A Christmas Ball

by Emily Bryan

  Dougal explained at the hastily prepared supper the stunned cook gave them that he’d come to Hertfordshire straight from Cambridge. He mourned that he’d arrived too late for the fun when Julia and Sir John told him a breathless tale of events. Mary found that she could not speak of it, and Valentin had disappeared, likely to the magistrate’s house with the prisoners.

  Mary noted distractedly as the other three talked that Julia spoke to Dougal in a friendly, uninhibited way. Julia did not try to preen or be witty; she simply talked to him like she would a friend. Mary found it refreshing, and she could tell that Dougal liked Julia.

  Mary breathed a sigh of relief when she finally retreated to her room to pack. She jumped only slightly when Valentin opened the door and walked quietly inside.

  “Be thankful that I am used to your abrupt comings and goings,” she said. “Or I would have screamed.”

  “You do not scream,” Valentin said in a low voice. “Except on special occasions.”

  His dark tone made her hands shake. “Is all well?”

  She expected him to approach her, but Valentin remained heartbreakingly far away. “Duke Rudolfo has fully surrendered to take his punishment. He seems relieved.”

  “And the duchess?”

  Valentin’s smile was wry. “Not so relieved. But she knows she will not win.”

  “She is a regular Lady Macbeth, isn’t she?” Mary moved to the dressing table and folded leather gloves into a box.

  “Duchess Mina had many ambitions.”

  “Funny to think that Sir John was right all along. He was the intended target, which is why they enticed him out here in the first place. I recall now what Sir John said when he was introduced to the ambassador at the Hartwell Ball. Remember? He mentioned all the braid that Nvengarians purchased from England and suggested they were for uniforms. I wondered vaguely why Nvengarians did not have their own braid makers, but I had other things on my mind.”

  “As did I,” Valentin said. “Seeing you erased everything else from my thoughts. I paid no attention.”

  “Well, we should have noticed.” Mary shut the lid of the glove box, finding it difficult to breathe for some reason. “The ambassador wanted new uniforms for the army he would raise for the new Nvengaria. But he could not very well order them made in Nvengaria, could he? Sir John did not know why it was important, but they could not risk him inadvertently telling someone who might understand.”

  No wonder the duchess had been so adamant to get Julia and Sir John out of London and down here, isolated from the rest of the world. They would be far from their friends, and Sir John might “accidentally” fall through the ice or be hit by a stray shot from a winter shooting party. The country was not always a safe place—hadn’t the doctor mentioned a boy who’d been gored by an ox?

  “They did not seem to mind so much my knowing,” Valentin mused. “They thought I was on their side.”

  Mary shoved the box aside in annoyance. “Duchess Mina filled my head with the nonsense that you still burned for revenge on her husband. So I would believe that you really did hire the shooters. If Sir John died, she was ready to push the blame onto you. Bloody woman.”

  Valentin came to her, his face lined and tired. “She was not wrong. I hated Rudolfo, though I would not admit it. I pretended even to myself that I had forgiven him, but I secretly hoped I would have to kill him.” He cupped her cheek with his palm. “You knew that. You stopped me from being a murderer.”

  Mary’s eyes filled. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering more because of them. I wanted to keep you free. So you could be with me.”

  Valentin tipped her head back to make her look into his eyes. She loved his eyes, so deep blue and filled with power, sorrow, and a caring she wanted to reach.

  “You told your son we would be married.”

  “And I meant it.” Mary held his gaze, wishing she could project what she felt for him right into his head. “If you’ll have me.”

  “I told you I have nothing to offer you.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want palaces and gold plates and jewels, Valentin. I have a small house in Edinburgh and rooms of my own at Castle Macdonald. You have your estate in Nvengaria. We will always have a home, and that is all I want. A home. And you.”

  Valentin slid his arm around her waist, caught a tear on his thumb. “All I want is you, my Mary. I thought that would not be enough for you.”

  “’Tis more than enough. ’Tis riches.”

  “Mary.” Valentin put relief into the word. He nuzzled the line of her hair, then moved his warm lips to hers. Mary felt her clothes loosen, his hands on her bare skin. “Enough packing for tonight, I think,” he whispered.

  “Will you start back to Nvengaria tomorrow? With the ambassador?”

  “No.” Valentin smiled, his blue eyes warm. “I resigned. The bodyguards were all handpicked by Grand Duke Alexander. They will get the ambassador and his wife back without delay. I have sent a message to Alexander not to expect me with them.”

  Mary’s heart leapt with hope. “Then will you come home with me?”

  “To London?”

  “No, to Scotland. I have run away long enough. We might miss Christmas Day, but Hogmanay is the bigger celebration anyway.”

  “I think I would be pleased to see Castle Macdonald again. It holds for me the happiest memories of my life.” Valentin’s eyes darkened, and he leaned to kiss the curve of her neck. “Except for my memory of this room, two nights ago.”

  “It is a splendid memory for me, too.”

  “We will make another memory.” Valentin feathered kisses down her throat. “One that will last a lifetime.”

  “I love you,” Mary whispered, her heart in her words.

  “I love you, my Highland Mary.” Valentin’s eyes danced in sudden amusement. “But perhaps I should not allow you to carry my saber.”

  Mary sent him a wicked look. “You are absurd. A claymore is much more effective.”

  He laughed, and she twined her hands behind his neck. “May we begin making those memories now?”

  “By all means.” Valentin swept her into his strong arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  “I want to love you all night, Valentin.” Mary touched his face as he laid her down, and then his warm weight pressed her into the bed. “And tomorrow, we’ll go home.”

  Epilogue

  When they reached Castle Macdonald several days later, Mary insisted that Valentin knock on the door and enter first. Julia and Sir John, a bit breathless from the precarious ride up the hill to the castle perched on top, watched, mystified, as Valentin approached the huge door. Dougal grinned, knowing why Mary had insisted.

  The courtyard was strangely deserted, the castle quiet. Valentin pounded on the thick door, but only silence met them when the echoes died away. He tried the door, found it unlocked, and pushed it open.

  Cheers and laughter erupted from inside the brightly lit castle. A young Nvengarian woman rushed forward, her arms outstretched, and the tall, massive form of Mary’s brother followed her. Egan Macdonald balanced a tiny cloth-wrapped bundle in his great hand.

  “Welcome, First Footer!” the young woman cried, hugging Valentin. “Remember, Valentin, you were to have been First Footer last year? And then…”

  “I got shot,” Valentin said. He’d been left to die out in the cold, but Egan had found and rescued him. Then Mary had gone to Valentin’s chamber to nurse him, finding him bare in his bed…

  “I have brought your sister,” Valentin said. He drew Mary into the circle of his arm. “And Dougal. And friends.”

  The band of Highlanders inside cheered again. Egan’s cousin Angus roared, “More friends, more whiskey!”

  Mary held out her arms for Egan’s bundle. Egan relinquished it carefully, and Mary peeled back a blanket to gaze at the next heir to Castle Macdonald. Charlie Olaf Macdonald had been born not long before Mary had departed, and Mary marveled at how much he’d grown in the scant weeks she’d be
en gone. She remembered wanting to escape the collective joy of the house, a joy she’d not felt part of.

  She realized how foolish she’d been. Of course she was part of the happiness, and now she could draw Valentin into it.

  Mary handed the baby back to Zarabeth, who hugged Charlie to her as though he were the most precious thing on earth.

  “There will be more celebration at Hogmanay,” Mary said. “I have asked Valentin to be my husband.”

  Valentin enfolded Mary from behind. “And I have accepted.”

  Egan threw back his head and laughed. “That’s my sister. Never a demure, soft-spoken creature was she! As laird, let me be the first to say: Welcome to the family. If ye can stand us, that is.”

  The Macdonald clan behind him yelled at this and pelted Egan with bits of mistletoe. Valentin rested his cheek against Mary’s hair, his unshaved whiskers pleasantly rough. “I believe I will be able to stand it,” he said. Mary turned and met his lips with hers.

  “Och, and there is nae even mistletoe above them,” Dougal said in mock disgust.

  Egan and Zarabeth led them all into the Great Hall, Valentin with his arm around Mary. Everything was as Mary remembered—the high beams, the huge hearth, the sense of light and happiness. The long tables were laden with food, and fiddlers and drummers waited in the corner. As the family filed back into the hall, the musicians struck up a lively tune.

  Dougal seized Julia’s hands and danced her into the center of the room. Men and women paired up, and a flame-haired, buxom Macdonald woman even grabbed Sir John to be her partner.

  Mary clasped Valentin’s hands and spun around and around with him as the fiddlers played faster. Mary was a Highland lass, and this music was in her blood, as was her fighting spirit. She’d not be afraid to leave these shores and travel to far-off Nvengaria, because she knew now that friends awaited her there, too.

  It was inevitable that she and Valentin would come back here, always. She was a part of Scotland, as much as he was a part of Nvengaria. And no matter where she and Valentin roamed, it would always be home where they were—together.

  Valentin pulled Mary into his arms and held her close as the Highlanders danced around them. Julia was flushed with happiness, and Sir John attempted a mad jig that had everyone hooting with laughter.

  “Sophie would have loved this,” Valentin said, as he and Mary withdrew into a corner.

  “My darling, I am so sorry that I never got to meet her.”

  Valentin nodded. Sorrow still filled his eyes, but the anguish, the stark grief, had faded. “You would have loved her as I did. But she is with me again, in my heart. When you stopped me from killing the ambassador, she returned to me.” Valentin touched his chest. “She is happy for us.”

  Mary did not know whether he spoke metaphorically or if Nvengarian magic really did allow him to know what Sophie felt. It did not matter, she realized. Valentin had found his peace.

  Mary leaned against his tall strength. “Welcome home, my love.” She gestured to the Highlanders spinning to the music. “To all the family you can handle.”

  “I believe I can handle you best of all,” Valentin murmured. He licked the shell of her ear. “I look forward to bed.”

  “We had better wait, I think, unless you want them all following us upstairs and shouting lewd remarks outside the door.”

  Valentin looked surprised, but not alarmed. “I am happy to dance with you for now. Tonight, we will begin the rituals of Nvengarian courtship.”

  “Rituals? What sort of rituals?”

  His blue eyes, with their slightly inhuman cast, darkened with promise. “They are numerous, and all very erotic.”

  Pleasant heat snaked through Mary’s body. “I anticipate them with much interest.”

  “That is my brave Highland girl.”

  Mary kissed him again, ignoring the whoops from around the room as the kiss turned deep, passionate. Valentin traced Mary’s cheek, took her hands, and pulled her back into the dance.

  Traditions

  Alissa Johnson

  For my grandmothers, Patricia Louise Hansen and Violet Jane Johnson.

  Chapter One

  William Renwick, Earl of Casslebury had a plan.

  It was safe to assume that this would have come as a surprise to no one. William Renwick, Earl of Casslebury always had a plan. He was, by all accounts, a most organized individual.

  Some went so far as to call him a rather charming, but ultimately predictable and even cold individual. William took exception to that. In his estimation, a preference for order over chaos was not the mark of a dispassionate nature but rather that of a man in possession of a modicum (and therefore uncommon amount) of good sense. It was also a fairly reliable sign that the man had spent some portion of his life in uniform.

  If forced, William would have described himself as disciplined, responsible, and—again, if forced—perhaps just a touch stubborn.

  It was his sense of responsibility that had necessitated his most recently constructed plan. He would marry a young lady of good blood, excellent reputation, pleasant nature, and appealing physical appearance. He was four-and-thirty, and it was time he did his duty to his title by producing an heir. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t expected to outlive two cousins and an older brother to inherit the title; it was his now, and he would plan accordingly.

  But it was the aforementioned stubborn streak that had him executing his plan by striding down the halls of Lord Welsing’s London town house, peering into rooms and stopping to question any passing staff, while guests danced and laughed in the ballroom. The young lady crucial to his matrimonial campaign had gone missing. Again.

  Miss Caroline Meldrin seemed always to go missing. Not in such a way as to invite attention or ridicule, mind you. Rather, she made perfectly reasonable excuses and slipped away from ballrooms and parlors with her friend, Miss Patience Byerly, whenever one attempted conversation, or offered a dance, or looked directly at her for more than five consecutive seconds.

  It was damnably irritating.

  And he wasn’t having any of it tonight. How the devil was he to execute a well-planned courtship of Miss Meldrin if she kept herself hidden away with her friend? Or perhaps Miss Byerly was a paid companion. He didn’t think she was a poor relation. Whatever the connection, he was going to find both of them, secure Miss Meldrin for a waltz, and make absolutely clear his intention of courtship. If she didn’t care for the idea, she could damn well admit to it. He was quite done with chasing the chit around…or would be, after tonight.

  After a bit more searching, he found the two women in the library, tucked away in a large window seat while an elderly man snored softly in a chair by the fire.

  Miss Meldrin, with her ivory skin, pale blonde hair, and soft blue eyes, looked a very pretty picture with the glow of candlelight casting streaks of gold across her petite form. Her feet were tucked up somewhere under her legs, which in turn were tucked up on the cushions of the window seat. Several wisps of hair had slipped free and curled around a heart-shaped face with a small mouth, high brow, and slender nose lightly dusted with freckles.

  Seemingly unconcerned with rousing the gentleman in front of the fire, she laughed merrily and pushed a small plate holding a thick slice of cake toward her friend.

  “Go on, then. Or I’ll not agree.”

  Miss Byerly scowled. From his position in the darkened hall, William considered Miss Byerly and concluded that she was a rather severe-looking creature, particularly when compared to her friend. She kept her feet on the floor, neatly hidden beneath the blue skirts of her gown, and her hands demurely folded in her lap. Her thick brown hair was pulled into a tight and unadorned knot at the back of her head, revealing an oval face with sharp cheekbones, wide mouth, and thin nose. Her rather plain brown eyes peered out from behind small round spectacles below sharply arched brows.

  William thought perhaps it was the hawkish eyebrows that lent her such a disapproving air, as if she were looking down
on a man, despite her relatively short stature. One always felt a bit chastised when talking to her.

  Which was why Miss Byerly did not feature in his matrimonial plans.

  Pity, really, that she wasn’t a bit softer. He’d spoken to her once or twice before and she seemed an intelligent sort, with an efficiency of speech and manner he appreciated.

  But he wasn’t in need of additional efficiency in his house. He was drowning in efficiency. He was in need of a feminine touch. He wanted a gentle woman, with a soft voice and open heart. Someone free with her laugh. Someone who could provide a bit of light in his life. Someone who wouldn’t make him feel on his wedding night as if he were bedding the governess.

  Confident in his assessment of Miss Byerly, and in his choice of bride-to-be, he straightened his cravat, brushed at his waistcoat, and otherwise readied himself to begin the overdue campaign for Miss Meldrin’s affection.

  But then, before he could enter the room, Miss Byerly did the most extraordinary thing he had ever had occasion to witness. She picked up the slice of cake with her ungloved hands—which was odd in and of itself—and then, to his supreme astonishment, began to slowly and methodically stuff it into her mouth.

  He stood in the shadow of the hallway and watched as she opened wide—tremendously wide—and very carefully wedged the thicker end in first. It caught at the sides of her mouth, leaving behind smudges of chocolate as she pressed the cake in deeper. Next came the center, which required a substantial amount of wiggling of Miss Byerly’s jaw, and then finally, with the confidence obviously born of extensive practice, she folded the remainder of the slice in half and neatly mashed it in with the rest.

  With her cheeks rounded like a fearful puffer fish, she daintily wiped her fingers on her napkin, and then used the napkin to dab gingerly at the upturned corners of her lips.