By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (12 page)

Satisfied, Lucilla turned away.

Across the cottage, she met Prudence’s gaze. Lucilla raised her brows. “You’ll stay?”

“Of course. I’ve assisted at any number of foalings, and although humans and horses aren’t entirely the same, the basics aren’t that different.”

“Indeed.” Lucilla hesitated, then looked at Jeb as, leaving Lottie’s side, he brought the lamp to the table. “My cousin and I”—Lucilla glanced at Prudence—“will need to talk to the others. While we’re doing that, Jeb, can you find a length of rope we can use to stretch across the cottage so we can hang up some blankets and give Lottie a bit of privacy?”

Jeb blinked at the notion, but nodded. “I’ve got some rope in the stable-barn.” With his head, he indicated a narrow door set into the cottage’s rear wall.

Lucilla realized she’d been hearing the shuffling of hooves and the occasional soft bleat from beyond the rear wall; until now, she hadn’t paid attention to the sounds. Crofters in these parts were usually shepherds to flocks of sheep belonging to their lairds; presumably Jeb’s stable-barn was home to his flock through the harsh winter. “Good. You sort out the rope and find us some blankets or sheets. Meanwhile, we’ll sort out the rest.”

Specifically their male relatives, who, if she knew anything of them, were even now contemplating hammering on the door and demanding to be told what was going on; she reached the door and opened it before they could.

Sure enough, Marcus, Sebastian, Michael, and Christopher stood in a group mere feet from the door. Stepping outside, Lucilla waited until Prudence joined her and shut the door firmly before looking first at Marcus, then Sebastian. “I need to stay until the baby’s born.”

“And I need to stay with Lucilla,” Prudence said. Her tone, even more than Lucilla’s, somewhat belligerently stated that argument was futile.

His hands in his breeches pockets, Sebastian met Lucilla’s steady gaze, then Prudence’s blue eyes, then he glanced at Marcus. Finding no comfort there, lips compressing, jaw setting, Sebastian half turned and looked at the trees. The strong features he’d inherited from his father were relatively easy to read; he wanted to simply say no, but he knew very well that there was no point.

With patience born of unshakeable confidence, Lucilla waited for his capitulation, but she, along with Prudence, was too wise to prod him.

At eighteen the eldest by a full year, Sebastian was invariably—inevitably—viewed by their parents as principally responsible for any decisions they made. He was their leader, and that was, in fact, never in doubt. Yet in situations such as this…leadership came in many guises.

After half a minute of communing with the trees, his pale green eyes narrow, Sebastian looked back at Lucilla and, his features set, nodded. “In that case, I’ll be staying, too.” He barely spared a glance for Prudence before looking at Marcus and arching a brow.

Marcus nodded. “I’ll remain, too, of course.”

“And me,” Michael said. When Sebastian directed a questioning look his way, Michael said, “If this storm settles in and you need to send for help, you’ll need to send two of us.” He nodded at Marcus. “Me and Marcus—it’d be madness to send either one of us alone.”

Marcus grunted in agreement. “That’s a possibility that might turn into a reality, so yes, there should be at least three of us males all told.”

“Very well.” Sebastian turned to the last member of their group.

Christopher grinned. “And that leaves me to lead the younger crew”—with a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the five younger boys still sitting their horses—“back to the manor and explain where you are and why.”

Sebastian read Christopher’s expression and raised his brows. “You don’t mind?”

“Actually, no.” Christopher tipped his head toward the cottage. “If there’s a baby going to be born in there in the next few hours, I really would rather be elsewhere.”

Lucilla watched as that point sank home with Sebastian, Marcus, and Michael. All three unquestionably shared Christopher’s aversion, yet although they shifted and frowned, none were, she judged, remotely likely to change their minds about staying.

“Very well. Now that’s settled”—Lucilla looked at Christopher—“you need to get moving. Ride as hard as you can.” Both she and Marcus glanced to the northwest, to where a brooding gray-white mass was roiling and spilling over the peaks.

“If you leave now,” Marcus said, his narrowed gaze on the clouds, “you should make it back to the manor without difficulty, but that storm will be on your heels.”

“In that case, we’ll get going.” With a general nod and a breezy salute, Christopher walked off to where his brother Gregory held Christopher’s mount’s reins.

The five cousins left before the cottage door watched as Christopher mounted, then gathered the group and led them back up the track to the ridge.

Lucilla stirred and caught Michael’s eye. “Jeb has what he calls a stable-barn at the rear—the horses need to be taken in, tended, and secured. The winds coming with the storm are going to be ferocious, I think.”

Marcus nodded. “I think so, too. And we won’t have that much time before they hit.”

Prudence shifted from foot to foot, then gave up and headed for her mount. “I’ll take care of Gypsy.”

Knowing Prudence’s attachment to horses—all horses—Lucilla merely nodded. “Jeb and I can handle putting up a screen.” With the others collecting their horses and hers, too, she turned to the cottage door. “I’ll unlatch the door between the cottage and the stable-barn so you won’t have to come outside to get in.”

Opening the door, she went into the cottage, leaving the other four leading the five horses to the barn.

CHAPTER 5

Louisa, Therese, Annabelle, and Juliet crept silently down the main stairs and, valiantly suppressing the urge to giggle, tiptoed through the front foyer and slipped into the Great Hall.

It was early evening; outside, the sky had darkened. Thick gray-white clouds were closing in, shrouding the surrounding hills and sending the temperature plummeting from icy to freezing.

And as the girls had hoped, in the half hour before dinner, the huge hall was deserted.

They were already dressed for the evening, had rushed and hurried and helped each other neaten their hair and hunt out their evening slippers.

“We’ll need to be quick.” Louisa led the way to their festive log-basket.

The other three followed. Donning the leather gloves they’d stuffed into their pockets, they fell to, lifting out the upper layer of holly and piling it to one side.

As soon as they uncovered the mistletoe beneath, Therese stopped and looked at Annabelle. “Let’s go and get those stepladders.”

Annabelle nodded. She and Therese left Louisa and Juliet carefully lifting out the more delicate mistletoe, separating the individual branchlets, with their drooping leaves and clusters of white berries.

Hurrying through one of the archways into the corridor that ultimately led to the kitchen, Annabelle and Therese turned into the cluttered alcove where the footmen who had earlier helped deck the hall with evergreens had left the pair of stepladders. “I hope we’re tall enough to reach with these.” Annabelle hefted one of the ladders.

“We will be.” Therese grabbed the second ladder. “We’re nearly as tall as the footmen, and they were only using the second step of the three—I watched.”

“That’s true.” Annabelle huffed as she carried the heavy ladder back to the hall. “And anyway, we’re only going to be hanging the mistletoe under the archways, not above them.”

Louisa and Juliet, both all but jigging with impatience, met Annabelle and Therese as they re-entered the hall. Juliet went with Annabelle to the archway leading to the library.

Louisa halted Therese under the archway through which the girls had returned. “Let’s do this one first.”

Therese obligingly set the stepladder beneath the archway. Lifting her skirts with one hand and carrying a bunch of mistletoe branchlets in the other, Louisa climbed the ladder. Using the strings she’d left hanging when she’d tied up the bunch, she quickly tied the mistletoe to the evergreens on either side of the archway’s apex.

Carefully, she released the mistletoe—as they’d hoped, it hung in the center of the archway.

“Yes!” Therese crowed. She took a step back, eyed the archway measuringly, then nodded. “It’s still high enough that not even Uncle Sylvester will have it drag over his head.”

“Excellent!” Eyes bright, Louisa quickly backed down the ladder. She glanced to where Juliet was still fiddling with the bunch she was attaching to the library archway. “Let’s do the archway into the front foyer—we saved the biggest bunch for there.”

She and Therese carried the stepladder across the hall, then with Louisa directing, Therese—who was the taller of the pair—secured the large bunch of trailing greenery and berries in place.

Louisa grinned. “Perfect!”

Juliet and Annabelle had already crossed to the last archway, the one that connected the stairs from three of the upper towers to the dais. Leaving them to finish there, Therese picked up the stepladder and carried it back to the alcove while Louisa quickly placed the holly back into the log-basket, piling it up so that the loss of the mistletoe beneath didn’t appear too obvious.

Annabelle came to help while Juliet took the other stepladder back, and then it was done.

The four girls gathered in the center of the hall, in between the tables, and turned in a slow circle, examining the totality of their decorations.

Then they turned to each other and grinned.

“Yes, indeed—and you have every right to be delighted with yourselves.”

The words—in a voice they all knew well—had them spinning around to look at the archway giving onto the dais.

Helena stood beneath it, looking up at the dangling mistletoe, then she lowered her gaze and beamed upon them. “Very timely, my dears. For, after all, what is Christmas without mistletoe?”

Helena used a cane; she was holding it in her hand. None of the girls could understand why they hadn’t heard her coming down the stairs…then Helena moved forward and Algaria joined her, and they realized Algaria had helped Helena down.

Looking up at the mistletoe, Algaria audibly sniffed. “It never did anything for me, but for others, I suppose, it’s much as that other saying.
Is blianach Nollaid gun sneachd
.” Lowering her gaze, she looked pointedly at Annabelle.

Annabelle screwed up her face in thought, then offered, “Christmas without snow is poor fare…or what is Christmas without snow?”

Algaria nodded approvingly. “Good enough.”

Helena tipped her head as if listening to noises above, then she looked at the four girls. “If you wish to play the role of secret mistletoe fairies, then you might not want to be the only ones here when others arrive.”

Louisa blinked. “Good point.”

With her cane, Helena waved toward the far archway. “The library should be a useful place to retreat to for now, so that you can emerge later and be as amazed as everyone else.”

Louisa grinned. “Thank you, Grandmama!”

Annabelle echoed the sentiment, while the other two chorused, “Thank you, Grand-aunt Helena!”

Helena shooed them off, and they went, giggling as they hurried out of the hall toward the library.

Slowly making her way to her place at the far end of the high table, Algaria said, “I find it comforting that they are still at the giggling girl stage, and so still find delight in such minor events. Heaven help us all when that lot grows up.”

Looking after the four, Helena thought it very likely she would be in Heaven by that time. But instead of acknowledging the inevitable turning of time’s wheel, she tilted her head and, focusing on the ball of mistletoe hanging beneath the arch through which the four had gone, murmured, “Still, I feel it is a very good thing—a very necessary thing—that they have done.”

* * *

By the time Prudence, Marcus, Sebastian, and Michael came in through the door from Jeb’s stable-barn, Lucilla, with Jeb’s help, had strung the rope he’d found across the width of the cottage between nails sunk into the log walls, then draped old blankets over the rope and placed logs on the ends trailing on the floor to create a wall screening Lottie and the pallet from the rest of the cottage.

Sadly, that was only the beginning of their making do. The others came in, stamping their feet and rubbing warmth back into their hands. They crowded around the deal table, setting the saddlebags they’d carried in on the empty board.

Coming out from behind the curtain of blankets, Lucilla saw them—saw them all turn to look at the front of the cottage just as she, alerted by some visceral sense, did the same.

Abruptly, the wind shrieked and struck the cottage’s exposed front face. The force of the blow was an elemental slap that rattled the structure and left it moaning and groaning.

All five cousins looked up and around at the timbers surrounding them, the creaking beams holding up the roof, the walls with their gaps too numerous to count, and the rickety shutters covering the glassless windows.

“Sounds like the storm’s arrived,” Michael said.

Lucilla looked at Marcus and met her twin’s eyes. It was Marcus who, somewhat diffidently, said, “Actually, no. That was just the precursor—a harbinger, if you like. The winds come first. The storm itself is still an hour or more away.”

Turning from studying the less-than-sturdy shutter over the window to the left of the front door, Sebastian bent a richly unimpressed look on Marcus. “So it’s going to get a lot worse.”

Marcus nodded.

Sebastian looked back at the shutter and sighed. “In that case, we’d better use that hour to see what we can do to shore this place up.”

“I saw timber and sheeting at the back of the barn, and there must be tools somewhere.” Michael looked at Marcus and Lucilla; Jeb was behind the curtain with Lottie. “Is it all right if we use whatever we can find to make this place more sound?”

Marcus glanced at Lucilla.

“I’ll ask,” she said.

When applied to, Jeb blinked at her in incomprehension. With Lottie clinging to his hand, gritting her teeth as she waited out another painful pang, Jeb couldn’t seem to gather his wits enough to focus on anything else.