By Winter's Light

by Stephanie Laurens

Everyone except their hostess. Still standing at her place at the high table, Catriona caught Daniel’s eye. About to sit, he halted and straightened.

  Catriona smiled. “On behalf of us all, Mr. Crosbie, I wanted to thank you for your signal service today. Through your prompt and selfless actions, you prevented the joy of this day—of this week of festivities—from being marred by the deepest tragedy. We cannot thank you enough. However”—Catriona’s voice took on a slightly different note, a different timbre—“you must now allow us to do what we can to repay our debt. As you can see, we have rearranged the tables so that you may sit in your usual place beside Mrs. Meadows and yet remain close by the fire. Throughout the rest of the evening, you will oblige us all by remaining no further from the fireplace than that.”

  Finding all eyes on him, Daniel inclined his head. “As you wish, ma’am.” There was really no other answer possible.

  Catriona smiled. With a graceful wave, she sent him to his seat and resumed her own.

  Daniel subsided onto the bench with an inward sigh. He smiled at the others; each of them had come to help by the burn. “Are the children really all right?”

  They nodded, and Melinda reported, “Mrs. Broom came past earlier. She said all three boys and the two girls, plus many of their young friends who were out with them by the burn, are all tucked up in their beds and will, in all likelihood, find themselves all but tied either to said beds or their parents’ sides for the next few days at least. But our hostess has seen them all, and she dosed the five who got wet and has declared she expects no lasting ill-effects.”

  Morris snorted. “One lasting effect I believe I can predict is that none of that crew—or any of ours, come to that, all of the younger ones who saw the end of the drama—will ever again venture onto snow banks bordering rivers.”

  “Well, life’s all about learning, isn’t it?” Melinda flicked out her napkin as the footmen and maids appeared with platters piled with food and jugs brimming with spiced ale.

  After the extravagance of the manor’s Christmas lunch, dinner was a much lighter meal, still festive, but less frenetic and definitely more relaxed. Despite the dramas—of the storm and the worrying absence of the older Cynster children, capped by the near-loss of five of the household’s youngsters—the day had ended well; if anything, said dramas and the dealing with them had fostered a greater camaraderie between those present, no matter from where they hailed.

  Daniel sat on the bench before the fire, felt the warmth of the flames bathing his back, and as the meal wound down and the lingering excitement faded into remembrance and people started drifting from the room, he quietly gave thanks for his blessings.

  Claire held to her position beside Daniel, keeping up her part in the conversations as, along with Melinda, Raven, and Morris, she set herself to entertain Daniel and otherwise let him rest.

  When most of the company had departed and the Great Hall had grown quiet, the other three rose.

  Raven smiled at Daniel. “According to our gracious hostess, you should remain by the fire here until at least ten o’clock. Thereafter you may retire to your couch, but you’ve been given a new room, a warmer one at the top of a tower.” Raven glanced at Claire, then looked back at Daniel. “Do you want me to return and show you or—”

  “I know where it is,” Claire said. “I’ll show him.”

  Daniel smiled at her, then at the other three. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Nonsense, my boy.” Morris lightly clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “You did us proud.”

  “Indeed, you did.” Melinda tightened her shawl about her plump shoulders. To Claire, she said, “I’ll check on our charges—don’t concern yourself with them tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Claire waited until the others had made their way to the archway before turning back to Daniel. Meeting his eyes, she held his gaze for several seconds, then glanced into the shadows behind them. She looked back at him. “Why don’t we move into the inglenook again?” It would give them more privacy, and after the revelations of the day and their discussion that had been interrupted by having to rescue children from the burn, a discussion they needed to resume, a touch more privacy wouldn’t be remiss.

  Turning his head, he considered the spot. “If anything, it’s closer to the fireplace than here and is nicely warm, so I doubt our omniscient hostess will consider it an infringement of her dictates.”

  Smiling, Claire rose and stepped over the bench. “She is rather… I was going to say overpowering, but she’s more correctly ‘powerful.’”

  Daniel nodded. “Indeed.” He moved slowly, carefully, out from the bench, then straightened fully, stretched—and winced.

  Claire’s concern flared again. “Are you all right?”

  He smiled. “Yes—just a twinge. The sort that will be history by morning.”

  She didn’t wait for him to take her hand; she took his, and together they walked the few paces to the inglenook and sat side by side.

  When she glanced at him, he arched a brow, then glanced down at their linked hands. “Should I read anything into this?”

  Despite the superficial flippancy, the question was genuine. Given where they had left their earlier discussion, that was hardly surprising.

  She was waiting when he returned his gaze to her eyes. She looked steadily back at him and discovered it was actually quite easy to say, “Yes.”

  His brows rose again, but gently, inviting more even as his gaze grew more intent.

  She drew in a deeper breath—deeper than any she’d drawn that day—and stated, “Earlier, when we spoke, I said I needed to know…something.” She searched his eyes, and he nodded.

  “I remember.” He paused, then asked, “What was it—that something you needed to know?”

  “What it was,” she replied, “was irrelevant.” She cast a swift glance about, then returned her gaze to his face. “I don’t know what it is—whether it’s something to do with this place—but just as I started to ask my question, the children screamed, and you raced down to rescue the boys and I followed, and everything that subsequently happened—all I saw and felt, that I not just understood but experienced and so cannot deny—made it abundantly clear that what I had been about to ask”—why you wanted to marry me, whether you loved me—“wasn’t the critical point.”

  He was watching her intently, his gaze locked on her face, on her eyes. “So…what was your revelation? What was your true critical point?”

  Looking deep into his eyes, Claire saw all she needed to know of him revealed in the steadfast depths of his gaze. “The critical point—the one that matters most to me—is that I love you.” Her heart had literally choked her when she’d reached the lip above the burn and seen him half drowned in the icy water, with the boy clutched against him. Her heart had hammered and leapt, again and again, throughout his valiant battle to rescue the three boys; not even she could possibly doubt the meaning of her reaction.

  It had been too strong, too visceral, too powerful, and like nothing she’d ever felt before.

  Those moments had affected her too profoundly for her to possibly doubt. Only a real and true love could have moved her so.

  A true love that she already felt, that already lived within her.

  She no longer needed to know whether he would say he loved her in order to trust him with her hand. Her heart had already made that decision.

  Her soul was already linked with his, no matter the debates of her rational mind.

  Daniel searched her eyes and found nothing but calm certainty where previously the very opposite had reigned. She was assured, confident—even determined; she had made up her mind. In his favor. He tried to control his own reaction and failed. His heart soared. Shifting to face her, he took her hands in his. “Marry me, Claire. Marry me and make me the happiest man upon this earth.”

  Her lips curved; she returned the pressure of his fingers, but she wasn’t a green girl to be swept off her feet. “I’m not sure the shoe isn’t on
the other foot, in that marrying you will make me the happiest woman on the planet. And yes, I will most assuredly marry you”—the curve of her lips deepened—“now that you have, finally, actually proposed. But, my darling Daniel, I have to admit I haven’t yet thought through the how of it all—I don’t have much by way of savings put by.”

  He shook his head. “The how isn’t insurmountable—we’ll find our way. Now we’ve found each other, the rest will come.” He glanced at the walls around them. “And yes, I agree that this place seems to have fostered our union, so perhaps it will help us solve that issue, too.”

  Gripping his fingers more tightly, she raised her brows. “Perhaps we’re fated by the Lady to share our lives?”

  He smiled and leaned closer. “The Lady appears to be a distinctly benign deity—I’m happy to have our union blessed by Her.”

  Bending his head, he pressed his lips to Claire’s. Slipping free of his clasp, one of her hands rose to his cheek, then her lips firmed beneath his.

  The kiss…this kiss was a plighting of their troth.

  A statement by both of them—a commitment freely given and declared.

  A promise, one fully reciprocated, one Claire had been waiting all her life to give.

  To truly give.

  To truly love.

  Daniel raised his head.

  Claire looked into his eyes, sensed, as she always did, the steadiness, the steadfastness of his focus, and heard her heart sing.

  The large clock in the corner whirred, then started to bong.

  Ten times.

  When the last resonant boong had faded, she smiled; she no longer cared if her emotions—if her very heart—showed in the gesture. Retaining one of Daniel’s hands, she rose. “Come along. If you recall, I’m under strict instructions to see you up the stairs to your new room after ten o’clock.”

  Daniel made a huffing sound but slowly got to his feet. Somewhat to his surprise, the twinges and aches he’d been conscious of earlier had faded. “I’d much rather sit here and talk to you all night, planning our future.”

  “Perhaps, but planning our future might be better done after a good night’s sleep.” Claire turned toward the main archway.

  He let her tow him along. “I have to admit to some curiosity over my new room. I thought the manor was full to the rafters.”

  Her answering smile was mischievous. “It was—almost. As their contribution to your recovery, McArdle, Polby, and Mrs. Broom declared that you needed to be housed in a room high in one of the towers, because those rooms are the warmest. And as it happens, there’s a box room in the attic of one of the towers.” She paused and turned to him, her eyes dancing. “The staff threw themselves into clearing it, cleaning it, and setting it up for you. It’s warm and has its own little fireplace. Raven and Morris moved your things in, and Melinda and I were allowed to assist in making up the bed and hanging the curtains.”

  They walked on. This time, as they passed under the archway, it was Claire who halted. She looked up at the mistletoe, then turned to him, stretched up on her toes, and kissed him.

  Slipping his fingers from hers, he closed his arms about her, and this kiss was more—distinctly warmer—than either of their previous exchanges.

  She finally broke from the caress, but she didn’t pull away. Leaning back in his arms, she smiled—radiantly—up at him. “I love you.” There was wonderment in her voice—such joy.

  It moved him to reply, “And I love you.” His own truth, an emotion that had lived and grown within him for so many months it was now as familiar to him as breathing.

  She blinked, then searched his eyes.

  He realized… “Ah—I hadn’t told you that before.” He grimaced. “Forgive me—I had thought it obvious.”

  She paused, then said, “Melinda said earlier that life is all about learning. One thing life has taught me is to treasure words given sincerely, and to otherwise rely on the evidence of my eyes.” She held his gaze. “I did see your regard for what it was, but I didn’t have the confidence to trust that I was seeing correctly—to trust in my instincts. Now, I know better, and indeed, all along my heart believed, even if my mind refused to. Somewhere underneath all my fears, I did know you loved me, but it took the events of this afternoon to show me that I loved you.”

  He hesitated, but he had to know, no matter what the question revealed of his vulnerabilities. “More than—or at least as well as—you loved your late husband?”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then she smiled lightly—mysteriously—and retook his hand. “Let me show you to your room, and then I’ll tell you a story.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Daniel climbed the winding tower stairs two steps behind Claire, and tried to keep his eyes from focusing on her shapely derriere and her perfectly rounded hips as they swung gently from side to side, all the way up the very high tower.

  They’d passed a yawning footman banking the fire in the front hall, making sure the latest Cailleach set alight continued to smolder. Small lamps set high in the walls lit their way, casting a golden glow over the gray stone. The day had been long and full of excitement; the very crowded manor had already quieted for the night.

  When they reached the landing on the tower’s topmost level, Daniel felt a touch lightheaded, an effect that had nothing to do with his exertions of the afternoon, much less the altitude. The dual tonics his host and hostess had provided, followed by the meal and the constant warmth, had in large part ameliorated, if not eradicated, the lingering effects of his dousing in the burn.

  And Claire had said that she loved him.

  He’d finally been able to say the words he’d come to the manor desperate to utter; he’d asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. And now she was leading him to his room—

  He cut off his thoughts. Wiser to simply follow her lead than make any assumptions.

  Claire opened the nearest of several narrow doors, and he followed her into a small attic room, tucked under part of the tower’s conical roof.

  The room was a quadrant with a curved outer wall and two straight inner walls. One of the buttresses that supported the roof intruded and filled one corner. Two small windows were set in the curved wall, both screened by curtains. Daniel had expected a mere cot—a truckle bed at best—but a proper bed with a headboard and footboard had been carried in, even though it filled most of the space. With its plump pillows, fresh linens, and thick feather-filled comforter, the bed was a very welcome sight.

  Other than that, the room contained a small nightstand beside the bed, a washstand with basin and pitcher, and a chest on which Raven or Morris had left Daniel’s brushes; his traveling bag sat alongside.

  Every surface was spotless, and beeswax scented the air, noticeable even over the tang of the logs burning cheerily in the small grate.

  A lamp had been left on the nightstand, its flame turned low. Claire adjusted the wick and warm light filled the room, combining with the flickering flames of the fire to create a golden glow. Straightening, she glanced around, then, with no other option offering itself, sat on the bed and looked up at him.

  He held her gaze for a second, then he closed the door and crossed to sit beside her.

  Claire clasped her hands loosely in her lap; she glanced once at Daniel—took in his encouraging expression—then fixed her gaze on her fingers. “I know that you, Melinda, and the others—everyone, in fact—thinks that the reason I’ve so trenchantly turned my back on a second marriage is because I loved my husband so deeply that I did not wish to replace him. That because I had loved him to that degree, and because our marriage was such a loving one, I had vowed to cleave to his memory and not remarry.”

  She drew breath, then said, “That’s true in one way and entirely false in another.” She glanced at Daniel. “When I tried to explain and dissuade you from pursuing me, I told you that I did not know whether I could ever commit properly to another marriage. That was the truth at that point, and the reason for it lies in the
real story of my marriage.”

  Shifting her gaze to the flames in the hearth, she went on, “I was the second of two children, but my much older brother was killed in the wars. Then when I was sixteen, my parents died in a carriage accident. They were reasonably well connected and had been comfortably well-to-do, so they left me decently provided for, at least financially. But they had no close relatives able to care for a sixteen-year-old young lady-to-be. They left me to the guardianship of older friends—a family who lived happily in the Dales, largely out of society. When I turned nineteen, the family arranged for me to go to London and be presented under the aegis of a Lady Mott, a kindhearted soul who made her way by using her position in society to launch…well, young ladies like me. She took me in and duly presented me, and I caught the eye of a dashing gentleman by the name of Randall Meadows. He was the grandson of a viscount on his mother’s side, and as handsome, charming, and debonair a gentleman as any young lady could possibly wish for.

  “I…I fell in love, or thought I did. But to my surprise, Lady Mott tried to steer me away from Randall. When I challenged her, she could say nothing definite against him. However, she wrote to my guardians, as she was bound to do, and they wrote firmly advising me against accepting a proposal from Randall.” She paused, then said, “Over all the hours we had together, Randall was never once anything other than handsome, debonair, and charming to me. He proposed and I accepted. I knew that although my guardians might disapprove, they would never cause a scandal by trying to overturn a marriage.”

  She looked down at her now tightly laced fingers. “Randall and I married via a special license—I wrote a letter, supposedly from my guardians, giving their permission. Looking back, I realize that even his friend who stood up with him had concerns, but Randall carried all—me included—before him. In hindsight, I was impossibly naive, but…” She paused, then went on, “Throughout the months of our marriage, I was deliriously happy. Our marriage seemed perfect—Randall was attentive, or at least as attentive as I expected, and although we only lived in lodgings, I accepted that we needed to take the time to find the right place to live, the right house.”