By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (28 page)

Daniel’s head was spinning. Beneath his breath, he murmured, “Which word?”

Claire heard him. Absorbing Alasdair’s encouraging smile, she looked at Phyllida and saw hope, real and sincere, shining in her eyes. Claire glanced at Alathea, read her calm certainty, then looked at Rupert, relaxed, assured, and entirely supportive.

Her survey had taken no more than two seconds; looking back at Alasdair, Claire beamed. “Yes. And I—we—thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

“No, no!” With a look of patent horror, Alasdair waved her thanks away. “Just wait until you’re mired in our unruly household—you won’t thank us then.”

Everyone laughed.

Rupert uncrossed his long legs, rose, and walked to the fireplace. He tugged the bell pull, then turned. He looked at Daniel and Claire with very obvious approval, then he raised his gaze and looked past them as the door behind them opened. He smiled and waved whoever was there inside. “Excellent—just what we need.”

Swiveling in her chair, Claire saw all the other Cynster couples streaming into the room. She and Daniel came to their feet. The duke and duchess helped the dowager in, and Algaria followed slowly on McArdle’s arm. Melinda, Raven, and Morris were there, too, while Polby and two footmen bearing large bottles and balancing serving trays filled with glasses brought up the rear.

Straightening from seating his mother in the corner of one sofa close by the fire, the duke turned to smile at Daniel and Claire. “This is exactly what this holiday season required to be complete.”

“At least for this family.” The duchess handed the duke a glass, and raised the one she already carried to Daniel and Claire.

Glasses filled with fizzy champagne were rapidly handed around. Most of the Cynsters stood in a wide horseshoe with its center about the fireplace, the ends of the horseshoe’s arms enclosing Daniel and Claire as they stood facing the duke and duchess, with Melinda, Raven, and Morris ranged behind them.

The duchess glanced around, confirmed that everyone, Daniel and Claire included, had been given glasses, then she smiled and again raised her glass. “To Daniel and Claire—felicitations on your engagement, and may your future life together be as happy as those of all the couples here. You have given us the perfect highlight for this season’s holidays—may your life together be long and filled with contentment and joy.”

“Hear, hear!” came from all around, and everyone drank.

“To Daniel and Claire.” Richard, their host, raised his glass high. “Congratulations—not just on your impending trip to the altar, but also on your sterling contributions, both past and those to come, to not just this family but the wider communities you both so devotedly serve. Your efforts yesterday will never be forgotten. So here’s to you both.” Richard glanced at Catriona and smiled. “And may the Lady, God, and all the saints, too, smile upon you.”

Everyone laughed, cheered, and drank to Daniel and Claire’s health.

People gathered around, shaking hands with Daniel, pressing Claire’s fingers.

At one point, Daniel and Claire were summoned to speak with the dowager. They duly presented themselves before her, wondering what she might want, but she only regarded them smilingly, then—in her customary, somewhat unsettling way—informed them that all would be well.

Shortly after, they were allowed to escape. Raven, Morris, and Melinda had gone before; Morris had paused to tell Daniel and Claire that the trio would be waiting to celebrate further with them in the schoolroom upstairs.

Closing the drawing room door on the celebratory party, Daniel met Claire’s eyes and saw the same stunned happiness he felt reflected there. The relative dimness of the corridor and the sudden quietness enfolded them. As his wits started to settle, and the realization that, yes, they really had done it and all had gone so well sank in, the release of tension was so great he laughed—and heard his own joy in the sound. “I was so sure that would prove much more awkward. Much more difficult.”

Grinning back, Claire nodded. “I did, too.” She waved at the drawing room. “I thought we would be walking on eggshells, and instead…” She blew out a breath. “Well, they are a family who enjoys weddings, after all.”

“Apparently even when it’s not one of them being wed.” Daniel grinned back; he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He took Claire’s hand and tugged her toward the front hall. “It’s a little hard to take in. I came here determined to speak to you—to woo and win you—but I wasn’t sure that I would succeed…and now here we are, mere days later, with our engagement an acknowledged fact, our wedding pending, and our future life together all arranged.”

A smile wreathing her face, glowing in her eyes, Claire readily kept pace. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I would say that’s your lesson.”

“Hmm.” Daniel cast her an assessing look. “I must remember that.”

Claire laughed and, beside him, started up the stair that would lead them eventually to the schoolroom. “I’m finding the changes a little discombobulating, too.” She glanced at him, met his eyes. “Mere days ago, I was all alone, and possibly facing the end of my days as a governess to the Cynsters. Now…” She gestured.

“Now you have me, and I have you, and”—Daniel waved behind and around—“we have people who value us and our skills, we have roles to fulfill, ones that suit and will satisfy us, and we have friends with whom to share it all, friends we are not going to lose with the years.”

They reached the landing, and in the patch of moonlight before the landing window, Claire paused. Facing Daniel, taking his hands, she looked into his eyes. “And most important of all, we have what’s grown between us. We have love to warm us, to carry us through.”

“To carry us on.” Daniel raised first one of her hands, then the other, to his lips, brushing kisses across her knuckles. “Because we have love, we have all we’ll ever need.”

Her fingers holding fast to his, Claire stretched up and touched her lips to his.

And for one bright moment, time stood still.

Then a flash of light beyond the window startled them. They looked, and in the blue-black velvet of the night sky, they saw a shooting star.

“Oh.” Claire turned and leaned back against Daniel. He closed his arms about her, and they watched the star streak across the firmament.

When it passed behind the mountains, they sighed. Stepping apart, gazes touching, they linked hands and continued up the stairs—to the schoolroom, to their friends, to the many blessings of love.

* * *

The following morning dawned clear, and after a conference over breakfast, the hunting party convened in the rear yard.

All those who had ridden out on Christmas Eve had turned out again. Mounted on her black mare, Lucilla watched as several of her male relatives checked shotguns and ammunition.

Prudence wheeled her bay and came up alongside. “I was wondering if you would come. You seemed in two minds, earlier.”

“I was.” Lucilla studied Sebastian with a critical eye. He handled the shotgun her father had allowed him to take with nonchalant ease, sliding it into the saddle holder before catching the reins and fluidly mounting.

Only Sebastian, Michael, Marcus, and Christopher had been allowed weapons, even though most of those present would regularly hunt with guns on their home estates. The reason for the restriction was simple. The Lady and all those Lady-touched—such as Catriona, Lucilla, Algaria, and even Marcus—did not approve of unnecessary killing, not on Vale lands. Not on lands under the Lady’s mantle, which, as Lucilla had now learned, also meant at least some of the Carricks’ lands, too.

That said, some culling of deer and other game was necessary, and as they used every bit of any slain animal, hunting in general was not forbidden; however, it was normally engaged in only by those who had been born in the Vale, who understood the local ways.

Whenever those not born to these lands were allowed to hunt, Lucilla generally felt a vague yet insistent need to be present. Whether it was the guns themselves and the consequent risk of accident or perhaps a need to ensure the hunt remained acceptably controlled that compelled her, she couldn’t say. Yet it was true that, of all those present, she was the only one who could be certain of influencing the Marquess of Earith. Sebastian was only one step down from his father, and was therefore very close to being a law unto himself, and he was the eldest of the cousins. Against that, Lucilla was the eldest female of the cousinly tribe, and although she didn’t quite understand it, that had always given her near-equal footing with Sebastian. On top of that, there, in the Vale, she had the added imprimatur of being the Lady-in-waiting.

Marcus could and would argue with Sebastian, but only Lucilla could be certain of turning her powerful cousin from a path he’d decided on.

As the others all mounted and settled into their saddles, Lucilla inwardly sighed. “I would much rather have spent the day playing with Artemis, but”—she gestured about—“duty calls.”

Prudence studied her. Lucilla’s cousins rarely questioned statements like that—she suspected they really didn’t want to know—but in this instance, Prudence cocked her head. “Duty over what?”

That was part of Lucilla’s problem. “I’m really not sure.” She grimaced and rubbed a gloved finger between her brows. “It’s just a nagging prod that I should ride with the hunt today.” She shrugged and turned her mare as the party formed up. “It doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.”

She didn’t really believe that, but she had no idea what adverse possibility was behind the unusually strong compulsion.

That morning, as Prudence had noted, she had been vacillating, questioning the need for her to ride with the hunt given that Marcus assuredly would, and after all, Sebastian and the others knew the local rules. But then Catriona had looked in to confirm that Lucilla would be riding with the others, which, of course, had set the seal on it. She’d penned Artemis in a corner of her room with an old pair of slippers to chew, donned her riding habit, pulled on her riding boots, picked up gloves, hat, and quirt, and headed for the stable.

Leaning down from his saddle, Marcus swung the gate at the rear of the yard wide and Sebastian led the hunt out.

They spread across the barren winter fields, riding in staggered formation. Sebastian and Marcus rode side by side in the lead, with Michael and Christopher exchanging remarks behind them. Settling with Prudence behind the latter pair, Lucilla rode out into the morning and wondered what awaited her and where.

She knew, beyond doubt, beyond question, that Christmas Eve and her hours in the cottage had fundamentally changed her. It was as if those hours had been some sort of test, and she’d passed from being an apprentice to a journeyman.

That analogy seemed apt; even those at the manor who had known her from birth now treated her with a new respect, an acknowledgment of her altered status.

But that change wasn’t all that had occurred over those icy hours in the cottage.

She’d been afforded a glimpse into her own future—a gift very rarely bestowed. While she often saw things, they were usually about other people or, as with the hunt, she felt pushed to do certain things regarding others. Very rarely did she receive any revelations solely about herself. Yet although such an occurrence was rare, her mother had also had a similar revelation, although in Catriona’s case, she had actively scried for the insight.

And as had happened with Catriona, Lucilla didn’t know what she was supposed to do with the knowledge. Or even if she was supposed to do anything at all.

One thing she did know—her time, and his, was not yet. They had years before some unknown occurrence would force them to act and seal their fate, so she didn’t need to do anything about him
yet
.

Which in no way explained why, today, he was taking up such a large part of her brain. Perhaps it was Artemis, acting as an avatar, but Lucilla didn’t think so.

Determined to force her mind from fruitless speculation—time enough to deal with whatever might happen once it did—she focused on the line of trees rapidly drawing nearer.

They retraced their route up onto the bridle path that ran along the northern ridge.

Prudence called across, “Are they going to head to where that Carrick fellow said the deer had taken cover?”

“I assume so,” Lucilla called back. She hadn’t really paid much attention to the planning.

But their supposition proved correct. Sebastian and Marcus led the hunt to the point where the bridle path ran into the skirts of the forest on the slopes of the western hills. There, they dismounted and tethered the horses. Taking the guns and ammunition, and the various bags and implements, the group followed Marcus and Michael—the best hunter of the lot of them—as the pair led the way forward on foot.

“This is the part of the hunt that I hate,” Lucilla grumbled as she and Prudence, hampered by their full skirts despite the fact both wore riding trousers underneath, slogged along in the rear. The boys strode blithely ahead, while they had to wrestle with their skirts every few steps of the way.

They crept into the valley below the craggy outcrop that Thomas had mentioned. While it was obvious that deer had, indeed, been there, in number and not that long ago, there were no deer anywhere in the narrow defile.

Lucilla paused to listen, head tilted to catch any rustle carried on the light wind, then she sighed and let the skirts she’d been carrying bundled in her arms fall. “There are no deer here.” Or even close.

Glancing at Marcus, she found him looking at her. The shared glance was enough; both of them knew there were no deer in the area, not anymore.

But what puzzled her was the sense she had that the animals had been spooked.

She debated whether to mention it, but predictably, the others, led by Michael and Christopher and supported by Sebastian, were not of a mind to simply accept that there were no deer to be hunted today and return meekly home.

As neither she nor Marcus could explain how they knew that there were no deer to be found, neither said anything and, instead, resigned themselves to following the others in their unknowingly fruitless quest.