O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,21

Jewels’ offspring, but it must be difficult to keep them all straight sometimes. “Trouble-makers, as I recall.” From the way he grinned, that wasn’t an insult.

“Aye. They’re staying in the room beside my brothers. There’s space there for ye if ye’d like to sleep somewhere besides the hall. Find one of the servants and tell her I asked for a hot bath brought to my chamber.” He eyed his friend. “Ye look like ye could use it.”

The other man blinked. “Ye dinnae mind me using yer chamber?”

Callan shook his head. “I’ve…been given a lot to think about this morn. I was on my way out of doors to clear my head.”

“Well, ye have my thanks.” Tav dipped his chin. “And I hope ye find answers out there in the cold. The snow has stopped, and ’tis a stark sort of beauty.”

“The best kind,” Callan agreed before sending his friend up the stairs and waving down a giggling maid to send after Tav.

Then he pulled down his own thick wool cloak and jogged down the steps to the courtyard.

With the hood pulled up, he managed to avoid drawing attention to himself, for which he was grateful. Now that Tavish was here, there was a part of him which whispered, A day spent in front of the hearth with good friends and good food is no’ a misspent day. Callan could lose himself in the laughter and camaraderie and celebrations.

But as soon as he stepped out of the gates, he was glad he hadn’t listened.

He needed this. This quiet, this peace.

Taking a deep breath of the frigid air, Callan turned away from the village and pointed himself toward the forest that grew east of the keep. ’Twas not deep and dark, but rather welcoming. At least, he’d always felt that way.

He recalled afternoon walks with Agata before he’d grown enough that his duties and training kept him busy. The two of them would stroll across the dappled bed of leaves, pointing out colors and lighting, which would make lovely paintings. Most of the time, Agata succeeded in capturing the natural beauty, while Jaimie and Callan could only stand in awe at her painting ability.

The Mackenzies had to be the only clan in the Highlands that decorated their keep with more oil paintings than tapestries.

Stepping into the shelter of the trees, Callan pushed his hood off and tilted his head back, staring up at the pine branches. The imposing sentinels might’ve been cut for timber long ago, but he gave thanks to whatever ancestor deemed them worthy to remain standing. They offered shelter to animals, foraging for the villagers, and to their laird…peace.

The memory of the little girl, the one with the crutches who’d come out of the mist, flashed in his mind. The whole dream—from the moment the angel had appeared—had felt so ethereal…and the lassie was no exception.

Of course, today the landscape wasn’t ethereal; ’twas bright and stark, the sun reflecting off the new-fallen snow. But here, under the trees…there was a sort of otherworldly quality. The light dappled the ground, strewn with piles of long-dead needles, and the snow was less deep, blown into piles against the trunks.

Smiling, Callan pulled his cloak about him and strode deeper into the forest.

Why had he waited so long between visits to the woods? Even in the dead of winter, they were beautiful, reinvigorating. His sword slapped against his leg as he walked, but he knew he was in no danger. Nay, he had plenty of time to think now.

And his mind kept returning to the memory of that dream.

Nay. Dinnae think of what ye cannae control. Think instead about Jaimie.

Uncle Jaimie, who might actually be his father. He said he’d loved before—Callan’s own mother—but hadn’t understood what he’d felt for Aileen wasn’t really love. Agata had shown him what real love was and how precious that gift was.

Callan exhaled, his breath misting in the air before him, reminding him of the fog in his dreams.

Were Jaimie and Agata right? Would he find happiness again?

Was that dream a sign? If so, ’twas obvious Fia had not only given her blessing but had planted that peace in Callan’s mind.

Was Fia trying to tell him—from Heaven—that he’d find love again? He’d create another family?

But the lassie…how could Callan have a daughter so much older than Adam? Unless his wife had a daughter already. That must be the explanation; if the woman in the dream was future-Callan’s wife—and how could she not be, when he held her