehallon’s frozen ridge on the far side of Loch Rannoock. Lady Edith MacPherson shivered before turning away from the window, her loneliness heightened by the isolation of the Scottish Highlands in winter. She should never have come.
“Nay, not full across,” the woman designated as the Dowager’s lady’s maid for the length of her stay replied.
Not that Edith intended to stay long enough to see for herself. She’d come north to welcome the returning newlyweds and bid goodbye to the estate now firmly in the hands of her son’s new wife. Lord, how could Claire stand it here?
She herself missed the excitement and camaraderie of her friends in London as well as the gaiety inherent with the holidays. When she was mistress of Ravenswood Castle, her husband had always cut an evergreen for her to decorate for Christmas. She would place it in the parlor, where the fresh pine scent would fill the main floor, and the festive tree decorations would welcome visitors. The Scots did not celebrate Christmas, but Edith was determined that her boys would experience the joy to be had in a proper English Christmas celebration.
“Will you wear the MacPherson plaid, my lady? The wool holds a nice warmth against a chill draft.”
“By all means,” Edith answered. No one downstairs would be interested in her fashionable gown. The heavy plaid would cover all. Better to be warm than attractive on such a cold December night.
Once attired, she wound round the turret stairs to the Grand Hall on the main floor. No crisp pine greeted her from the side parlor. Paper snowflakes didn’t dangle from the row of antler trophies as the new mistress had the long hall stripped of the decades’ old trophies. Her daughter-in-law, Claire, was quickly leaving her mark on the castle, and in the process, removing all traces of Edith.
Edith paused at the bottom of the steps, took a deep breath, and smiled, determined that her son and the new Lady MacPherson would remain unaware of her melancholy thoughts.
“Claire, how lovely you look this evening,” she said in greeting.
The girl had blossomed in her marital state, and had traded in her normal morose black and white for a simple cranberry gown. Gone were the pinched looks, the haunting accusations in her eyes. It had been a mystery to her why Cameron had chosen this unexpected Temperance firebrand over the other English beauties Edith had purposefully paraded before him. Yet Cameron’s love had lifted the self-doubt that had weighed down Claire’s shoulders. She may not have been Edith’s first choice for a daughter-in-law but her son was happy and that, after all, had been Edith’s primary concern.
The front door burst open. Cameron and the ghillie James, supported a bloodied man between them as they crossed the threshold. Peat, Cameron’s deerhound, followed at their heels.
Claire rushed forward to close the door, the residence sadly lacking in servants. “What happened? Is he hurt?”
She turned to a young girl from the kitchen who’d come to investigate. “Tell Cailleach to bring warm water and bandages, then collect some warm blankets from the bachelor quarters and bring them here.”
She dispatched everyone with efficiency and purpose. Perhaps Cameron had been wise in his choice of a wife. Edith looked at Claire with a new sense of admiration.
“We found him at the side of the road,” Cameron explained. “His cart overturned with a broken axle.” They half-dragged him to a padded chair. “I didna see a horse so at least the beast escaped injury.”
“Who is he?” Edith asked, as Cameron settled him near the fire. She pulled the plaid off her shoulders and tucked it around the stranger like a blanket. An odd sense of familiarity gripped her chest. She didn’t know this man, why should she feel that she had? She glanced at Cameron. “Do you know him?”
James poured Scotch from a table decanter then passed it to Cameron. He held the drink to the stranger’s lips.
“Aye,” Cameron said. “I think this is the American that was at the distillery earlier. He was offering a contract for his empty bourbon barrels to age our Scotch. I believe he said he was heading for Pitlochry after he left RavenBeck. Guess he didna make it.”
“An American?” Edith peered closer at the stranger’s face and clasped his icy cold hand between her warmer ones. She guessed the man was her age, perhaps a few years older. Even with the dried blood on the side of his face and a knot the size of a hen’s egg on his forehead, he was handsome. Myriad crinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. Smile lines, she’d heard them called. He’d apparently lived a happy life. She envied him that. Not that she was complaining. Having buried a son and a husband in the cold ground outside, she’d known her share of misery. Still, happier times still lived in her memories.
Still... that odd sense of familiarity refused to dissipate. How could she know this man?
CAMERON MANAGED TO pour some Scotch down the man’s gullet. He startled, coughed and opened unfocused eyes.
“Does he have a name?” Claire asked, dabbing at the side of his face with a moist cloth.
“Grayson, I believe,” Cameron said. “Henry Grayson.” He leaned over the man and nearly shouted. “Can ya hear me, Grayson? We found you at the side of the road. Are ya hurt, man?”
The stranger began to shake his head, winced, and then thought the better of it. He struggled to sit up. “Something spooked the horse. The wagon overturned.” He looked up to Cameron and nodded toward the glass. “Is there more where that came from?”
Cameron and James laughed before Cameron handed him the glass. “I think you’ll be just fine.”
The two returned to the sideboard presumably to share in the whisky.
“Gray?” Edith said, still at the stranger’s side. The others had moved away, giving the stranger room to breathe, and affording the two a bit of privacy. “Is that truly you?”
“You know him?” Cameron stopped mid-room, glancing back in question.
The stranger turned slightly, his eyes searched her face.
“I once knew an American boy named Henry Grayson,” Edith explained. “You can’t be that Henry Grayson as the boy I knew is --”
“Hello Edith,“ he said in a soft seductive voice. A smile graced his lips. “You are as beautiful as ever, and a delight to behold.”
“--dead,” Edith finished on a gasp. She stood and backed away.
“You two know each other?” Cameron’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you know she was my mother when you offered your contract at the distillery?”
“I did not,” the stranger said. “I assure you that your mother is a complete--” his eyes skimmed over her, warming appreciatively, ”-- and most delightful surprise.”
“All these years...” Edith stared in shock. He should be a ghost, but as she’d tucked her plaid around him, she knew most assuredly that he was not. Her cheeks heated. “I thought you had died on the crossing to America.”
His answering smile held a grim twist. “You certainly treated me as if I had.” He tried to stand but fell back in his chair, the scotch in his glass sloshed over the rim.
“I don’t think you should try to rise just yet, Mr. Grayson,” Claire said, applying a cloth wrapped around ice to the bump on his head. “You’ll be staying here tonight. We have plenty of room.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said with a grateful glance to Claire. “Perhaps it would be best if your husband could help me to that room. I wouldn’t want to infringe upon your supper.”
Cameron lent his shoulder to helping Grayson to a room in the bachelor wing. Edith watched them leave the parlor, her son firmly grasping her love from decades past. How was this possible? Her mother had told her the boy had died, and the absence of letters had assured her this was true. If that hadn’t been the case, she would have waited for him as she promised. She wouldn’t have agreed to marry her husband. She would have forfeit her privileged life, her sons, her --
“Lady MacPherson,” James interrupted her thoughts. “We’re going into dinner now. Will you join us?” He extended his arm before her. “Cameron will join us in a moment once the American is settled.”
“Yes,” she answered as if in a daze. She reached for his arm, needing a man of substance to encourage her legs to move. The world had suddenly turned topsy-turvy and she wasn’t certain of her role in it.
Dinner did not improve her situation. She hadn’t much of an appetite and couldn’t even say what conversation was exchanged around her. All her thoughts centered on the man in the back rooms. She excused herself, pleading a headache, but she didn’t return to her room. Not exactly...
“HAVE YOU COME to verify that I’m not a ghost?” Henry asked the moment she’d entered his room.
Light from the gas jets brightened papers spread about the bed covering. His nightshirt, one of Cameron’s discards, provided a view of his dark chest hair tinged with gray. Even though she knew she should be too old to be affected by such sights, her insides clenched in appreciation.
He returned his attention to his papers. “Or were you afraid I might haunt your bedchamber and rob you of sleep, much as memories of you have robbed me of mine.”
She advanced toward the bed. “I came to see how you fared? If there was anything you need?”
“An explanation.” His lips slid into a half-smile. It was not kind, not like the ones he’d gifted her with downstairs. “I still can’t believe that after all these years, I’ve found you here, in Scotland, of all places. How many years has it been?”
She settled into a chair near the bed, close enough to study how time had treated Gray in the intervening years, yet far enough away that she remained in the shadows to the room.
“My mother said your ship was lost at sea. I waited a year for letters that never arrived,” she offered. “It was only after I’d finally accepted that you were gone that I married Cameron’s father.” She picked at the fringe on her gown to avoid Gray’s expression. “We were married for twenty-three years before I became a widow.”
“I’m sorry to learn of your loss.” Compassion swept his face before his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I don’t recall a MacPherson.”
“You never met him.” She smiled, then gazed about the room. “He built this castle for me, you know. He hoped a home with modern amenities would entice me to stay in Scotland.”
“And did you?”
“I’m afraid he was disappointed with my reception,” she replied with a tight smile. “I missed the sophistication of London life and never learned to appreciate Scotland’s winters.” Her lips tilted. “Only an American would travel to the Highlands this time of year.”
He laughed, the sound much deeper and richer than she’d remembered from their earlier time together. “Obviously, you’ve not experienced Kentucky winters. The holiday season is particularly difficult now that my wife is gone.”
She recalled those smile lines. He certainly hadn’t pined for her for thirty years.
“You’ve married?” She shifted uncomfortably.
“When you didn’t reply to my letters, I assumed it was your method of saying you no longer cared, so yes.” He gathered his papers into tidy stacks. “I found a lovely woman with a ready smile and an open heart. We raised three strapping boys and a sweet girl who are all back in Kentucky.”
“I cared,” she rushed to add, recalling her pain and heartbreak when she’d believed he’d succumbed to a watery grave. “But I was told you had died. Did you expect that I’d hopelessly wait? For what purpose?” She grimaced, wishing her mother still lived so she could release her anger on the one that deserved it. “My mother must have imagined a relationship with an American impossible and a long distance relationship improbable.”
“She was probably right,” Gray admitted.
What? Her eyes widened, but he waved her arguments aside before she gave them voice.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it? We’ve each lived our lives…happy lives…and we both found love in the arms of another. Most people are lucky to find love once in a lifetime, but we managed to find love twice. We were blessed.”
“Perhaps.” She agreed, but she couldn’t stop imagining how it might have been had her mother not interfered.
“The past is past,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “We shouldn’t dwell on possibilities that can never be.”
She nodded, then stood, effectively ending their conversation. “I should leave you to your rest. You’ll be leaving in the morning?”
He began to nod, then grimaced and reached for ice wrapped in a cloth. “We can always keep in touch,” he rasped. “I’m afraid. as the years pass, fewer and fewer friends from the old days remain.”
“Perhaps,” she managed, hoping she effectively hid her desire to step toward the bed for his embrace. It had been years since she’d felt the comfort of a man’s arms about her, of the scrape of a whiskery chin along the side of her face. For a moment, she wished she might sweep her hand in the air and push all the complications and difficulties between them away to return to the two intimate and close friends that they had been in her youth. But the years were many. Too many.
They exchanged chaste good evenings, then she silently returned to her room utilizing the secret staircase that led to the library upstairs. Wisdom decreed that it was best not to disturb the past and consider what could have been. But wisdom hadn’t encountered the image of Henry Grayson in a nightshirt.
HE DIDN’T LEAVE the next day. The repairs on the wagon would take longer than anticipated thus Gray was obliged to remain with them for another day. Yet the addition of a stranger did not delay Claire’s determined ritual cleaning. Edith felt underfoot and of benefit to no one at the moment. She supposed Gray felt similarly. She invited him for a walk about the estate, but before they left, Claire presented a request.
“As Mr. Grayson will be with you, I thought you might collect some mistletoe from the apple tree orchard.” A flush filled her cheeks. “I know mistletoe balls are more appropriate for a Christmas celebration, but no one can complain if we leave them in place for Hogmanay,” she said, handing Edith a basket. “Cameron and James left to conduct some distillery business, else I’d ask James for assistance.”
“We’d be delighted,” Gray answered, taking the basket from Edith’s arm. “If you’ll just point me toward the orchard?”
“I’ll show you,” Edith said, priding herself on not questioning the appropriateness of a kissing bough at a New Year’s Eve gathering. The Hogmanay celebration would be the first for Claire, both in participation and as the mistress of the castle. Her excitement was evident.
“Edith,” Gray said, once they were on their way. “I hope you don’t take offense, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not the irrepressible happy girl that I recall. You seem so melancholy. You should be dancing at a holiday ball, burning a yule log, and toasting with a celebratory punch. Cheer up, my girl. It’s soon to be Christmas.”
She smiled at the affectionate reference to “my girl.” No one had called her that since her husband had died. “I suppose you caught me at a melancholy time. It’s difficult to abandon one’s home for another.” She stopped and looked back at the imposing castle. It had always been more her husband’s dream than her own, even though he often cited her as his inspiration. “While I’ve always preferred the London property, it’s still...bittersweet, I suppose.”
She turned and continued trudging toward the orchard. “As for a holiday ball, you may have noticed that we haven’t a Christmas tree in the house, or holly, or—” she glanced at him under her lashes “—mistletoe.”
His eyes crinkled. “A lacking that is soon to be corrected. I suppose you’ll be putting up a Christmas tree as well. I must admit I’m in a sudden mood for an old fashioned holiday.”
“You won’t find that here,” Edith said, dismayed with the petulant sound of her voice.
“Why not?”
“The Scots don’t celebrate Christmas. I’ll admit that I’d forgotten that when I made this trip to welcome my son and his new wife, and to say my goodbyes to the castle. Claire might be British, but she has embraced the Scottish traditions like a native.” She turned to him a bit exasperated. “Who doesn’t celebrate Christmas and Boxing day? These are just work days for the Scots.”
“And what is this Hogmanay that I keep hearing of?”
“It’s the Scottish way of celebrating the ending of the old year in preparation for the new. Did you not get the feeling that we were being pushed out the door?”
“There was a certain urgency to our walk, I suppose.”
“It’s to get us out of the castle so Claire and Cailleach can clean. A Christmas tree would only drop needles and the castle must be throughly cleaned by the last day of the year. It’s a Scottish tradition.” She sighed. “Claire has invited friends from London for a large party that day.”
They reached the Orchard. Edith pointed out a growth of the parasitic mistletoe high in the branches of an older apple tree.
“A party, aye?” A twinkle sparkled in Gray’s eyes. With the basket still on his arm, Grayson climbed the tree and hacked at the growth. “Will there be dancing?”
“Yes, but this won’t be a formal ball like the ones we attended.” Edith collected the mistletoe as it rained down around her from the tree above. She placed the gathered foliage in the basket. “Many of the villagers will be in attendance.”
“I suppose there will be drinking at this Hogmanay?”
She smiled. “Yes, of course. Cameron will tap a barrel from the distillery.” She smiled up through the branches of the old apple tree. Was Grayson still the same nimble dancer that she recalled? Excitement began to build inside her at the possibility of dancing with him again. Granted, the dance might be a jig and not the more formal guided steps of a ballroom, but even a jig sounded thrilling if shared with Gray. “There should be pipers,” she yelled up to the tree. “And a fiddler or two.”
She heard his sigh, a weary audible sound.
“Then I’m disappointed that I shall miss it.” He began his slow descent from the higher branches.
“But why?” she asked, feeling the unexpected happiness drain from her soul. “It’s only a few days away. Surely you can stay?”
“I can not.” He jumped to the ground, then helped collect the fallen pieces of mistletoe. “I’m behind in my schedule as it is. As much as I would enjoy more time with you and participating in such a lively celebration as this Hogmanay, I can not stay here for a week when I can be out visiting other distilleries collecting contracts.”
She turned away, not wanting him to see her disappointment.
“What’s that?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Up on the hill? I saw it from the branches. It looks like a cave.”
She turned and followed the direction of his arm. The trees had lost their leaves allowing a glimpse of the usually well-concealed man-made structure. “That’s Ossian’s Folly.”
“Can we explore it?” he asked. “I’m not ready to return to the castle just yet.”
“Of course.”
She led the way to the structure, remembering how her husband had brought her to this very place when they were newlyweds. In her memory, she recalled the blanket he’d brought to spread on the ground inside the cave. It wasn’t the only thing fighting off the chill that day. Her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t visited that sweet memory in a long, long time.
“It’s not very large in here,” Gray observed, standing in the cave-like structure. “In fact, it’s quite intimate.”
“There’s a bench if you’d like to sit,” she pointed to the wooden bench along the stone wall. While the structure offered some protection from the elements, a cold wind traveled through the two open ends. The bench was situated out of that current, but those that partook had to suffer the moldy smell of rot that thrived in the folly.
He waited for her to sit before he joined her. “Is there a practical purpose for something like this? You called it a folly.”
“It’s called that because it’s man-made. I suppose it was built to give shelter to some one caught in the rain or snow while walking in the woods. It’s been here longer than I have.”
He touched her hand, setting off a tingling along her ribcage.
“I can think of another purpose for a hideaway such as this.”
His voice was close and intimate and raised gooseflesh on her arms. She was tempted to lean in his direction, and perhaps sample his lips once again. But that was impossible. Too much time had passed, water over the damn.
“I’m not certain one could consider this a hideaway.” She scooted away from his side just a little. ”It’s a well-known and well-visited spot.”
His resulting soft laughter echoed in the cave-like conditions.
“I’m sorry,’” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I haven’t been in the company of a beautiful woman in such a secluded location in a long, long time. I will do nothing to tarnish your reputation or cause you regret. I promise.”
How she missed those eyes crinkled in silent mirth.
“I’m not certain one can tarnish the reputation of an old woman,” she said, embarrassed that he’d correctly interpreted her movement.
“You? You’re not old,” he protested.
But she knew better. “Gray? What happened? I know your father had political connections and needed to return to America due to concerns of war. But you could have remained safe in London. Why didn’t you stay?”
“And leave my family and homeland in the midst of a civil war?” He shook his head. “I could never do that. I had to go back.”
“So you fought? For which side?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. In a war of brother against brother, there can be no victors. Those were bitter years and they’ve left a mark on my soul, but one that my wife, God rest her soul, helped me overcome.”
“When my mother told me that your ship had floundered, I must admit I was glad you weren’t subjected to that bloody horrendous war.”
His eyes crinkled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“That you survived?” She laughed. “That makes me all the more a fool.”
“You’ve never been a fool, Edith.” The laughter disappeared, his tone lowered. “Your parents had higher aspirations for you than marrying the son of an American diplomat. And look what their foresight gained for you.” His fingers stroked her chin. “You’ve lived in a castle on a grand estate, the wife of a whisky lord. You have a handsome son and a fine daughter-in-law and--”
“Two sons,” she corrected. “I had twin boys but the oldest died in a fire.”
“I’m so sorry,” he patted her hand. “The loss of a child never truly leaves you. It’s not just the child, it’s--”
“Grandchildren,” she said.
“--Entire generations that are forever lost.” He kissed the back of her hand, and they shared a moment of silence, watching lazy snowflakes drift by the opening to the folly.
In that moment, sitting with someone who had experienced equal pain, she found a peace that she hadn’t realized she’d been seeking. For all of her internal grumblings about the lack of a Christmas celebration, she’d been seeking a festivity to hide the pain of her loss. She didn’t shed tears, as she’d been down that road and knew that tears wouldn’t fill the hollowness of mourning. But she could leave her pain behind here, in Scotland. She could say goodbye and be at peace and find joy in what Providence provided.
“If I can judge by the way the laird looks at his new wife, you won’t be long without grandchildren,” Gray said. “New life and new possibilities.”
“That sounds like a toast,” Edith said, discretely brushing moisture from her eyes.
“I don’t suppose you keep a bottle of Scotch on the premises, do you?”
“If we had, it would be drained by now.” She felt her own eyes crinkle. “This truly is a well-known spot.”
“We haven’t any alcohol, but we do have this.” He held a piece of the mistletoe they’d collected above his head. She tilted her head towards his, anticipating a sweet peck on her cheek, but he had other ideas.
He kissed her, soft and gentle, at first, much as he had when they were younger. But she was no longer the inexperienced child that she had been back in the days before marriage and children. She was a woman now, who hadn’t been kissed since her husband had passed away.
She opened her mouth beneath his, inviting his exploration. He pulled her tighter, closer, and kissed her quite thoroughly, claiming her with his touch.
“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I realized who you were,” he said when they broke for air.
“I was hoping you would still want to kiss me. I’m not as young as I was back then,” she admitted, giving voice to her silent fear.
“But you are still as beautiful,” he said. “Life has given you blessings along with the pain.” His finger slipped along her lips. “I’m so surprised to find you here that I think...I think your presence must be a Christmas miracle. I think you are here precisely so I could find you once more.”
She smiled, joining in with his infectious frivolity, until he kissed her again. There was nothing frivolous about the way he ravaged her lips.
“I wish I didn’t have to go.” He hugged her close.
Her heart sank. “It’s a holiday,” she protested. Since her arrival, the castle seemed more empty than full. As soon as Cameron returned from the distillery, Claire would slip away to be with her husband. Edith was pleased to see the two of them so happy and in love, but it left her alone and in need of company. “You’ve made such a difference in just the day you’ve been here. Surely you could stay for Christmas?”
“As you said, Christmas is just another workday in Scotland and I’m already behind schedule due to that wagon accident.”
“Will you be back on Christmas Day?” she asked hopefully.
“As much as I would love to say yes, I cannot. My schedule will take me too far from Ravenbeck to return in time.”
Her head slumped toward her chest. Christmas would feel even more lonely without Grayson’s bright fire.
“However, I’ll promise you this,” he said. “I’ll do my best to be back by Hogmanay.”
She brightened. “There’s to be a dance on Hogmanay.”
“Then that’s all the more reason for my return. Will you save a dance for me?”
She smiled. “I’ll save them all for you the instant you come through the door.”
They left as the daylight dwindled. Walking arm-in-arm through the orchard to the back entrance of the castle. No one seemed to have noticed their long absence. Edith left the basket of gathered mistletoe on a table in the kitchen, then hurried upstairs to change. If Gray was to leave to continue securing contracts, she wanted him to remember her in her finest attire.
Cameron announced over dinner that the wagon had been fixed. Grayson was welcome to borrow a horse from the stable to get into the village and his mode of transportation. He could leave the horse at the livery for Cameron to bring home.
“Thank you so much,” Gray said, lifting a glass in a toast. “I shall forever be grateful for my unfortunate accident as it brought me to your wonderful family” --he winked at Edith at his side-- “and their warm welcome into their home.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Edith still hurried to dress and come downstairs for breakfast. While she and Grayson had said their goodbyes the night before, she hoped to catch him before he departed. But she was too late. Grayson was gone. Even James was scarce on this day before Christmas. Edith wandered aimlessly about the castle. She tried to concentrate on a book she discovered in the library that spoke on the economic impact of America’s civil war, but her attention wandered. It was hard to imagine her Gray in the midst of that battle. Her Gray. When had she begun to think in those terms? Tonight would be Christmas Eve. A magical time that they might have spent together. Were contracts for whisky barrels so very important?
She shared a quiet intimate dinner with Cameron and Claire, feeling much like an intruder in what was once her own home. She excused herself early and slipped up to her rooms to think about Gray and her reawakened emotions. Was she an old fool that she wished she’d allowed him intimacies? Was it possible to fall in love twice in a lifetime? Was this love or just wishful yearnings on her part? With such thoughts, she drifted off to a luscious dream of she and Gray...and soft white snow that held only warmth.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the MacPhersons exchanged gifts amid their smoldering glances. Edith gave Claire a beautiful fan and a jeweled comb for her hair, gifts that she would have liked to receive herself. Yet Claire found more pleasure in Cameron’s gifts which all dealt with her photography obsession. Just another indication that Edith belonged in a different world, away from the one in the castle.
James tapped her on the shoulder after the family had exchanged gifts.
“There’s one more gift for you, my lady, but you’ll have to come with me to see it.”
“For me,” Edith exclaimed. “Why would a gift be outside?”
“You’ll have to come with me to see.”
SHE BUNDLED UP in her heavy fur coat and hat, and stuffed her toes into serviceable boots. Then grabbed her muff for added warmth for her gloved fingers, and met James by the back door. He led her along the familiar path to Ossian’s Cave, the very spot she and Gray had passed the previous afternoon lost in kisses.
“It’s in there,” James said, holding a lantern. “But give me just a moment before you come in.”
At first she imagined Gray had not really left and waited for her inside. She was just about to charge through the opening in spite of James’s instructions, but it was James’s voice and not Gray’s bidding her to come inside. She hurried toward the dark interior.
Only the interior wasn’t dark at all and the scent of a balsam fir filled the tiny interior. Lit candles and handmade decorations adorned the small tree bringing the holiday season into the intimacy of the cave.
“He said you should have a Christmas tree, and this little one seemed to be the right size.” James smiled at her.
“When did you do all this?” Her heart expanded with wonder and joy. It was the reminder of the season that she’d missed in the castle.
“Grayson did most of the work. I just assisted a little.” James shrugged. “I found a box of the candle holders for the branches. They must have been used before your husband finished Ravenswood.”
She nodded, remembering those days. “He thought if we had a residence with all the modern amenities, I’d be more comfortable so far north. Once we had electricity, there was no need for candles.”
“Grayson decorated the tree yesterday before he left. He gave strict instructions that I couldn’t tell you about the tree until today.”
Before he left. As if she needed that reminder that she couldn’t even thank him for his personal and thoughtful gift. Tears filled her eyes, causing the light from the tiny candles to glow beyond their proportions.
Paper chains had been wrapped around the tree with care not to be placed too near the candles. White feathers had been tied together and dropped over some branches giving the appearance of angel wings. She even saw a few wine corks, tied with a colorful ribbon to earn spots of color. It was the most beautiful Christmas tree she’d ever seen.
“He left this as well.” James handed her an envelope. “I’ll leave you now so you can read your letter in private.” He bobbed his head with a tap to his cap. “A Merry Christmas to you, mum.”
“A Merry Christmas to you as well.” She glanced away from the envelope. “Thank you for for collecting me for this.”
He grinned a moment then turned and left.
She ripped the envelope open. A sprig of mistletoe fell into her lap.
My Dearest Edith,
I wish I could be there to see your eyes widen at the sight of my gift. The tree can not compensate for the gift that you’ve given me, hope that we might again share some of that magic from our past. I never in my wildest dreams believed that our paths might cross again, or that you would find yourself alone in life, such as myself. I live in anticipation that our time together has not ended. I shall endeavor to return in time to claim that dance.
Forever yours,
Henry
Breathing deep of the fresh fir, she drew her legs onto the wooden bench, clutching both the mistletoe and the letter to her chest. She counted the days on the fingers until Hogmanay. Six days would bring him back in sufficient time. She offered a fervent prayer that there’d be no more accidents, or sudden storms, to keep him from fulfilling his promise.
ON DECEMBER 30th, the castle put its many bedrooms to use housing Claire’s guests as they arrived from London. She’d invited her friends, members of a group she referred to as the Rake Patrol. Edith recognized Faith, of course, the attractive blonde that she’d favored over Claire for her son’s interest. However, the others, including one young couple that had returned from a honeymoon in Egypt of all places, were unfamiliar. They were all polite and kind, but none of the men and women were of her generation. Though tempted to run to the folly where her feelings of isolation and abandonment wouldn’t be noticed by the others, she remained at the castle, greeting each new arrival, waiting for Grayson to appear. But he did not.
The following day, the celebration of Hogmanay began in earnest. All the furniture in the parlor and great hall had been cleared or pushed to the wall to allow room for the evening’s festivities. Musicians and villagers arrived for the celebration. Crailleach kept the side board filled with a variety of foods so that the house guests could eat amid the fervor of preparing the castle for the party that evening. And still Grayson did not appear.
Disappointed and morose, Claire slipped upstairs to her room to dress for the evening. She’d selected a gown that she hoped Grayson would appreciate, but as he wasn’t in attendance, her heart was not in her preparations. She felt old and out of tune with the younger crowd downstairs. In the late evening, she slipped upstairs to the library, to wait till the ritual toasting of the New Year at the stroke of midnight. No one searched for her in the library. Her absence not noticed.
Shortly before midnight, she returned downstairs. Whisky flowed. As the clock struck midnight, the crowd sang the traditional Robert Burns song which ended with a cheer and a toast. In the quiet few moments before the fiddlers began the next round, a knock sounded at the door.
Edith turned toward the door with anticipation, but then remembered this was all part of the tradition. Often the head of the house prearranged for a visitor from town to arrive after midnight, the first-foot of the new year as it were. The visitor would be someone tradition would bless as lucky to the house. A tall dark haired man bearing gifts was best according to the Scots. The guests rushed to the entry hall to see who the first-foot to the McPherson’s castle would be. Edith loitered in the empty parlor, letting the younger set play out the scripted revelry.
“Who is the first-foot to visit in the new year,” Cameron called before opening the thick Oak door. The stranger entered, the guests all cheered, then became quiet. A path opened between the crowd in the entry way. This was different. Edith looked, then saw him.
“Grayson!” she exclaimed.
He handed a bottle of American Bourbon to Cameron and the crowd burst into cheers. A dark-haired male as the first-footer meant good luck for the household. A dark-haired male bearing whisky was even better.
“Where did you find this?” Cameron asked. “It’s nay Scotch.”
“It’s better. It’s Bourbon. American whiskey.” He grinned. “I brought some bottles from Kentucky with me to Scotland. As I wasn’t far from my rooms in Edinburgh, I made a quick trip. Try it,” he encouraged. “I think you’ll like it.”
As others clapped him on the back, wishing him congratulations, he walked straight to her, then swept her into his arms. His lips descended in a repetition of the sweet kiss he’d bestowed upon her in Ossian’s Folly. The crowd hushed, shocked by the deep kiss. She was shocked and surprised as well, both by his appearance and his actions. Once they broke apart, he tilted his chin toward the doorway.
“Mistletoe,” he said with a grin, in what, she supposed, was an explanation for his actions.
“Desire,” she countered, then pulled him down for more, while the crowd clapped and cheered. The fiddlers burst into a merry jig, while her heart danced to the joyous rhythm.
THAT SCOTLAND CHRISTMAS reunion changed her life forever. Every year Edith and Henry decorated a Christmas tree, and every year she again gave her American her heart. Never again did she ever spend Christmas alone.
Keep reading for a quick peek at,
TO BAIT A RAKE, the next book in the Rake Patrol Series….