O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Mr. Ruthven had carefully courted her for the past six months. He was new to the village. Many villagers regarded him with suspicion, and shifted restlessly through his hour-long sermons every Sunday. He reminded them of their sins on a regular basis, but he did visit the poor. He had a good heart.

  She sighed. She had no time for Fergus Ruthven today. No doubt he would follow her around, discussing the arrangements for the Christmas services, and what would happen when it snowed. It would snow, for sure, but on this side of Scotland, the west, it was warmer than the more exposed eastern side, and snow often arrived after Christmas.

  She huffed a laugh. Warmer was relative. Pulling her woolen shawl closer around her, she blew out a breath that fogged the window, but it cleared as soon as it had hit. The windows here were the old ones, small mullions fastened in the casements with lead strips. Little drafts crept up to surround her. But she was used to it.

  That horse was making good ground. As she watched, she factored Mr. Ruthven into her day, pushing the discussion with Cook on the day’s menu aside. Cook knew how to feed the servants. Most of the house was under Holland covers, and she’d planned to set the maids to polishing the furniture and checking everything was in order. Perhaps wash that disgracefully sooty painting above the fireplace in the grand hall. No, the Yule Log would make it even worse. She’d make a note to do it after the festivities.

  Her quiet time was over. She left the room and clattered down the spiral stone staircase. The door that had hidden it was long gone, removed by the English soldiers when they came to search, and never replaced. What was the point? Everybody knew about it now.

  Two years ago, the duke had brought his bride here, and their small son. Her family had descended on them, and turned the castle into a place of joy and frantic activity. Rhona had loved it, but when the weather permitted, they’d all left. The duke had never returned, but his brother-in-law, a keen astronomer, had brought his wife here sometimes. Apparently, the turret room on the other side of the house, the north facing one, was perfect for making observations. But they arrived, lived privately and left.

  This season was the only time the castle came to life, like the old days when the current duke’s father had made it his home.

  Down another flight of stairs, this set covered in rough drugget so that footsteps did not echo through the castle and then to the carpeted floor, to where the family lived. Down from that was the main floor, the grand salon with its carved stone ceiling and the music room, instruments long gone out of tune. Rhona used to have them tuned once a year, but what was the point, when nobody played them?

  Turning, she made for the side stairs leading to a lesser hall and door. Still not the one the servants used, but more intimate, the one the family used to use every day, the one closest to the stables. Perhaps if she met Mr. Ruthven, she could tell him how busy she was and let him go. Let him trail after her for half an hour. He’d soon tire of the exercise.

  The stairs turned and as she reached the landing, Rhona glanced down on the black-and-white tiled hall.

  A trail of muddy footprints marred the perfect squares. Mr. Ruthven knew better than that. She kept shoes and slippers in the garden room so visitors could remove their muddy boots before they came in.

  But the figure standing there was broader than Ruthven’s tall, slender form. This man’s shoulders filled out his brown coat in an uncompromising way, as Mr. Ruthven had never managed. As the visitor took off his greatcoat, she had time to take in the powerful form, the way his muscles flexed under the cloth of his gray wool riding coat. A fine coat, too, despite its plainness, the fabric bearing the sheen of a close weave, following the form beneath.

  She knew who it was. Her stomach somersaulted.

  He turned and hung the greatcoat on a peg, and then took off his hat and hung it above, as if he knew this place well. Then he stilled as if he sensed her presence, although as soon as she’d seen him, she’d remained still.

  Awareness thrummed through her as he stood there, unmoving.

  She spoke his name. “Frederick?”

  Turning, sending his coat skirts spinning around him, he opened his arms. Without another thought, Rhona flung herself down the stairs and into them.

  His arms closed around her as if he would never let her go, and she lifted her face for his kiss. He bent to her.

  That firm, full mouth, the feel of his arms holding her safe sent Rhona hurtling back, years disappearing as their lips melded, caressed and stroked. Her arms went about his waist, under his coat, his waistcoat buttons pressing so hard against her they could leave marks. She wore her soft stays today, so her womanly armor was flimsy, no protection at all.

  He licked into her, his taste melting the space between them, her carefully built-up resistance to the most painful of memories. She would give her soul for more of this, for this never to stop. Here, in his arms, she was complete, as she’d always been.

  His groan reverberated down her throat, enhancing her response, as if he were deep within her, living there.

  A chill crept down her spine, a foreboding. Of course, he lived there. He always had.

  They could have stood there, kissing and touching all day except that one of them came to their senses, and remembered that life existed outside their conjoined mouths, their bodies pressed closely together.

  She pushed against his shoulders. It was like trying to move padded iron. The padding did nothing to hide the power of the muscles beneath. Easing away, she forced a laugh, tried to make things light. “You didn’t have those muscles when you left.”

  His hold on her loosened. He gazed at her, deep blue eyes clouded with passion. Rhona forced herself not to dive straight back into their power. Although over ten years has passed since she last saw him, it could have been yesterday. Memories she’d suppressed for years rose up to torture her anew.

  “I’ve come home. I’m done with active service.” His gaze remained steady, but tension tightened the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes.

  Why would the army not want him? Or had he made the decision to leave? They were in the middle of a war. Why would they let an officer of his experience go?

  Every day, Frederick appeared in her life in one form or another. Places in the house where he’d kissed her, or talked to her. Grief died, or so they said, but hers had never done so. Sucking in a deep breath to bolster her determination, she stepped back.

  With shaking fingers, she smoothed her practical gown of dark cloth, shook her plain linen apron to put herself to rights. Lifting her hand to her head, she found her cap in disarray, and she tugged it. A hairpin tinkled to the floor. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of her reaction to him.

  He tucked her hand through his arm. “Come. Order tea and we’ll talk like two civilized humans for a while. But I can’t promise not to fall on you like a starving man at the least provocation. Because I am, you know.” He leaned in, murmured in her ear, the hot breath tickling the rim. “Starving. For you.”

  She did her best to ignore his provocative comment. She stayed with him as they climbed the stairs. On the landing, she called down to the hall for tea. “Serve it in the portrait gallery,” she called out. “And have the covers taken off the parlor, the dining room and the best bedroom. We need to open up the house. Major Lord Glinn is here.”

  Fortunately, Elsie McHeath, the head housemaid, stood below, so Rhona could be confident her orders would be efficiently carried out. She didn’t have to mention fires. Elsie would ensure the fires were lit, beds aired and fresh candles put in all the holders. Rhona would have to talk to Cook about dinner, too.

  “Shall I send to the village for more people?” Elsie called up.

  He answered before she could. “Not yet. I don’t take much looking after. By the way,” he added, “I’m a colonel.”

  “Oh, goodness, I am so sorry!” The last she’d heard, he’d held the rank of major.

  “No matter.”

  He would keep the rank after
he sold out, so they should get it right.

  “I was injured. Badly. But as you see, I am still here. I came here to talk to you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re involved.”

  “How?” They had parted long ago. Despite their kiss which, if she worked hard enough, she could persuade herself was a kiss of greeting, they were not together and never would be.

  “I’ll tell you when I’ve had my tea.”

  The castle was built on four stories, an unadorned foursquare keep. The portrait gallery was on the third, an attempt by a previous occupant to create a fashionable room. He’d succeeded well, turning what had been a drafty, thankless place into a comfortable family home. But drafts still whistled up the corridors when the wind lay in the wrong quarter, and Rhona and her cohorts fought a constant battle against the encroachment of the damp, corrosive, salty sea air.

  The gallery, as large as the keep allowed, had carved wood decorations which were mentioned in atlases and visitor books. Some famous artist had created them in London, and they’d been hauled up here and put in place, fantastical carvings of flowers and foliage, with the occasional scroll of paper and a few other items that had fascinated Rhona over the years.

  Frederick went straight over to the carvings over the mantel, of birds swooping between branches. “There he is.” Lifting a hand, he touched the blackbird, stroked down his meticulously carved plumage. “I missed him. I thought of him sometimes, especially when—” He cut off his words.

  “When you were hurt,” she said. The thought of him hurt and alone made her heart ache.

  He paused, his hand on the bird’s beak, and then he turned. “Yes. It hurt, of course. Damned agonizing, but at least I knew what it was and why it had happened. Before, when the army turned me into a spy, that hurt more.”

  “They did what?”

  “Adam didn’t tell you?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  He considered, a crease between his brows. “Of course. He probably thinks what we had died long ago. I wager you never mentioned it.”

  “No. I have a living to make, a job to do. And I should call you ‘my lord’.”

  He flung out his hand. “Oh, no. Never, ever.”

  “I have to, you know. Housekeepers don’t call their masters by their first names.”

  “I’m not your master. This is my brother’s house.” He paused, his frown deepening. His arm lay over the mantelpiece, touching the edge of the clock. She imagined those fingers stroking her bare skin, until she brought herself back down to earth.

  “Here, let me put a tinder to the flames.” She reached for the tinderbox on the mantelpiece, and busied herself striking a light. She got the fire going, filling in the time before Elsie brought the tea.

  Elsie exchanged one, exasperated glance with Rhona that said, “Why couldn’t he tell us he was coming?” before she put the tea on the side table and curtseyed, before turning to leave the room.

  “Elsie, can you ask Cook to draw up a menu for dinner, please? She knows what his lordship likes.” Cook had been here forever.

  Elsie murmured agreement and left, closing the door quietly behind her. They listened to her soft footsteps before either one said anything.

  “You always did have the last word,” he murmured. “I suppose you’ll have to use the honorific when there are others about. You called the maid Elsie. What should I call her?”

  “Elsie,” she told him. “All the staff here are either MacKay or McHeath. It gets too complicated. We call the cook, because she’s another Elsie, McHeath.”

  He chuckled. “In private, please only ever use my given name.” He strolled over to the wall where the most recent portraits were hung. Two ranks of them, one above the other, the older higher than the current ones. “Or ‘darling’.”

  She hurried to correct him. “I can’t call you that.”

  “Yes, you can. I intend to call you ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love of my life’.”

  She walked quickly towards him. “No! You mustn’t do that. People will talk!”

  “I want them to. Oh, not until…” he huffed a laugh. “But I’m getting ahead of myself.” He turned back to the portraits and smiled at the painted image of his brother. “Adam looks every inch the duke, does he not?”

  “Yes, and his duchess is equally perfect.”

  “You’ve met her, of course.” He smiled when she nodded. “Delphi is perfect for Adam.” He glanced around. “Let’s sit down.”

  A long, padded bench stood against the wall by the fire. He took her hand and led her to it, pressed her down. She watched as he went back to the table and poured tea for them both. He brought both dishes over, just as if she weren’t the servant here and he the master.

  The housekeeper in Rhona was relieved to discover that Elsie had chosen the second-best tea service, not the thick, white pottery they used every day. And pleased that the porcelain had been kept clean and polished. Her fingers shadowed the fine porcelain when she lifted her dish and took a tentative sip. She needed something to calm her nerves, and tea served very well. He’d even remembered how she liked it, with a spot of milk and one small chip of sugar.

  She sipped her tea, felt the hot liquid warm her from the inside out.

  He put his empty dish and saucer on the floor, since there wasn’t a table near the bench. Careless, she thought. “After they separated us, they made me promise not to contact you in any way, my mother and brother.”

  So had she, but wild horses wouldn’t drag that out of her. What was the point of raking over old coals?

  “We thought we had something wild and free, until we were discovered.” Then reality hit hard.

  Rhona shuddered at the memory. Her mother and the duke found them in bed together, and then all hell broke loose. Rhona had barely passed sixteen.

  “It was impossible.” She stared into her half-empty dish, the terrible memories overwhelming her.

  He took her tea, placed it beside his, then turned and clasped her hands. “But I never forgot you. As the years passed, every night when I went to sleep, I thought of you. Every damned night. I want you back, Rhona.”

  Her mind scrambled. She’d found tranquility, a way of carrying on after he’d left. He joined the army, she stayed here with her mother. When her mother died, three years ago, she inherited her position.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She’d grown well practiced in that.

  He gazed into her eyes and she met his eyes boldly, daring him to deny it. Eventually, he sighed. “I came here determined to give you—us—one last chance. Remember how we were?”

  Of course, she did. She lingered on the past every day, although she fought not to. “We were young. Too young.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s as impossible as it always was.”

  “Not necessarily. Come with me, Rhona. Let me care for you. I—”

  The temptation was too much. “I must go.” She got abruptly to her feet. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  He hadn’t mentioned marriage. All those years ago, he had spoken of it. But now—there was only one way they could be together. She must give up her respectability, her pride in herself, and become his mistress. That must be what he meant. Even when she thought of the disgrace that came with that, she was tempted.

  All those years ago, the duke had been painstakingly rebuilding the family fortune after their father had lost everything fighting for the Stuarts, and then died on Culloden Field. But that part of their lives had changed. The duke was wealthy now, and his brother would be rich, too. He had a glittering future ahead of him, even if he did not see active service again. He could keep her. Mistresses to great men had good lives. Could she do it?

  “Wait. I have a gift for you, Rhona.”

  A trinket? She would not refuse a memento. “Do you?” Whatever it was, she would treasure it. As long as he didn’t try to press diamonds on her. She couldn’t accept those.


  “Come to my room tonight and I’ll give it to you.”

  So there it was. Resume their affair, become his mistress and then leave with him. Could she? Would she?

  She waited, lips primmed.

  “After dinner, will you come?”

  She hesitated. “I might.”

  “We must talk.”

  He was right. They should talk.

  For the rest of the day, Rhona avoided him. Or rather, took on tasks Frederick would not be involved in, or remained in places like her sitting room in the basement, where he could not come without alerting the staff. They operated on a small staff. Since the main rooms were shrouded, they did not need constant care, only removing the covers, cleaning and checking everything was still in good order. The rest of the business of the castle concerned the estate attached to it, and since the steward only came every quarter to collect rents, Rhona took on a lot of those simple tasks, too. After the butler left, Rhona assured his grace that they could manage perfectly well, as long as he brought his own upper servants with him when they planned to visit.

  She brought the account books up to date and read the letters from the tenants. Nothing too urgent, except a hole in the roof of one of the cottages. She’d have to ensure that was repaired properly before the bad weather set in. The really bad weather.

  His lordship took his dinner alone. Rhona had no part in that, except to remind Cook that Colonel Lord Glinn detested cabbage. “Och, I’ll do it for him with a bit of bacon,” Cook said, until Rhona explained patiently that tactic had never worked before, and wouldn’t work any better this time. The household was in a state of excitement. The duke and his family hadn’t visited the castle for years.

  She went through the amended schedule with Elsie, who assured her that she and her fellow housemaid could handle the opening of the rooms easily. “It’s good to get advent behind us,” Elsie remarked. “I’ll put a few sprigs of holly around, but we’ll get to the real business at Christmas.”

  Rhona sighed. “Yes.” She leaned back in her creaky wooden chair that she’d covered with cushions. The most comfortable chair in the whole house, she often declared. It didn’t feel comfortable tonight.