Page 50 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

* * *

“You don’t want to be happy with him?” Morcom asked, frowning.

“No. I want to thank you for all your kindness and thoughtfulness. I want the chance to return the favor.” Thistle reached up and grabbed two handfuls of his long, green, globular hair. “Morcom, I want to be happy with you.”

She pulled him down and kissed him right on the lips.

Light and heat flared, spiraling out from the point of their connection and into the night sky. Below, the bonfire blazed high, blasting heat and sparks. The crowd gasped and cheered.

* * *

Locryn was set suddenly free. He stumbled, righted himself and rushed to Gwyn. She met him, midway.

Behind them, the bonfire surged high into the night air and the villagers laughed shouted their appreciation and backed away. Someone bumped into him, but he ignored them all.

He tore off his mask as Gwyn tossed hers away, then he drew her close, bent over, and they claimed each other with a long, deep, searing kiss.

* * *

Above, Morcom blinked down at Thistle, but she refused to let him go. She held him tight and his hands rose to tentatively cup her jaw. His eyes closed, then hers. And at long last, Thistle got her first full taste of love.

EPILOGUE

Gwyn followedher mother and her sister Rose into the parlor. Lady Banfield sent a maid for tea, then she heaved a sigh and collapsed on a settee. “I don’t know which is worse,” she moaned. “The shockingly few number of people at this morning’s services, or the gossip running rampant afterward.”

“Between the ball and the village festival, I’m sure there are a great number of people nursing sore heads and sore feet this morning, Mama,” Rose said.

Her sister looked so much better now, Gwyn noted with relief. Happier.

“And you must excuse Lord Michael. He was stabbed last night,” Gwyn reminded her mother. “And Lady Ivy is nursing him. And poor Papa must be exhausted, dealing with it all.”

“I suppose so,” her mother grumbled. “And Tamsyn and Morgan must be excused, I suppose, but where is Marjorie?”

“I believe she went for an early ride,” Rose said, crossing to the window.

When Gwyn followed her, she whispered, “And I believe Sir William Crandall might have followed her.”

Gwyn raised her brows and Rose nodded gleefully.

“Did you hear the nonsense they were spouting in the churchyard this morning?” Disapproval rang clear in her mother’s tone. “Some were saying that the Christmas star descended on Bocka Morrow last night!”

“I heard Miss Morwen Cardew say that the old gods visited the village last night after they raised a portal in the bonfire.”

“I’m surprised she wasn’t struck down right then and there!” Lady Banfield sounded shocked.

“We should ask Lord Locryn about it,” Rose said. “I’ll bet he was in the village last night.”

“It’s entirely too bad he wasn’t at the ball, you might have danced with him, Gwyn.” Her mother frowned. “I scarcely saw you dance at all, did I?”

“Oh, I danced last night, Mama,” Gwyn told her.

Her mother sighed. “I suppose Lord Locryn will hie quickly back to London, now that the wedding is over. Oh, well. Perhaps we’ll be able to pursue the connection in Town when we are there for the Season.”

“No need to wait. He’s here now.” Rose gestured outside.

“Now? Whatever could he want on Christmas morning?”

“I believe he wants to have a discussion with Father.” Gwyn shot a sidling look and a grin at her sister.

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