O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,277

man and would very likely trounce even Stiles in a fist fight, his face bore a gentle demeanor, with a high brow, soft, brown eyes and a sensitive mouth. His shirt was unbuttoned half to the waist, sleeves rolled up, and beads of sweat adorned his brow. He carried a cup of steaming brown liquid, and Ross inhaled the scent of chocolate.

“Edward,” Alice said. “This is my husband, Ross Trelawney. Ross, my love, this is Edward, Mr. Scrimgeour.” She gave Scrimgeour a saucy smile, “…neighbor, savior, midwife and cook—all rolled into the one man.”

Scrimgeour approached the bed, and handed the cup to Alice. “Mrs. Trelawney, I only did what any man would have done.”

She caught his wrist and he stilled.

“No,” she said. “You didn’t.” She glanced at the sleeping child. “You brought about a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

Scrimgeour looked down, discomfort in his eyes, as if he had no idea how to react to a compliment.

Perhaps he had never experienced compliments.

Or kindness.

Ross approached him, and held out his hand. Scrimgeour’s eyes widened, as if he were trying to figure out what to do with it.

“Permit me to shake your hand, my good man,” Ross said. “It’s woefully inadequate to express my gratitude, but it’ll have to do for the present. I am forever in your debt, sir. And, if my wife has no objection, it would give me great pleasure if you would spend Christmas Day with us, at Pengarron, tomorrow.”

Scrimgeour colored and glanced at Alice. “Your wife—would it be safe to move her?”

“Of course it’s safe!” Alice said. “And Ross is right. I insist on your joining us tomorrow. Nobody should be alone at Christmas, not when there’s good friends to spend it with.”

“Friends?”

“Yes,” Ross said. “From this day on, I would be honored to call you my friend.”

Scrimgeour took Ross’s hand, then looked up, his gaze clear and unashamed. He blinked and a bead of moisture formed in the corners of his eyes.

Then he smiled and nodded.

“The honor is mine.”

Edward clasped Trelawney’s proffered hand. How many years had it been since someone had offered friendship—genuine friendship, without asking for anything in return? Friends had come and gone, abandoning him when the rumors had spread after Isabella’s death. But this man with the dark gray eyes was different. He possessed an air of open honesty, surpassed only by that of his wife, the brave little soul who’d brought her child into the world in Edward’s home.

And such a small thing it was, too! He’d been terrified to touch the little thing for fear she’d fall apart in his hands. So he had stood back, while her mother followed her instincts and swaddled the child in the blanket he’d found in the attic—the blanket he’d bought for his own child. An insignificant object, but it had represented Edward’s failure to exorcise the ghost of Isabella. By preserving material possessions, he’d perpetuated the grief.

But the dead didn’t care whether he kept their possessions hidden away in a shrine to their memory. What mattered was the living. Giving the blanket to Mrs. Trelawney and her child was the first step in washing away the pain of losses over which he’d had no control. The act of giving was the first step to the absolution of his soul.

For the first time since Isabella’s death, he began to believe that he could forgive himself.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood in the doorway, watching the couple, so obviously in love. Not the love which existed on the surface, or one borne of need and desire—but the deep love of a soulmate. Though he might never find a soulmate of his own, it soothed his soul to witness the happiness of others.

He smiled to himself as Trelawney attempted to scold his wife for venturing out into the night. Her bravery while enduring childbed pains had told Edward enough of her strength of will, and the futility of preventing her from doing anything she’d set her mind to. But nevertheless, Trelawney persisted.

“Alice, what on earth possessed you to venture out? And for a dog!”

She glanced at Edward and shame pricked at his conscience. She’d braved the weather because she’d feared he would harm her daughter’s little dog.

Then she smiled at him, forgiveness in her eyes. “I believe Twinkle has taken a liking to Mr. Scrimgeour’s stables,” she said. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to find her, Ross?”

“Let me,” Edward said. “The two of you need some time together.”

“No,” Mrs. Trelawney replied. “Ross, go