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Chapter Ten
“Oh, look, Mama!Isn’t it pretty!”
Sebastian took Attie’s hand and pulled her into the hall, his eyes shining. “It’s like a fairyland!”
Francine clung to her other hand and said nothing, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared about her.
The hall had been transformed. Every surface was filled with candlesticks, burning brightly, the flames flickering in the breeze, which the thick walls of the castle could never completely shut out. A fire burned in the fireplace, radiating warmth into the room, the logs hissing and crackling. Beside the fire was a large wooden chair, bedecked with holly and fir—the throne of the Yule King. Holly garlands adorned the windows decorated with berries and orange segments, and the rich smell of spices filled the air.
In the center of the room, the table was laden with platters of food for the children—fruitcakes, a bowl piled high with bannocks, marzipan fashioned into the shape of stars, and in the center, a pile of crystallized fruits dusted with sugar that sparkled in the light.
Delilah fussed about the room, adjusting everything and issuing orders to the servants, who waited to greet the visiting children. In the far corner, Fraser sat in a chair, his legs covered in a blanket, his right foot bound and propped up on a footstool. Flora and Campbell sat on either side of their father—Flora holding the book Thea had given her for Christmas, and Campbell clutching a toy—the wooden soldier Devon had made for him.
“Uncle Fraser!” Sebastian released Attie’s hand and ran across the hall.
“Careful!” Attie cried. “Your uncle Fraser’s hurt his leg.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on your papa’s lap tonight,” Fraser laughed, “or perhaps your uncle Griffin if he’d oblige?”
But Griffin and Thea stood beside the pianoforte in the far corner, deep in conversation.
“Come here, Seb!” Rowena approached her cousin and took his hand. “Let’s get you a biscuit. You must be hungry.”
“Mama—want a biscuit!” Francine cried. Attie lifted her daughter into her arms and approached the table. Francine reached out and grasped a bannock in her pudgy fist and began sucking on it.
Footsteps approached, and Attie saw her husband standing in the doorway. He shifted from one foot to the other, discomfort in his expression, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to retreat.
“Uncle Devon!” Campbell leaped to his feet and ran toward him, holding the toy soldier aloft. “I love my soldier! I’ve called him Major Hart, after you. Did you make him all by yourself?”
“I did.”
“He’s made toys for all the children coming tonight,” Attie said, her heart bursting with pride. “Isn’t he clever?”
“He is!” Campbell said. “You’re my favorite, Uncle Devon.”
“That’s put me in my place,” Fraser said, laughter in his voice. “It’s the burden a father must bear, I suppose.”
“Of course I love you best,” Campbell said. “You’re my Papa. But Devon’s my favoriteuncle.”
“Oh dear,” Griffin’s voice boomed from across the room. “I shall have to be content with being the least liked man in the family.”
“Griffin!” Thea cried, and she slapped him smartly across the arm with her fan.
Campbell’s face fell, and Griffin let out a roar of laughter. “I jest, of course, young man.” Then he turned to Thea and lowered his voice, his mouth curving into a smile. “As for you, wife, if you take your hand to me again, and I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs.”
“Be my guest,” Thea whispered. “You’ve yet to give me your Christmas gift.”
“I gave you that last night.”
“Hush, the children will hear!” Thea hissed. Her gaze met Attie’s, and she flushed scarlet. Attie couldn’t help smiling back. Thea’s joy illuminated the whole room.
“The children have arrived!” Delilah cried. “Everybody, be ready to greet them.”
Devon moved away from the door and retreated into a shadow in the corner, turning his face to one side to conceal his scar. A clatter of excited footsteps approached, and a woman entered the hall, dressed in a neat, gray gown, followed by a small crowd of children. Bringing up the rear was the ghillie and a thin woman, holding a baby in her arms.
“Children, settle down!” The woman cried.
“Yes, Mrs. McAllan,” the children chorused.
