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The boy shook his head. “They were all at school. Ma can’t afford books.”
The excitement that had illuminated the boy’s expression disappeared, and he leaned his head against Devon’s shoulder.
“I’m tired.”
“Not far to go,” Devon said. They were nearing the forest, and he could see a small, squat building near the trees with flickering lights in the windows and a thin stream of smoke rising from a single chimney.
“Is that your home?”
“Aye.”
As he approached the building, the door opened to reveal a woman. On seeing the boy in Devon’s arms, she let out a cry.
“Hamish! Where’ve ye been?”
“On the mountain, Ma.”
“I told ye not to leave me today!” she cried. “Rhona’s fussing, and I needed ye to collect wood for the fire. We’re almost out of…” She broke off as she lifted her gaze to Devon’s face, then she let out a scream.
“What manner of devil are ye!” she cried. “Let my son go!”
Devon set the boy down, and the woman darted forward and grasped her son’s hand, pulling him to her.
“Get inside, Hamish!” she cried. “Take care of yer sister.”
“I won’t hurt your son,” Devon said.
“Leave us!” She pulled a knife from her skirts and brandished it at him, the blade glinting in the light from the cottage. He stepped back, raising his hands to show he meant no harm, but the fear remained in her eyes.
“Begone—beast!”
Before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face, and he heard the unmistakable sound of the bolt sliding into place.
Was he doomed to be forever hated by all who saw his face?
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he turned and followed the path back to the castle, the woman’s voice ringing in his ears. No doubt she was telling her son—the boy who’d had to grow up years before his time—not to speak to monsters.
Then he cursed his ingratitude. Rather than bemoan his ill fortune, he should be thanking the Almighty for giving him the means to keep his family warm and fed. At least his children—Sebastian and little Francine, had not been forced to grow up before their time. They could enjoy the magic of Christmas with the wide-eyed innocence and the joy of the young.
Something that would be denied poor Hamish.
If only there were something Devon could do for the boy.
