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Delilah stepped forward.
“Welcome, children, to the Yule King’s party!”
At a nod from their teacher, the children bowed and curtseyed in unison. “Merry Christmas, Your Grace!” they cried.
Delilah plucked the bowl of bannocks from the table and approached the children. “Everybody take one,” she said, “then we’ll have a song to start the party. Atalanta, Dorothea, if you’d be so kind?”
Attie handed Francine to Rowena and approached the pianoforte, where Thea stood waiting.
A hush descended on the party, then Attie began to play. Thea’s voice—rich and pure—resonated through the room as she sang the words that Delilah had written herself.
All I ever want for Christmas,
Everything I need,
Is in my home, and in my heart…
The children stood, transfixed as Thea continued to sing. Even Francine ceased nibbling on her oatcake while she listened to the words.
When the song finished, polite applause rippled through the room.
“Now, children,” Delilah announced, “do you know who’s coming to visit you all?”
“The Yule King!” an excited voice squealed. “Is it the Yule King?”
“It is,” Delilah said. “And he has presents for you all. But first, Mrs. McAllan has told me that you’ve all prepared a song for him. Is that right?”
“Yes, Your Grace!” the children chorused.
“Well, you must sing as loud as you can so that he’ll hear it and know which chimney to fly down.”
Delilah looked toward Devon, a plea in her eyes. But he shook his head, sidled toward the door, then slipped out of the hall. Thea whispered in Griffin’s ear, and he followed.
Attie turned to hide her tears. Tonight was not a night for heartbreak, not when there was such merriment in the room.
*
As Devon crossedthe floor, a large hand grasped his arm.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Griffin’s voice growled in his ear.
“You heard the song,” Devon said. “How can I possibly give Atalanta what she wants?”
“And you’ll let your self-pity ruin Christmas for the children?” Griffin shook his head. “I took you for a hero—I never took you for a coward.”
“It’s different for you,” Devon said. “Atalanta had everything before she married me—beauty, wealth, a title—the respect and admiration of her peers. Now she has only their pity.”
“Are you saying Atalanta’s worth should be measured by her social status?” Griffin asked. “Or, for that matter, that my Thea had no value before her marriage?”
“I was speaking of myself,” Devon said.
“Yet, you managed to insult the people you profess to love—and who love you more than life itself.” Griffin let out a snort. “I thoughtIwas supposed to be the knucklehead. Can’t you see your wife is hurting because of it?”
“She’d hurt a lot more if she had to endure the screams of the children when they see my face.”
“Children have more sense when it comes to what’s important in life,” Griffin said. “It’s only when we reach adulthood that we’ve formed prejudices to taint our souls. You do yourself—and them—a discredit by skulking in the shadows.”
Griffin’s stern expression morphed into a grin. “Besides with my bulk, I’d split the Yule King’s costume, and, believe me, the sight of my belly would send the children into fits of apoplexy. Like it or not, you’re the Yule King.” He issued a deep bow. “Your majesty—your costume awaits.”
