only her secret attempts to stand on her own, to eventually walk again, were more successful. Then they could have some semblance of a normal family life to offer David. She knew she would keep trying.
Each time she tried, she managed to balance upright for a few seconds longer. Almost a full minute now, though she couldn’t take a step to save her life. But one day she meant to go skipping about the meadows the way she used to, hopefully with a child or two in tow. The burgeoning hope certainly put her in a holiday mood.
Amalie always considered herself fortunate to live in the country where they celebrated the holidays. City folk hardly ever did, so she heard.
Thankfully, this house always spent the entire month of December festooned with greenery and berries. The mouthwatering smells of baking cakes and puddings filled each day as preparations got well under way.
No one reveled more in the expectations of good things to come than the younger Napier. This evening they would exchange gifts to mark the season. David crouched eagerly beside the fire as Michael helped him roast chestnuts.
“Do you think Grandmama will like these?” he asked her brother.
Michael raked a few from the coals and set them into the pile that was cooling on the hearth. “When you sack them up in that silky pouch you helped Amie to stitch, your grandmama will love it. Marvelous idea you had there, mate!”
David looked so serious as he gripped the bag they had made out of scraps and ribbon. His sooty little fingerprints only added to its charm as far as Amalie was concerned. Mrs. MacTavish had better think so, too.
Amalie thought of the jaunty cap she had made for the boy from a length of wool Napier had snipped from his Blackwatch plaid. A braw bonnet, Napier had called it as he voiced his approval. She had of necessity asked his opinion as to whether it resembled enough the tams that Scotsmen wore. She had added a pom of red yarn to the top and banded the cap with black grosgrain.
Napier had whittled a small wooden sword and carved intricate designs upon it. Michael had driven Mrs. MacTavish to Maidstone earlier in the week on some errand. Amalie suspected the woman had gone to buy something for David. In any event, the boy should have a holiday to remember.
“Will those cool in time?” David was asking Michael.
“Oh, in plenty of time for the gifting. Here, these few are ready now, you see?”
David gingerly picked up the chestnuts and dropped them one by one into the pouch. His smile warmed Amalie’s heart as it always did.
Napier swung into the room on his crutches, a bit more practiced and agile after frequent outings in the garden these past few days. “Good evening,” he said, taking a seat beside her on the settee. “Quite warm out for the time of year.”
She smiled. “It is freezing and you know it, but I doubt a blizzard would keep you inside.” She leaned sideways and surprised him with a kiss on his cheek.
He smiled in response, but the kiss did seem to discomfit him. So much so that he didn’t comment on it.
Her parents entered just then, her father bearing a basket of gaily wrapped gifts. Moments later, Mrs. MacTavish made her entrance with one large gift. When all were greeted and seated, Michael took charge.
“We haven’t a huge yule log, but Father, David and I have provided one that should keep us warm through the festivities.” The two proceeded to dump the oversize section of a tree trunk onto the smoldering ashes in which they’d roasted the chestnuts. He stoked it to a flame, then turned to the boy. “Now, my man, it is time for you to present our gifties whilst I provide music!”
David’s little chest puffed out with pride as he waited for Michael to reach the pianoforte and begin playing softly. “Grandmama, you first, for you are the oldest!”
Mrs. MacTavish quickly erased her frown.
“This is for you from me,” David said, presenting the rather grubby pouch of warm chestnuts. She accepted them with sincerest thanks, commenting on how good they smelled.
Then he reached into a box beside the hearth and turned to her parents. “Milord and Lady Harlowe, new nib pens from Mr. Michael and me. I found the feathers and he trimmed ‘em.” Her mother and father applauded and smiled, accepting their gift.
“Miss Amie, for you,” David said, handing Amalie a small packet of sachets, purchased no doubt from one of the local ladies in the village. She sniffed them appreciatively. “Lavender! My very favorite!”
“And Father,” David said at last. “I made you a picture with watercolors.” He tore off the wrapping himself before Napier could take hold of it. “See, Da? It’s Scotland!”
“Indeed it is. Old Ben Muir,” Napier said, eyeing the bare, purplish mountain with gorse and heather stippled over it in a childish hand. “Well done, David,” he added, his voice thick with pride. “Very well done.”
Amalie saw the tears gathered in his eyes, though he never let them fall. She offered him a smile and he returned it with a sheepish quirk of his lips. She thought she had never loved him more and the very idea shocked her.
She loved Napier. Alexander. The Scot. When had that happened? From the first meeting? No. Later, perhaps, when he met her every insult with humor and equanimity? Did it even matter when? She loved him now with a mixture of such longing, exasperation and need to give that she could barely stand it.
She had only meant to make him like her and to learn to like him. Love was not what she’d always thought it was. Not an easy thing at all. He almost surely had no such feelings for her, and why should he? She had not given him a single reason to feel so. He probably didn’t even like her very much. But he did want her and that was a fact. And it was a start.
He gave her a silver trinket box lined with silk that held a delicate brooch set with amethyst stones. Amalie thanked him rather more formally than she would have liked, then produced her gift to him, handkerchiefs embroidered with his initials. He smiled and complimented her needlework. How proper they were with each other after such an improper beginning.
“Your turn, I believe,” Napier was saying to his son. He presented the beautifully carved wooden sword and Amalie added the tam she had made. Michael and her parents gave David a mechanical bank, a metal monkey that snatched a penny as he raised his hat.
The boy delighted in everything. His manners were impeccable when he remembered them. When he forgot was when he was most adorable, Amalie thought with a grin. Away from his grandmother’s watchful eye, he was a rambunctious little rascal. This evening he was an angel.
She pictured Alexander as being very like him at that age. That made her wonder what his daughters would be like when he had some. She dearly wanted them looking somewhat like her. Little hellions, most likely. At the fantasy, her grin grew wider still.
And then Mrs. MacTavish produced the skates.
David’s mouth dropped open in absolute wonder as he ran his small fingers reverently over the highly polished blades attached to shiny leather boots. He threw himself into his grandmother’s arms. “Oh, Granny! Skates! Thank you, thank you! You knew what I most wished for in the whole world. You always do!”
Mrs. MacTavish tossed Napier a gloating look of superiority over her grandson’s shoulder. Amalie wanted to smack her for
