Page 68 of Mistletoe

“Don’t you dare use my poem against me,” he snapped.

“Someone tell me what is going on,” Felix demanded.

“He appeared the night after the solstice. He needed food and shelter,” Emma said.

“Where did he come from? What does he want?” Felix asked.

“That is not my story to tell. Hal should tell you himself.”

Oscar and Felix spoke at the same time, both forbidding the orc to enter the house and demanding that he explain himself at once.

Thankfully, her brother made the logical leap before her patience was tested. “He’s from the Aerie! He’s a servant of that vampire.”

“Heescapedfrom the Aerie. He was the vampire’s prisoner,” Emma said.

“An orc was seen the day the vampire escaped. They are conspirators.That’swho you hired as afarmhand?” Outrage seeped into Felix’s voice.

“Is this true?” Oscar asked. “I forbid you from speaking to this monster.”

Emma clenched her hands. They were both speaking rapidly, one over the other. It was confusing and overwhelming, and she needed to do something to make them quiet.

“Enough!” she shouted, flinging the empty tumbler toward the fireplace. The glass smashed against the stone.

Silence fell abruptly.

“I don’t care where Hal’s from or who he’s in cahoots with. I don’t care. I love him,” she blurted out. Then blushed, because she was thirty years old, a certified spinster, professing her love like she had a case of puppy love.

This was mortifying. More than sharing her most tender feelings with her family, she should share them with the person who inspired that tenderness, Hal.

“Is this about that boy?” her father asked.

Emma was stunned. “What boy?”

“The insubordinate one with the—” Oscar waved a hand over his face, as if that helped to illustrate his meaning. “That young fellow, Walton?—”

Emma knew who he meant. She hadn’t thought about him in years. “Robert Walton.”

“Yes. This… this rebellion is because your mother and I would not let you marry a man with no fortune and no position in society.”

For a man who prided himself on bucking the expectations of society, he adhered to a hierarchical class structure with fervent rigidity.

“No, this is not about Robert Walton.” She had been twenty when she met the charming carpenter. Her parents had been against the association from the start, but Emma enjoyed his company. When he proposed, she accepted. However, a few days later, she ended the engagement. While she had been morose about her decision, her heart recovered. That was the end of that subject, as far as she was concerned.

“Thank heavens. You were young, so a lapse in judgment is understandable. Fortunately, your mother and I protected your reputation.”

Emma laughed. “My reputation? As a spinster? Oh, thank you, Pa. How fortunate I am.”

“I would ask you to not speak to me in that tone.”

“And I would beg you for the courtesy of acknowledging that I know my own mind. I love Hal.” The words remained true. She loved him.

Oscar’s face turned scarlet, as if on the verge of apoplexy. “I forbid you from carrying on with that…that man.”

“I am thirty years old. I’ll carry on with whomever I please.”

“This is my house. You’ll do as I say!”

The absolutely absurd declaration stunned Emma. For years, Oscar De Lacey had been happy to ignore his family and their circumstances. He was an artist and far too busy pursuing his elevated craft to bother with the mundane. Meals appeared with regularity, and he always had a steady supply of paper and ink. Why sully his hands with the terrestrial when he sought the divine?

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