O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,15

’tis only a few times a day I’m reminded of her.”

“And it’ll get easier.” Agata sank down in the chair. “One day ye’ll realize ye’re nae longer grieving her, but remembering her fondly.”

“I loved her.”

His aunt studied him. Finally, she nodded. “I ken ye did, Callan. And part of ye will always love her. But she was part of yer life for such a short time, and ’twould be a shame to spend the rest of yer life locked away from joy, instead of allowing yerself to celebrate the time ye had together.”

The thought hurt. It wasn’t the first time she’d suggested he might one day love again, and Callan pushed aside the idea. But to have her hint at that now, during the Yule season, when families were supposed to be together…

He shifted his hold on his son, bringing Adam’s soft cheek in contact with the skin where Callan’s shirt gaped open. The sensation was soothing.

“At least I have Adam,” he managed in a gruff tone, trying to hide the sadness in his heart.

Agata, of course, heard the truth. “Aye, ye do,” she said softly. “And one day, that sweet bairn—my grandbairn, although I still have trouble believing I’m auld enough to be a Gammy—will be Laird Mackenzie. He represents yer—all of our—futures.”

’Twas much pressure to put on such a small set of shoulders. But Callan had been only a few years older when his father had died, leaving him as laird, with a drunken uncle as his regent.

God willing, he’d have many, many years ahead to teach and train wee Adam.

“Callan.” At Agata’s gentle call, he met her eyes. Smiling softly, she said, “Ye’ll never forget Fia, and ye shouldnae. Ye’ll see her each time ye look at yer dear son. But…” She shifted forward, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with sudden intensity. “But yer life is no’ over just because ye’ve laid yer wife to rest.”

Irritation flashed at the suggestion, and Callan looked away, not willing to let her see it.

If she did see it, she didn’t care. “Callan, ye have so much to offer. Yer love and yer life are no’ over. Ye’ll have the chance to share both again, and I dinnae want ye to miss that chance.”

How does she ken?

The thought sparked a frown, and Callan glanced back at her. The years had been kind to his stepmother-turned-aunt, and she was still as beautiful as he remembered. But still…what did she know of finding love again?

“How do ye ken?” he snapped, “Ye never loved my father.”

His aunt—the woman who’d once been his stepmother—glanced down at her folded hands, and Callan felt a stab of shame.

He’d met Agata when he’d been a lad of five, and she’d come to Mackenzie land to marry his father. David Mackenzie had been a hard man, harsh and often cruel. Agata had been wee Callan’s safe haven, gentle and caring, and able to create the most brilliant oil paintings the lad could imagine.

When his father died, Agata returned to her family, and Uncle Jaimie returned to act as Callan’s regent. They’d been miserable until Aunt Jean had brokered a betrothal between Jaimie and Agata.

So the dear woman had gone from his stepmother to his aunt, but she’d always—always—been a mother to him. And he shouldn’t have snapped at her.

“I’m sorry, Agata.” He tried to gentle his tone and his irritation. “I ken my father wasnae—”

“Yer father is a wonderful man.”

The soft words stopped him.

Is a wonderful man?

David Mackenzie had been dead for years.

Callan’s heart began to pound, and he shifted his son to his other shoulder, in case the lad could feel the slamming of that organ against Callan’s ribcage.

Yer father is a wonderful man.

There was that suspicion…that question which Callan had asked himself so many times as a child. The knowledge that aye, Jaimie was his uncle, but the two of them were more alike than different. Callan had wrestled with that knowledge for years, before deciding ’twas better not to ask.

But now…

“My father?”

Agata met his eyes, and he read guilt—and defiance—in their depths. “I love Jaimie more than I can explain, Callan. But I love ye, too, and yer brothers. Each bairn I conceived, I loved more than I could explain. My love is bottomless; none of ye will ever have to worry about me loving one more than the other. But having bairns changes ye. Ye realize the all-consuming passion ye might hold for one other person is only one kind of love.”

Aye, the love he felt