Page 7 of Love’s Charity

“Find a cup and fill it with snow to water it down.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Ye’re still cold as can be, and yer fingers are redder than my hair. Come—uisge beathawill do ye good. Get yer blood moving.”

“And a cup for me,” Mistress Hanna said with a mischievous wink. “I may be ancient, but I’m nay dead.”

Spirits lifted in spite of herself, Marianna sorted through the chaos piled in the corners and found three cups that looked solid enough not to leak. She went to the door and scooped snow into two of them, then returned and held them out. “Fill them, fine sir.”

“Yer wish is my command, m’lady.” Evander drizzled the golden water of life into the two cups of snow.

Mistress Hanna rose, accepted hers, and held it high. “A toast, I say!”

Evander finished pouring his own, propped the flask against the bundles of pine on the mantel, then clinked his glass against hers. “What shall we toast, Mistress Hanna?”

The old woman cut her eyes over at Marianna as she touched her cup to the other two. “Marianna?”

“To the joy in each day,” Marianna said without hesitation. Why she said it, she didn’t know. All she knew was the words sprang to mind, demanding to be spoken. “And to charity,” she added.

“Slàinte mhath!” Mistress Hanna bellowed louder than any man. “And a merry Yuletide to all!”

“Slàinte mhath!” Evander and Marianna echoed.

As the watered-down whisky warmed her, Marianna felt an easing of the knot that had ached in her chest ever since the day Ellen had introduced her to Evander’s son. The situation warranted hating, but she finally realized that the hating was eating her in two. She had to move past it. Somehow. Someway.

She held out her cup. “Another!”

“What shall we toast this time?” Evander asked as he filled their cups again.

A sudden shyness overtook her, so she turned to Mistress Hanna.

With a sly tilt of her head, the old woman lifted her glass. “To the healing of forgiveness.”

“Aye,” Marianna agreed with a stolen glance at Evander. “To healing.”

“And forgiveness,” he added, touching his cup to hers. “The greatest blessing a man could ever hope for.”

“Aye,” was all she could utter before tossing down the drink and busying herself with preparing their supper. Mistress Hanna was right. Evander was a good kind man. But could she find the strength to move past all that had happened between them?

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