Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  “Brave lad,” said the eldest Powell brother. “I might have a go at the other dishes, but I’ll be leaving the haggis to you.”

  “Personally,” put in Tara, “I try to stay with what I recognize. Roast game, fish, steak pies and almost any dessert.”

  Ailie remembered Hugh’s family had an estate in Scotland and wondered what foods he may have eaten. “Hugh, might you have tried some of our food while you were in Scotland?”

  “Ah… once or twice. The fish is always fresh and the shortbread tasty.”

  Will shot him a side-glance. “Very diplomatic.”

  Emily leaned in to the countess. “And you, dear Muriel, what say you to the Scottish dishes? Will you have some?”

  “Possibly,” the countess replied. Through her quizzing glass, she gave the haggis a skeptical look. “I don’t suppose there is kale in that mixture of things? That would be a bit much, I would think.”

  Chuckles ringed the table.

  “No kale,” said Will. “I urge you all to remember that dessert will follow shortly. We’ve some fine Scottish specialties: Dundee cake, clootie dumpling and shortbread. All go well with champagne.” Lifting his glass, he said, “A toast to the bride and groom!”

  Fourteen glasses were raised into the air. “To the bride and groom!”

  Nash brushed her temple with his lips. “They are toasting us, my love.”

  She turned to gaze into his hazel eyes seeing only love and hoped it would always be so. “Aye, my husband, they are.”

  “For this night,” William said, “Captain Anderson has taken a room in town to give Ailie and Nash his great cabin on the Albatross. Having slept there myself on one trip, I can assure you the bed is most comfortable.”

  Ailie’s cheeks flamed at the thought of sharing a bed with Nash. She wanted to be his wife in all ways, but they had not talked about the wedding night. Thinking about it gave her anxious thoughts because she knew so little. Her mother in Aberdeen had given up on her rebellious daughter ever marrying. Emily had told Ailie not to worry, that she would find pleasure in the marriage bed.

  “Very kind of you to make those arrangements for us, Will,” said Nash. Then he lifted his glass to Captain Anderson, sitting farther down the table. “And very generous of you, Captain, to give up your cabin.”

  Captain Anderson smiled. “I’d do that and more for Miss Stephen, the young woman I have seen grow into womanhood to become Mrs. Powell.”

  Ailie was very fond of the often dour captain who, today, appeared quite jolly. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “You will have your privacy,” said William, “and from the deck you will be able to see, and doubtless hear, the Hogmanay celebrations in town.”

  Having been assured by Ailie’s brother that all aboard the Albatross had been made ready, Nash walked with Ailie to the ship. The sun was just setting behind the hills, casting a lavender blanket over the waters of the bay and turning the sky over the North Sea a stunning violet.

  She gripped her tartan shawl tightly around her. “A beautiful night, aye?”

  The nervous tremor in her voice was unmistakable. “Not so beautiful as my bride.” Before she could reply, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and cuddled her against his side. “You have nothing to fear, Ailie. It’s our first time together, that’s all. Trust me, you will like our joining.”

  “I will?”

  He smiled. “I know what I’m about, my love, and I promise to be gentle. Remember that I love you. Of all the women in the world, and I have seen many in my travels, I chose you for my wife.”

  She let out a deep sigh, her breath coming out in a cloud. He hoped her sigh meant she found comfort in his words. Only once had he taken a virgin. Both he and the girl were too young to know what they were about, much less did he know about loving a woman. Since then, all his partners had been experienced women. He was glad, for what he had learned from them would allow him to treat his bride as a precious gift.

  “Tonight we begin what we have a lifetime to enjoy.”

  She tucked her head into his shoulder. “I know. Muriel said you’d explain everything to me.”

  He chuckled. “Did she now?”

  They walked up the gangplank and were greeted by the junior officer. “Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Powell. Your chamber awaits you. Unless you call for service, you will not be disturbed.”

  With that, he left them and headed for the forward hatch. Nash escorted Ailie to the aft hatch and down the ladder.

  At the end of the companionway, the captain’s door stood ajar. He pushed it open and stepped over the threshold bringing her with him. A lantern cast its subtle light over the large interior. Because of the raised overhead, the cabin had windows on both sides, covered now with dark blue curtains.

  Ailie took off her gloves and he helped her to shed her cloak, hanging it and his own on the pegs near the door. She went to stand before the stove where coals burned brightly, warming her hands. The ship rose and fell beneath them like the breathing of a sleeping sea.

  Her gaze drifted toward the round pedestal table where a bottle of champagne and two glasses rested beside a tray of fruit, cheese and bread. “They went to a lot of trouble for us, didn’t they?”

  He took her hands in his, raising them to his lips. “As I would expect from those who love us.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We only have one wedding night, Ailie. It should be a special event.”

  “I’m a bit shy about it, I know, but I do want you, Nash. I mean not just for my husband, but for the marriage bed.” Her cheeks flushed. She let go of his hands and glanced toward the shelf bed, where the cover had been turned down and someone had laid out her nightclothes. She quickly looked back, biting her lower lip.

  He took off his tailcoat and hung it over the back of a chair. His waistcoat and cravat followed. Ailie had seen him wearing only his shirt when she had come to change Robbie’s bandage so he didn’t think it would startle her.

  He joined her in front of the stove and drew her into his arms, kissing her forehead, breathing in her sweet smell of lily of the valley. “One of our friends has a sense of humor, I think.”

  Her beautiful eyes met his. “What do you mean?”

  “If I do this right, Ailie, you won’t be needing those nightclothes.”

  “Oh.”

  They had dined earlier and drunk their fill of champagne, yet perhaps she needed more time. “Would you like something to drink? To eat?”

  She shook her head and pressed her lips together. He had to try and calm her fears.

  “Remember the woods, Ailie, when I first kissed you?” She nodded. “And the night we shared the stars together and I kissed you again?” She nodded. “And the kiss I gave you at Dunnottar?” Again she nodded. “This is yet another time when I will kiss you, showing you my heart and, I hope, raising your passion. Only this time, we will become one.”

  He kissed her then, a teasing kiss. He wanted her eager for more before they moved to the bed. Knowing the woman he had desired for weeks was finally his and that, tonight, they would join together made him impatient to begin but, for her sake and that of their marriage, he planned to go slowly.

  He kissed her until her breath came faster and she reached her hands to his nape, exploring his mouth as he explored hers. His body responded, his groin swelling in anticipation of what was to follow. Did she realize the entwining of their tongues foreshadowed what would come next?

  He slid his hand to one of her warm breasts, touching for the second time what he’d only imagined before. Slowly, he stroked the sensitive peak through the silk and the thin fabric beneath it. In his mind, he pictured her naked. It was impossible not to.

  Wanting to taste her, he pulled down one of her sleeves and the shift underneath it, exposing one silken shoulder. Brushing his lips over her warm skin he kissed her from her shoulder to her neck, gently nibbling along the way until he felt her shiver.

  Raising his head, he looked into her eyes. “Do you like how
that makes you feel?”

  “Aye, I like it.”

  “Good. There is more to come. You can kiss me, too, Ailie, anywhere you like. I want you to touch me.” He loosened his shirt from his trousers and pulled it over his head until his chest was naked before her.

  He let her look her fill. His chest was well-muscled from a combination of his work on ships and his sporting activities with Robbie in London.

  With innocent fingers, she raised her hand and tentatively ran her fingers over the dark curls sprinkled over his chest and glided her fingers across his nipple, sending a shiver to his core. She raised her head to meet his fevered gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

  He resisted the desire to fling her onto the bed and take her. “Not beautiful,” he said with a husky voice, as he opened his eyes, “but I’ll take that as meaning you like the body of the man you married.”

  She smiled, then bit her bottom lip as if embarrassed. “I do.”

  “You must know how much I enjoy your touch, Ailie. There is no shame between us in the marriage bed. God gave it to us to enjoy.” This time when he kissed her, he ended the kiss by taking her hand and leading her toward the bed. He removed her tartan sash and turned her around, unbuttoning her gown. It dropped to the floor and he laid it on the chest at the foot of the shelf bed. With her back to him, he kissed her neck and her shoulders, taking both her breasts in his hands. She bent her head to the side as he kissed her neck. “I think it’s time we dispensed with all pretense of clothing.” He unlaced her corset and let it drop, along with her shift.

  She turned in his arms and no longer did he have to imagine what she looked like underneath the female frippery. His bride was everything he’d hoped for. And more. Intelligent, full of wonder and dreams and more beautiful than she knew. “You are perfect, Ailie.”

  She covered her breasts with one arm and the fiery hair at the apex of her thighs with the other. “Nay.”

  He pulled her hands away. “I say you are perfect. Your breasts like ripe fruit, your belly like a smooth sea and your legs. Ah, your legs are long and shapely and there’s fire where they join.” He lifted her onto the edge of the bed and removed her stockings, slowly rolling them down.

  Even in the lantern light, he could see the blush rising from her chest to her face.

  “Oh, Ailie, don’t you know I would love you if you were not so beautiful? But I say again, you are perfect.”

  He held the cover for her so she could crawl beneath it. Then shedding the rest of his clothing, he joined her in the bed, pressing his body to hers. Heat seared his blood, so ready he was for the lovemaking that would follow. Forcing himself to go slow, he said. “I left the lantern to burn, so I can see you and you me.”

  Her eyes spoke of the trust she placed in him. “All right.”

  “And now, we begin.”

  Ailie woke sometime later, hearing the sounds of the revelry that always accompanied Hogmanay. Nash had draped his arm possessively around her, his body turned into hers as it had been when he had fallen asleep. One of her legs was caught between his.

  She smiled, so happy she could not help it. He had loved her well, teaching her to love their joining. By the time they had coupled, she was desperate to have him inside her. The pain was brief and he had warned her. Once it had diminished, she had moved with him, delighting in his body, as he whispered words of love, and took them to that place she had never been.

  That was the first time, but there had been a second time, which had been even better, for he had made love to her slowly, driving her mad.

  More shouts sounded from the town’s streets. She pictured the revelers swinging their fireballs. Wanting to see them before they were cast into the water of the harbor, she carefully extricated herself from Nash, kissing him on his forehead, and rose. She remembered seeing her blue velvet wrapper on the end of the bed and felt for it in the dim light. The lantern no longer gave its light, though the coals in the stove stilled glowed.

  Donning her wrapper, she padded the short distance from the bed to the window that faced the harbor. Opening the curtains, she glimpsed the town, bright with flaming torches. Down the center of the main street, men marched, swinging the flaming balls they would have earlier steeped in paraffin, wrapped in sacking and tied with netting wire.

  The fireballs that marked the Winter Solstice celebration lighted the snow-covered street, turning it into a river of glowing fire. Since she was a young girl, each year she and Will, and sometimes her parents and younger brothers, had sailed to Stonehaven to spend New Year’s with her grandparents to witness the ceremony.

  “The bed is cold without you, my love,” said Nash, coming up behind her and crossing his arms over her chest. She leaned back into his warmth and turned her head to accept his kiss. He smelled of sandalwood and their joining.

  She brought her hands up to cover his arms, loving the feel of the soft hair on his forearms, the same dark hair on his chest. “Don’t you want to see the fireballs?”

  “It seems appropriate our wedding night should be marked by fire, don’t you think?”

  Her skin flushed with heat. “Aye.”

  The men began to toss their fireballs into the harbor where they hissed as the flames were doused. She turned and laid her head on his warm chest. He was hers as she belonged to him now.

  A chorus of Auld Lang Syne rose from the harbor. She looked back to see people standing together singing. Ailie joined them, singing softly,

  “Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne

  For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne,

  We’ll take a cup o kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Another of Burns’ poems?”

  “Aye and no. ’Tis an ancient poem Burns committed to paper. We sing the song after midnight at year’s end to remember happy days from the past, the days that followed after and coming back together.”

  He held her tightly and kissed her temple. “A little like us, eh?”

  She nodded and raised her head to kiss him.

  “Come to bed, my love.”

  Some hours later, Nash opened his eyes. The only light was from the dying coals in the stove that cast deep shadows around the cabin. He had no desire to leave his bride’s bed, but he remembered another tradition Will advised him to keep. “If you happen to think of it, that is. ’Tis your wedding night, after all.”

  When he’d asked, Will told him of the Scots’ tradition of “first-footing” whereby if a man of dark hair bearing a gift was the first to cross the threshold after midnight on New Year’s Day, he would bring good luck to the household.

  Nash tucked the cover around his bride and pulled on his breeches. Lifting from his coat pocket the gift he had acquired when he’d bought her wedding ring, he crept from the cabin. Once outside, standing in the cold passageway, he knocked loudly on the cabin door. When no sound came, he knocked again. She needed sleep after their night of lovemaking, but he thought she’d not mind rising for one of her traditions.

  Finally, he heard her sleepy voice through the cabin door. “Nash?”

  “Yes, love, it is I.”

  The door opened and he entered, closing it behind him.

  She peered at him in the dim light of the cabin. “Where did you go? The door was unlocked, you know.”

  Rising to his full height, he grinned widely. “Behold, it is I, the first-footer!”

  She laughed “Oh, Nash, you are, aren’t you?” She kissed him on the cheek. “Clever man. Did you bring me a lump of coal? We could add it to the stove. It’s freezing in here.”

  “I will stir the coals and gladly add wood to the fire, but first I have a gift for you.” He pulled the brooch from his pocket and placed it in her palm. “I know a lump of coal is the usual gift but I thought you’d like this better. Come, you’ll be able to see it better as I light the fire.”

  He went to the stov
e, stirred the coals to life and added two chunks of wood. When the flames caught, Ailie exclaimed, “Oh, Nash. ’Tis magnificent, a gift for a queen.”

  “So it is. My queen.” He returned to her side and studied the brooch, a large sherry-colored oval stone surrounded by a wreath of silver, carved with thistle flowers and leaves. The gem seemed to be alive as it caught the light of the fire. “It’s a Madeira citrine. When I saw it, I knew it had to be yours. It’s the color of your eyes, Ailie.”

  When she finally looked up, her eyes were full of tears. “I shall wear it always.”

  “Here,” he said, taking it from her. “I’ll pin it to your wrapper for tonight.”

  They returned to their bed and did not wake till the sun’s rays spilled into the cabin.

  Chapter 23

  New Year’s Day

  The day was fair but the wind off the sea biting as Muriel waved goodbye to Angus from the deck of the Albatross. Behind her, the ship’s crew was preparing to set sail. Aileen and her new husband waved to the man who Muriel now called friend.

  “He will miss you, I think,” said Aileen.

  “And I him. Do bring your grandfather to London for a visit, won’t you?”

  “I will at least suggest it,” she replied, “but Grandfather’s life is here on Scotland’s coast with his fishermen friends and his business. Still, for you, he might come.” A moment ago the young woman had been radiantly happy from her wedding night, but now she was wistful at having to say goodbye to her grandfather.

  For herself, Muriel hated partings and always felt melancholy when they were forced upon her. There had been too many in her life. She had only to turn around and someone was departing, if not this life then England. She did not envy Aileen being the wife of a man who went to sea, but she would have the other Powell wives for company when that happened.

  The pale winter sun hung low in the sky when the Albatross docked in Arbroath that afternoon. Muriel had come up on deck to see the butler Lamont, his head held high, Mrs. Platt, smiling broadly, and the housekeeper Mrs. Banks waiting to meet the ship. The three servants stood at the edge of the dock, Aileen’s watchful setters sitting patiently at their feet.