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7. Present
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, DARLING.” Aunt Mabel squeezed the daylights out of me the next morning, enveloping me in a motherly embrace; something I desperately needed after last night.
I was still mulling over the meaning of Roy’s behaviour in the cemetery when I left my bedroom after a night of light sleep. The run across the woods had energised me and drained me at the same time. My beast was soaring, but my muscles were burning. When I’d crawled into my bed, the scene of the cemetery had kept intruding in my dreams. I wasn’t sure what was more disturbing—the fact that something personal had happened to Roy, or that Connor wasn’t happy about Roy and me beingintimate. Not a noise had come from Roy’s room when I woke up, and I didn’t know when he’d returned.
“Thank you, Auntie.” I patted her shoulder when she let me go.
“Are you all right?” She took my chin and examined my face with that clinical attention she dedicated to her patients. “You look pale.”
“I had a rough night.”
Worry lines creased her forehead. “It’s not your heart again, is it?”
In a way, it was. My heart had suffered when I hadn’t known I was a beast. Since I’d never let my beast out, my body had been weak and my health poor. “No, don’t worry. I’m a little tired.”
She frowned but nodded. “Perhaps you heard that odd thunder in the middle of the night.” She touched her chest. “Good Lord, it scared me. I don’t know what it was.”
I fiddled with the belt of my dress. “Er, no, I didn’t hear anything, or maybe yes, now that you mention it, a noise did wake me up.”
“It was scary. Have a cup of tea. Mr Turner is already up and about.”
A little thrill shot up my spine as the image of him standing angry and naked in the moonlight flashed through my mind.
“Good morning,” I said, tugging at my dark-green dress.
Roy was sipping a cup of coffee in the dining room, a tired smile on his face. “Merry Christmas, Kristin.”
I returned the smile, noticing the dark circles around his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Roy.”
He stared at me for a long moment, but not in an ‘I’d like to ravish you’ manner. It was a sad stare that tasted of goodbye, and I didn’t like it. Something passed between us in that stare, but I wasn’t sure what. Maybe he guessed I’d followed him last night, or maybe he was thinking about his conversation with Connor.
“Open your presents.” Aunt Mabel shoved a pretty red parcel into my hands, breaking the moment between Roy and me.
“Thank you.” Ribbons of golden and red wrapping paper floated to the floor when I ripped the present open. The scent of orange blossom and green apple wafted from the pretty yellow box. A selection of my favourite soap bars was inside it in a display of white, pink, and lilac.
“Thank you, Auntie.” I hugged her. Gladys’s words of last night echoed in my mind, releasing a sudden fear within my chest. Aunt Mabel had already been through a bloody war. That was enough. She shouldn’t have to live through another one.
“Just some soap.” She waved a dismissive hand.
I crouched in front of the Christmas tree and searched for my gift for her. As I handed her a present, I banished images of my aunt injured, or dead under a bomb raid, or in a hospital tent. “For you.” It came out strangled.
She beamed, opening her present with methodical, neat movements. Not a single piece of paper was shredded. “Oh darling, this is magnificent.” She picked up the bottle-green silk scarf I’d bought for her in Exeter.
I grinned at her stunned face. “It’s not very warm, but I thought it’d match your emerald dress.”
“It’s perfect, darling.” She bussed my cheek, trying—and failing—to hide her tears. “It’s perfect.”
Roy walked over to me, a small box in his hands, giving my aunt the time to collect herself. “Happy Christmas, Kristin.”
My mouth hung open, and my anguish was forgotten. “A present? For me?”
“I was planning to give it to you yesterday, but since I stopped here…” The smile stretching his lips reached his amber eyes and softened the hard line of his jaw. “Hope you like it.”
I didn’t take the box. “I don’t have anything for you.” Guilt churned my stomach at the bitterness of last night, at our conversation in the kitchen, and at not having thought to buy something for him.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Open it.” He stretched out his arm again.
I took the box from his hand, trembling a little as our fingers touched. My name was written in his elegant handwriting on a cream-coloured label adorned with golden holly leaves.To Kristin with love.
