Page 29 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“For what?”

“For remembering about the chough. That was very thoughtful.”

“Oh.” She glanced quickly up at him. “Truthfully? I was a little afraid to tell you. I thought you might rush off to study it.”

He leaned in slightly. “Truthfully? If you were not here, I would.”

She laughed. “Then I must be grateful that my charms rate above the rare chough’s.”

“Far above,” he said. “And you are the only person I would rate so highly.”

She colored slightly as they reached the great fireplace. She couldn’t even blame it on the heat because the fire had not been lit yet. Instead, Tamsyn had been given chalk and she stood stooped, outlining a man’s figure on the great yew log placed there. All the household had gathered to watch while she carefully drew. Servants passed wine and punch to everyone waiting.

When Tamsyn stood back, Lord Locryn told her, “Now, we will all toast the ‘mock’—the figure your sister has drawn on the log, before the fire is lit.”

“Why?”

“It is to pay honor to the death of the old year and welcome the birth of the new. Some say the figure is the old year itself, some say he is a version of Father Time.”

“So they say now, but it was not always so in years past.” Miss Morwen Cardew, spinster aunt to both Gryff and Locryn joined them. Gwyn dipped a curtsy. She liked the crusty, older woman.

“In years long past, this day was recognized for the rebirth of the child of the sun—and we celebrated new life given by the Gods.”

Locryn shot a look at Gwyn. “That was long ago, Aunt.”

“We have long memories here at Lancarrow,” Morwen said to Gwyn.

“I’m glad you do,” she answered. “It would be a terrible shame to lose all knowledge of the old ways—and it’s even better to see them alive and well.”

“Bastardized—but alive,” the older woman said with a shrug.

Before she had to worry about a response to that, movement at her feet distracted Gwyn. A tiny puffball of a kitten had wandered over and was winding itself around her legs, purring contentedly.

“Oh, are you not the sweetest thing?” She swept down and scooped it up. It was a grey striped tabby with big blue eyes. “So young to be out exploring, especially with so many people about!” she said to it. “Where is your mother?”

“Long gone,” Morwen said shortly. “He’s my cat. My companion.”

“Oh! Do forgive me.” She offered the kitten up.

“He seems content.” Morwen looked her over thoroughly. “We wouldn’t mind if you came over to visit us sometime,” she said abruptly. Then she turned and drifted off.

“High praise, indeed,” Locryn said. He sounded like he meant it.

The kitten chirped agreement, then wiggled to be free. She set him down and he wandered off after his mistress.

Gwyn exchanged amused glances with Locryn before they were all called to the toast.

“Now people will tell amusing or dramatic stories of the past year,” Locryn told her.

He stayed with her during the storytelling, and during the performance that came afterward.

“Guise dancers,” he said at her questioning glance as a gorgeously costumed group swept into the hall. “It’s a local tradition here, in the village on Christmas Eve. Elaborate costumes and masks are worked on all year.”

“They look it,” she said admiringly. “I’m particularly taken with the fox.”

“Animal masks are common, as are fancy lace veils. The faces are almost always covered.”

“They look like they wear dress clothes, but ragged ones.”

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