By Winter's Light

by Stephanie Laurens

  Intrigued, he continued to surreptitiously watch Louisa and Therese as they spread out beneath the trees. Eventually, Therese spotted something; she turned and caught Louisa’s eye and beckoned her over.

  Louisa reached Therese and, having seen what her cousin had, nodded. With Therese, Louisa moved forward—

  “Mr. Crosbie—can you help me split this branch?”

  Daniel turned to see Annabelle dragging a bifurcated branch of holly toward him.

  She hauled it around so that he could see and pointed. “Quite aside from it being too big, that part is less pretty. We don’t want that bit.” Annabelle fixed her dark blue eyes on his face.

  The urge to look around and check what Louisa and Therese were doing warred with the instinct to respond to Annabelle, to the clear expectation of his immediate attention shining in her eyes.

  Instinct—and Annabelle’s eyes—won out. Gripping the hatchet, he went to examine the branch.

  By the time he had dealt with that, had helped Annabelle to add the neatly trimmed “pretty branch” to the growing pile of holly, and finally looked up, it was to see Juliet and Claire in animated discussion over a particular fir tree that was slightly different from the rest. Annabelle was now trudging back toward them. Straightening and scanning the surrounding forest, Daniel eventually located Louisa and Therese. Instead of being where they’d been when he’d stopped to deal with Annabelle—been distracted by Annabelle? He had to wonder—the pair were now heading toward him with several boughs of fir in their arms.

  He knew he could simply ask what they were about, and if he insisted they would probably tell him, but…he remembered what it was like, as a youth, to have plans one kept secret from the adults. That was part of leaving childhood, of growing up. He eyed both girls as they neared, but as he’d yet to see the slightest sign that whatever they were up to posed any danger, either to themselves or to others, he decided he should wait and observe.

  Laying down the fresh boughs for trimming, Therese asked, “Are there any boughs ready to go back to the sled?”

  Daniel pointed at the mound to his right. “Those are ready for loading.” He glanced at the pair in time to see the brief exchange of an eager glance.

  Louisa brightly said, “We’ll take them down and stack them.”

  Daniel watched as the two girls divided the good-sized pile between them, then, balancing the unwieldy branches in their arms, headed back down the slight slope to the sled.

  He hesitated, then, after setting down the hatchet, he moved silently away from the fallen tree and set off after them.

  When the girls reached the sled and halted, Daniel halted, too. From ten yards away, he watched them dump the boughs they’d carried on the ground before the sled. Then they reached over the sled and drew up a pile of softer-leafed greenery…mistletoe.

  They were gathering mistletoe.

  Daniel stared. Had they guessed? Had he been that obvious?

  Were they intending the mistletoe for him and Claire—playing matchmaker? He certainly wouldn’t put it past them.

  Or were they simply doing this by way of making the most of the spirit of the season?

  As he watched, Louisa and Therese spread the mistletoe in a layer on the boughs already on the sled, then proceeded to cover and conceal the finer-leafed greenery with the boughs of fir they’d just carried down.

  They were probably right in thinking that Claire, at least, would not encourage them to hang mistletoe, but what should he do? What should his stance be?

  Regardless of whether they were trying to specifically help him or not, he could use all the help he could get.

  “How much have we collected?” Claire said from behind him. “Do we need any more?”

  Daniel turned; from the corner of his eye, he saw Louisa and Therese shoot startled looks at him and Claire. Hands rising to his hips, he stood squarely between Claire and the sled, blocking her view of the sudden flurry of activity there. “We have plenty of fir, but I suspect we need more holly.”

  Claire glanced toward the sled, but he didn’t move.

  Instead, he pointed upslope to the pile of holly he’d trimmed and stacked beside the fallen tree. “That’s all the holly we have so far—at a guess, I would think you might need twice that much.”

  Boots crunched on pine needles as Louisa and Therese—both rather breathless—came up. “We’ve been gathering fir up to now,” Louisa said, pale green eyes innocently wide. “If we switch to gathering just holly, it shouldn’t take long to finish collecting what we need.”

  “I can’t wait to get back to the hall and hang everything up.” Therese’s anticipation was very real.

  It didn’t escape Daniel that nothing but the truth had passed their lips. Looking at Claire, he arched his brows. “That sounds like a viable plan.”

  Claire tipped her head in agreement. Louisa and Therese went ahead, moving swiftly up the slight slope to join Annabelle and Juliet, who had trailed behind Claire when she’d headed down to the sled. Claire turned and followed the girls, acutely aware of Daniel when he fell to pacing beside her.

  But neither felt moved to speak; after reclaiming their tools, they separated, following the girls under the trees. As Juliet was her true charge, Claire tended to gravitate instinctively to watching over her. Luckily, in this section of the wood, the bushes with the best holly—with the greenest of dark leaves and most amply supplied with the reddest of red berries—grew in a single large clump; even though she was watching Juliet, Claire could hear the other girls and could see them as they moved around the bushes.

  Somewhat less helpfully, Daniel took up station opposite her, keeping an eye on Louisa and Therese, and also Annabelle when she hove into his sight. Although his gaze wasn’t constantly on her, Claire knew he was there; it was disconcerting and somewhat irritating to discover just how much of a lodestone for her unruly senses he had become.

  But as they gathered in the holly, paying due attention to the thorny prickles, and nothing occurred to exacerbate her awareness, she gradually relaxed and found herself sharing genuine smiles with Juliet and, all in all, enjoying the moment.

  While listening and occasionally responding to Juliet’s artless chatter, Claire found her attention repeatedly caught by comments Daniel and the other girls exchanged. She found herself smiling at several; he was really very good with them.

  “Watch out!” he called.

  Claire shifted; boots scuffed, and she saw Daniel shoot out an arm—a bent-back holly branch, released, slapped against the thick sleeve of his overcoat.

  “Oh!” Louisa had been the one in line to get slapped—thorns and all. She looked up at Daniel and smiled, sincerely grateful. “Thank you—I forgot I’d hooked it back.”

  Disentangling the spiky leaves from his sleeve, Daniel asked, “Do you really need to burrow so far into the bush?”

  “That’s where the best berries are,” Therese pointed out.

  “Might I remind you that we will not be eating holly berries?” Daniel’s tone and the look he bent on the girls were resigned.

  When Therese and Louisa just blinked at him, then returned to ferreting past the outer branches to get to the branches with the best berries, Daniel sighed. “You do realize,” he said, to no one in particular, “that that would have worked if you’d been boys?”

  Several rude sounds were swallowed by girlish laughter.

  Softly laughing herself, Claire returned to helping Juliet gather the holly they’d collected.

  Juliet considered the pile. “More,” she said. She surveyed the bush they’d been plundering, eyes narrowing. “We have plenty of smaller pieces to weave into the fir. Perhaps we should take a larger branch—a signature piece for the main fireplace, perhaps.” She walked about the bush, peering this way and that, then she stopped and pointed. “How about that branch?”

  Claire looked. It was certainly a larger branch than they’d thus far attempted. “We can try.”

  Between them, using th
eir coated backs, they managed to press back the outer branches sufficiently to get access to the longer, arching branch Juliet had identified. It was, indeed, a handsome specimen of its kind and would do very well stretched along the mantelpiece over the hall’s main fireplace. Claire nodded at Juliet. “I’ll hold it—you saw.”

  Juliet’s face lit with eagerness. She set her handsaw in position and started sawing.

  The branch was several inches thick. Less than halfway through, Juliet’s saw blade stuck.

  Frowning in concentration, she tried to push it, then tried to pull it free, but it didn’t shift. Juliet released the saw handle along with a sound of frustration.

  Claire opened her mouth to suggest they trade places.

  Before she could speak, Juliet whirled around. “I’ll get Mr. Crosbie.”

  No! Claire stifled her instinctive response—and Juliet darted out and the branches held back by her body sprang forward.

  Trapping Claire where she stood.

  She couldn’t even move her arms from the branch she was supporting without risking tangling herself even more inextricably…she was trapped in the thicket of holly.

  She didn’t have time to even start to panic; Daniel, summoned by Juliet and followed by all the girls, arrived on the scene.

  He looked at her, assessing her situation—and she saw his lips firm as he struggled to hold in his laughter.

  His gaze collided with hers, and she narrowed her eyes in warning.

  Lips twisting, he looked down, then he handed his hatchet to Louisa. “Hold that—I’ll probably need it once I get in there.”

  Luckily, they were all wearing thick gloves. But Daniel had to pick aside each thorny branch barricading his way into the area in which she stood, insinuating his body into place as he did, so that the branches slid and snagged along his back.

  He was a great deal larger than Juliet; by the time he was standing where Juliet had been, Claire felt as if she daren’t take a breath. Not a deep one, anyway.

  After meeting her eyes, humor still very evident in his, he examined the jammed saw. He gripped the handle and tried to shift it, but it moved less than an inch before jamming again. He humphed, then glanced at Claire. “I’ll cut the branch using the hatchet, but first I’ll need to free the saw.” He looked at her gloved hands, still loosely gripping the branch. “When I say, can you bend the branch down?”

  When he glanced at her face, she nodded.

  He nodded back. “Use all your weight if you have to.”

  He turned back to the saw, examined it again, then twisted his head and called, “Hand me the hatchet.”

  Annabelle was the smallest; she wriggled as close as she could and threaded the hatchet, handle first, through the branches. Daniel reached back, grasped the handle, then, after glancing at Claire as if to reassure himself that she was all right, he focused on the jammed saw blade; he lined up the edge of the hatchet blade and eased it into the same groove. “All right. Pull down now.”

  Gripping more tightly, Claire dragged the branch down.

  Daniel forced the hatchet blade deeper and at the same time wrenched the saw blade free. “Good! Ease up.”

  Claire did as he bid and watched him twist and hand the saw out to Juliet.

  Turning back to the branch, he met her eyes. “Turn your head away. I’m going to hack through the branch, and I don’t want any flying splinters cutting you.”

  It was good advice. The only problem she had in following it was that to turn her head away from him, she had to shift her body, her shoulders… She ended with her shoulder lightly brushing his back.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Yes.” Really, this unlooked-for sensitivity was beyond ridiculous, yet her lungs had still seized, and her senses still waltzed.

  The sound of the hatchet biting into wood reached her; the branch jarred in her hands, and she tightened her grip, bracing the limb.

  “Thank you,” he murmured between thwacks.

  She could feel steely muscles shift fluidly in his back and upper arm as he hacked at the branch; the sensation riveted her senses.

  The branch cracked, then, on one last stroke of the hatchet, it came free in her hands. She had to shift to balance the weight, then she glanced at him—they were now standing shoulder to shoulder, their backs to the way out of the thicket, dozens of thorny branches blocking the route to freedom.

  She met his eyes; he looked into hers. “How are we going to get out?” she asked.

  The laughter in his eyes, just curling his mobile lips, invited her to laugh at their predicament with him.

  Somewhat to her amazement, she felt her lips lift in a reluctant smile.

  He glanced back, then to either side. “Girls—I want you to stand to either side of the spot Mrs. Meadows and I used to get in here, and then pull back all the branches you can reach and hold, but I don’t want you to step into the thicket, all right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Crosbie,” chorused four voices.

  Behind her, Claire heard the girls murmuring to each other; as usual, Louisa was directing. Claire couldn’t even turn around far enough to glance back at them. She looked at Daniel. Although his shoulder was still pressed to hers, he’d craned his neck to check on the girls. “Now what?” she asked.

  Her question drew his gaze back to her face—and, quite suddenly, it was as if they were alone, private…and if she hadn’t been sure, earlier, what he was thinking, what he intended regarding her, she knew now. It was there in his face, in his hazel eyes, in his direct and open gaze.

  Instead of the resistance—the refusal, the denial—she expected to rise up…her lungs constricted and her heart beat more heavily, and for one instant, she wondered…

  He glanced at the branch. “Is that heavy or can you hold it?”

  She blinked and had to think for a second before replying, “No—meaning yes, I can hold it. It’s not that heavy.”

  “Good. In that case”—he glanced again over his shoulder—“we’ll need to move slowly and together, or we’ll both end up stuck.” He met her gaze briefly, then leaned back a trifle to look along her back and past her, then he nodded. “All right. You’re going to have to turn toward me. We’ll have to juggle the branch—probably lifting it as high as you can and pushing it past me will be the best way. Then just keep turning slowly until you’re facing the way out, and I’ll keep the branches back and follow close behind you.”

  Claire nodded. She wasn’t going to think about this; if she did, her thoughts would end in a horrendous knot and paralyze her. Instead, she focused on doing as he said, on following his murmured directions as he and she adjusted and shifted, moving in slow motion together.

  The maneuver was a lot easier described than accomplished, and performing it inevitably and unavoidably led to their bodies touching, brushing, almost as if they were engaged in a dance, one that placed the partners as close as if not closer than a waltz.

  By the time she stepped free of the thicket into the space the girls had created, the prize branch of holly gripped like a staff in her hands, a blush had taken up permanent residence in her cheeks, and a wholly unexpected sense of triumph and exhilaration coursed through her veins.

  Smiling, unable to stop herself, she stepped forward so that Daniel could follow, untangling the last of the incommoding branches from the thick weave of his overcoat. At last, he, too, stepped free—and crowing with success, the girls could release the branches they’d been holding back.

  That done, the girls literally danced, their spirits high and effervescently infectious.

  Claire steeled herself and met Daniel’s eyes.

  His gaze was warm, reassuring, and conspiratorial. “It looks like we’ve made their day.”

  Looking at the girls, she laughed. “Indeed.” She glanced at the branch, then called, “Juliet. Annabelle. Come bear away this bough we’ve wrested from the holly thicket.”

  “Yes!” All four girls raced up. The branch was long enough for
all four to spread themselves along it and carry it off.

  Releasing it, Claire felt a sharp sting on the inside of her wrist and sucked in a breath.

  “What is it?”

  She glanced up and found Daniel at her shoulder, frowning down at her.

  He met her gaze, concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  She blinked, then shook her head. She glanced at the girls, but they were already on their way back to the sled, triumphantly bearing away their prize. Raising her left hand, Claire peeled back the edge of her glove. “A thorn.” One long sliver had angled beneath the fine skin on her wrist and broken off. She tried to pull it free, but the instant she released the edge of her glove, it flipped down and covered the spot.

  “Here—let me.” Daniel was already tugging off his gloves.

  Before she could stop him—before she could think—he took her gloved hand, almost reverently cradling it in one large palm, the back of her hand resting securely within his larger one.

  She was wearing gloves, but they were fine leather gloves and didn’t mute the warmth of his palm.

  “Hold back the flap.”

  She obeyed, and he bent his head. Slowly, he closed his neatly trimmed nails on the protruding sliver. He had the hands of a pianist, his touch strong and firm. She watched his fingers move, felt the caress of his fingertips on the sensitive skin of her inner wrist—and the touch seared her to her bones.

  She sucked in a breath, held it—and prayed he thought the reaction was on account of the hurt. A hurt she couldn’t even feel—her senses were distracted, awash with him.

  Then she felt the slide of the thorn, and the sliver left her flesh.

  She exhaled quietly and waited. She couldn’t dash away, couldn’t run away—and to her surprise, she didn’t want to.

  He’d been inspecting the damage; she felt his fingers soothe the skin—a caress that tightened her nerves again and sent sensation streaking through her. Then he released her hand and straightened.