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Chapter Seven
Glendarron Castle, Scotland
December 24
The storm hadblown away during the night, leaving the landscape bathed in a blanket of snow that twinkled in the sunlight.
Devon turned away from the rest of the party, who were busy building a snowman beside the path, and he looked out across the valley, toward the distant crags of the summit, breathing in the fresh, mountain air.
The morning had dawned clear and bright, and after breakfast, Delilah had suggested the party spend the day exploring the mountain. The children had responded enthusiastically, as had Devon’s wife. Attie’s spirits had been low last night, and she’d retired early, pleading a headache. The atmosphere in the drawing room after supper had thickened with unspoken admonishments.
He shouldn’t have disappeared up the mountain alone yesterday evening, but he’d needed the solitude.
With luck, today, the fresh air would restore Attie’s spirits, and she’d forgive him—if he could find the courage to forgive himself.
A warm little hand slipped into his.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Papa!”
Sebastian looked up at him with excitement in his eyes.
“It certainly is,” Devon said.
“Mama said it’s as if the ground has been covered in jewels by the Christmas fairies in preparation for the Yule King’s arrival.”
That sounded like his Attie.
“And,” Sebastian continued, “Mama said that I’ll be rewarded with lots of presents this Christmas because I’ve been so good.”
“That you have,” Devon said. “You’ve helped Mama with your sister a great deal.”
The boy nodded, then sucked his thumb, a thoughtful expression on his face. Devon recognized the sadness in his son’s eyes—it was an expression he often saw when looking in a mirror.
“Is something wrong?”
Sebastian nodded. “Mama doesn’t seem very happy,” he said. “She was sad before supper yesterday, and I thought she’d be happy when you joined us, but then she was sad again. I’m sure I heard her crying last night when Lizzy was putting me to bed, but Lizzy said it was most likely the sheep in the fields behind the castle.”
Devon squeezed his son’s hand. What could he say in response? That it was his fault—that he’d let them down? Or that Mama deserved a much better man for a husband?
“I want Mama to be happy this Christmas,” Sebastian said. “I want to give her a special present, but I don’t know what she wants.”
Laughter rippled through the party, and Devon turned to see a snowball fight taking place. Francine, perched on Rowena’s shoulders, held a ball of snow in her hand and threw it toward Fraser.
“That’s not fair, little lady!” Fraser cried.
“Nonsense!” Delilah said. “With that mop of red hair, you’re the biggest target around. Go on, Atalanta—you know you want to.”
Attie hesitated, then scooped up a pile of snow in her hands. She smoothed it into a ball and threw it toward Fraser. It hit him square in the chest, and he fell backward, disappearing into the snow until only the soles of his boots were visible.
A roar of laughter rippled through the party, and the children squealed with delight.
“Aunt Attie got you, Papa!” Campbell shrieked.
“Mama, Mama! Francine jumped up and down for joy, almost falling off Rowena’s shoulders. “You got him, Mama!”
Attie stood, red-faced, beside the snowman. Delilah bent double, her body shaking with mirth.
Fraser lifted his head and shook it, dispersing a cloud of snow, and Attie burst out laughing. Devon’s heart swelled at the joy in her voice. She glanced up, and he smiled at her in encouragement, and she returned the smile.
