69

O Bride, Brideag, come with the wand

To this wintry land;

And breathe with the breath of Spring so bland,

Bride, Bride, little Bride.

TRADITIONAL SCOTTISH SONG

Their return to Berwickshire took an unhurried sennight. Blythe watched over Everard with the diligence of a doctor, his comfort her only concern. Word was sent ahead of their arrival to Wedderburn. Boyd had left the day before to make sure all was ready for their coming. When at last they turned safely into the main gates of the castle, Blythe’s tears were entirely joyous.

Everard leaned forward without a grimace, surely testimony of his recovery, and opened the window. Snowflakes wafted in as if proclaiming it the first of December. Never had the castle looked so majestic as in snow, every turret and battlement iced white as sugar glaze. For a few moments Blythe forgot her own stiff fingers encased in wool mittens and the dying coals in the brazier beneath her feet.

Home!

At the main entrance, the coach door opened and Blythe alighted first, then the laird, Mari and Peg just behind. Munro and Mrs. Candlish rushed through the winter’s blast to meet them, the latter nearly slipping on the cobbles. Orin came next, barreling toward them with his pup, Wallace, who seemed full grown.

“You’re home!” Orin cried, catching Blythe about the waist and burrowing his head in her cloak. “I feared you’d never come back.”

She smoothed his pale hair, touched by the relief in his voice. He eyed the laird somewhat fearfully, as if having learned of his brother’s injuries.

“Still standing,” Everard said with a wink, embracing him no less heartily. He drew himself to his full height, his gaze rising as if he was surprised to see Wedderburn still standing, given the breadth and animosity of the conflict.

“Hasten in out of this snowstorm!” Mrs. Candlish half shouted above the wind, discarding her reserve. “I sent for refreshments as soon as I saw ye pass the gate.”

They all piled in, capes and hats discarded on their way to the smaller blue drawing room. A brilliant fire lit the chamber, and Everard and Blythe stood by the hearth, glad to stretch their limbs after hours of coach travel. Bernard joined them, telling them the twins were on their way from Edinburgh and would be home for Christmastide. Ronan and Elodie were expected on the morrow.

“I suppose we’ll continue in mourning awhile longer, then,” Bernard said. “Though I hate to say it, Davie’s end doesna surprise me.”

“We’ll not let it overshadow our joy,” Everard replied. “I’m more glad of life than I’ve ever been.”

Kneeling, Orin let Wallace have a bite of biscuit. “Having you home is the best Christmas gift I could have asked or prayed for.”

Meeting Blythe’s eyes, Everard said, “There’s another gift to be had in spring.”

All looked at him in question, then at Blythe, who smiled, her hand instinctively touching her waist. “You’ll soon be Uncle Orin, Lord willing.”

Astonishment washed his face. “A bairn?”

Laughter erupted when he gave a little whoop of pleasure. More questions were asked as to the nursery and names, and Blythe and Everard fielded them with pleasure. Spring couldn’t come too soon, but for now snow was filling in all the frozen nooks and crannies of the landscape.

Chocolate and tea, fresh bannocks, and a small feast of all the laird’s favorites appeared. In time, conversation turned to other matters. Blythe was handed a letter from her father. She broke the seal, aware of Everard watching her. As if sensing privacy was needed, Orin and Bernard excused themselves till supper, and the two of them were left alone.

Blythe devoured the contents and looked up at Everard. “My father writes from France, perhaps to stay. I know not what that means for my inheritance.”

“You are the only inheritance I need,” he said. “All that matters is he lives. Mayhap he’ll welcome news of his grandchild.”

“He’ll be overjoyed.” Setting the letter aside, Blythe imagined his reaction. “I doubt he even knows we’ve wed.”

Everard stood. “Will you do me the honor, Countess, and step a post-wedding, pre-Christmas reel with me?”

Concern marred the moment. “But your hip . . .”

“Is in need of exercise.” He extended a hand.

Rising, she curtsied, her wide smile matching his own. “One of many married dances to come, my love.”

He took her in his arms, looking down at her with undisguised tenderness. “But first, a kiss.”

At the touch of his lips, she murmured, “Kisses without end. Amen.”