He laughed once and kissed her temple. “Vixen.”
She placed her hand on his face and looked into those honey eyes. “Thank you. For taking care of it. The day means more to me than it should.”
“I understand.” He took her hand and placed a kiss to her palm before putting it back on his cheek. “I’ll do anything for ye, love. You have only to ask.”
“I know. I’m so glad you’re here.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
She knew he didn’t want to be there. He would rather be back at Dunardry preparing the great hall for the holiday feast. The strength it must take for him to remain silent was more impressive than watching him wield his sword or move a pile of large rocks with his bare hands.
That night he held her close, and she asked what they would be doing back home. He went into great detail, sharing tales of the preparations at Dunardry, past and present, until she fell asleep.
The next day they spent as others in the city were doing, quietly celebrating the holiday in the privacy of their homes. After a hearty dinner with the quiet dowager, they sat and read stories in the library in front of the fire.
Mari closed the book she’d been reading, and Cam set something on her lap. It was a horribly embroidered handkerchief that could have only fallen victim to the hands of her sister. “Kenna surely sent this,” she said, overwhelmed with love and amusement.
He laughed. “Aye. She made the handkerchief, but the thing inside it is from me. I wrote and had her send it to me.”
Mari unwrapped the bundle to find a silver locket shimmering in the light by the fire.
“It belonged to my mother.”
She wanted to tell him to keep it, that it was a waste to give it to her, but she didn’t. There was no place for sadness on this day. Instead, she smiled and happily fastened it around her neck.
“These are not for you, but for the babe.” He held out a wooden box. She opened it to find an assortment of wooden animals. Some were smoothed and painted. A few were still raw wood, and it was clear they weren’t completed.
“I still need to finish the cattle. And the wee mouse.”
Mari picked up a rabbit and smiled at the detail, including a tail and a pink nose. “An elephant!” she exclaimed. “I saw one two summers ago.”
“Do I have it right? I remembered you telling me of seeing it. I thought it fascinating and wondered if it was a real creature.”
“It’s just so.” She held it to her chest. “They are wonderful, Cam. Truly.” She placed a kiss on his cheek, and for once the dowager didn’t make a disgruntled sound at their affection.
He picked up another package and took it over to the older woman. Bending down, he placed it on her lap.
Mari had never seen the woman so startled. Cam had shocked the perpetual frown right from her face. It brought a smile to Mari’s lips.
“What are you about?” The frown was back, but Mari could tell the woman was touched.
“Open it and see.”
A wooden carving tumbled out into her lap.
“I know you like to watch the birds in the mornings. You have a special place for the red ones,” Cam noted.
“It’s a horrible likeness,” she said, though her lips were pressed into an indulgent expression. Cam laughed, unaffected by her words. “Really, you shouldn’t have bothered.”
“Well, I did, so you’ll just have to like it.”
The woman tried her best not to, but a slight smile tugged up her lips when Cam bent to kiss the top of her head.
“Impertinent brute.” She swatted at him.
“Miserable goat.” He winked at her.
As promised, Cam launched into the tale of how his father had taught him to carve, and from there the rest of the evening was spent with them sharing stories.
“Your sister sounds like a hoyden,” the dowager said matter-of-factly.
“That is a right description, Your Grace,” Mari agreed. “But she is the most wonderful person imaginable. She told me once that when she reaches the end of her days, she will have no regrets, for she will have lived fully.” Mari let out a breath, missing her sister dearly.
“Would that we could all live in such a way. But some of us have obligations. Duties to fulfill.”
“Surely you don’t still feel obligated to the Endsmere name?” Cam asked, no doubt insulting her yet again. “’Tis not even a real person, but merely a title. What has it ever done for ye?”
The dowager turned the little red bird over in her fingers. “It’s not just a title. It’s my very existence.”
“He didn’t mean to say—” Mari began.
“No, I heard him clearly. And he’s right. When I’m gone, I’ll be but a portrait in the gallery, whereas your sister will be talked about for ages as the woman who faced down the English army and invited them for tea.”
Mari smiled at the story she’d just told. The observation was true enough.
“There’s still time to create some fine stories about your own life,” Cam offered the dowager. “In fact, we’re doing so right now. They’ll all tell tales of the brave dowager duchess who was forced to spend her holiday with a Scottish war chief.”
If Mari didn’t know better, she might have thought the sound that came from the dowager was a laugh. It was a dry, rusty kind of sound. But the dowager rarely laughed, and when she did, it was never from joy or humor.
“Just so,” she said, and cleared her throat before calling out for Parkes.
Mari expected the dowager wanted to return to her room and required assistance, but instead she remained seated as she doled out an order to the butler. “Bring it in now. Hurry along,” she snapped.
The man left, and a moment later he returned carrying something bulky. It was placed on the floor at Mari’s feet.
Suddenly, she realized what
