The laird accepted the horn from one of the elders and took a drink, then raised it to their clansmen. “To Scots! We give honor. May we live free.”
The crowd roared their approval and then, as if admonished by a soundless voice, grew quiet once more. As the laird handed back the horn and accepted the stick, people leaned forward to extinguish the candles on the tables, leaving the hall in near darkness save for the single candle that the candle bearer held. The laird lit the stick he held and raised it up.
“With the remnant of last year’s Yule log, I light this one. We welcome a new year full of prosperity and peace.”
He laid the piece on top of the dry kindling, where it caught immediately. Rory heard a collective sigh as though people had been holding their breaths. MacDonnell smiled.
“The log is lit. Our future will be bright.”
That explained the holding of breath, then. Although Rory was pretty sure everything had been done to ensure the log would light, from drying it out for weeks to making sure the kindling was laid properly and the edge of the stick probably swabbed with lamp oil, it was still a nice symbolic gesture for good luck in the new year.
As the candles were lit on the tables again and conversation returned to normal, the servants carried the food in. Rory wondered if maybe the MacGregors should have been observing this custom as well. They could have used good luck through the years of banishment. Then again, the MacGregors had been known as Children of the Mist for so long that the faeries may have decided it would be grand fun to make sure the log did not light if they tried it.
Although he kept telling himself he was not superstitious, he was growing more sure the fae had had a hand in yesterday’s events, after all.
…
Normally, Juliana was an early riser, and, when she was younger, she would be awake and dressed well before dawn on Christmas morning, but this time she would much rather have stayed in bed with the covers pulled over her head. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that choice. Greer and Aileen had both knocked on her door to make sure she was awake to join them. She wasn’t really sure why they’d be so eager to include her in what would probably include a family exchange of presents, but that wasn’t the sole reason she preferred to stay secluded.
Rory had been coolly distant to her as he passed the dais last night, even though he’d kept up a conversation with Morag, who just happened to have the seat beside him. They’d even walked around together—Morag with a possessive hand tucked into his elbow—after the feast, talking to various MacDonnell clansmen. Juliana hadn’t seen him venturing near any of the hanging mistletoe, but she’d occupied herself by helping Sima supervise the packing of food boxes that neighbors would be taking home. In England, they boxed food the day after Christmas, but here they did it so the folks who’d attended could share the food on Christmas itself with the crofters and others who couldn’t come to the castle. When she’d returned to the great hall, there had been no sign of Rory, although Morag was still there, talking to Greer and Aileen. Juliana wondered if they’d deliberately separated the two, especially when Greer had given her a wink.
This morning was another story. Would Rory even speak to her? She took a deep breath before she entered the front parlor, where she’d been told to meet.
For a minute, she didn’t think she’d be noticed, since there was a flurry of movement, which included gifts being opened amid a tearing of paper and ribbon tossing. Aileen and Greer were sharing one sofa, each unwrapping gifts. Morag sat alone on the second sofa, looking decidedly put out. Rory was standing near the hearth, speaking to Calum. Just to tweak the girl’s nose, Juliana was tempted to fill the obviously empty space beside Morag—before Rory did—but that would look childish and petulant. Besides, it wouldalsoinvolve talking to her. She was looking for a spot to sit when Sima called to her.
“Come over here.” She indicated an armchair near the hearth. “’Tis a nice, warm spot by the fire.”
It was also close to Rory. She hesitated a moment, wondering if he would move away. That would be worse than getting a cut direct from the snobbishton. She didn’t really care what Society matrons thought, but Rory was a different matter. In spite of how she’d reacted—and it had been an instinctive reaction—she did care about him. Still. She couldn’t just stand there. She pasted a smile on her face and walked over.
“Thank you,” she said to Sima.
Although Rory didn’t turn his head, she caught a side glance and thought a muscle in his jaw twitched. Was he angry with her? Or had she imagined the twitch? Maybe she was making too much ado about nothing? At least he hadn’t moved away. Yet.
“These are for you.”
Sima thrust two large presents onto her lap. Smiling, Greer and Aileen turned in her direction, and even Rory and Calum stopped talking. Juliana felt her face warm. “You did not need to do this. I have nothing to give any of you.”
“That doesna matter,” Sima replied. “Ye are far from home—”
“She could have gone home if she’d wanted to,” Morag mumbled.
The laird gave her a stern look. “’Tis uncharitable of ye to say so, daughter.”
Morag lapsed into silence, although she certainly didn’t look as though she considered charity to be a virtue. Juliana concentrated on the packages to avoid any more embarrassment.
The first held a finely woven, dark-blue wool half cloak with a hood and the other a pair of matching woolen breeches.
“’Tis a riding habit of sorts,” Sima explained. “I ken English ladies doona wear breeches, but ’twill be practical on your ride home.”
“Yes, it will,” Juliana answered, “and I have found breeches to be much better suited for riding than a split skirt. Thank you.”
“And the cloak will settle on the horse’s rump,” Greer said, “so ye won’t have to keep pulling at it.”
“And it can be worn over your other one,” Aileen added, “to keep ye warm.”
Juliana remembered how warm she’d been wrapped in Rory’s cloak when they’d ridden to Fort William. She ventured a glance in his direction, wondering if he remembered, too, but his expression was neutral. She felt her face heat again. What had she expected? Even though she hadn’t meant to, she’d rejected him.
“Well, now that everyone has opened gifts, can we go in to breakfast?” Morag asked. “I am starved.”
