Chapter Nine

One night, a week before Christmas, Sabine sat with her younger cousin, Annie, in front of the fireplace. Sabine didn’t have as much to do with Annie as she’d like. Of course she saw her, and received letters, but she only usually saw her at Christmastime.

Annie had always been a quiet and shy soul. Joseph had really brought her out of her shell and they’d been happily married, and living a lean life at the church ever since. If anyone could understand her circumstances, it would be Annie.

After a long day of scouring the woods for the perfect fir, the magnificent tree sat in the sitting room covered in strings of popcorn, fruit and ribbons. Presents had begun to appear underneath the tree mysteriously, Sabine had placed her gifts for her parents underneath the tree while the family was eating lunch. Her mother had helped her choose a new gold watch for her father as his previous one had stopped working. For Jane, Sabine had embroidered the outline of Philip and Louis’ hands at birth, as well as her own hand at five, onto a piece of fabric. She had the outlines for years as she’d traced them when her brother’s had been born, and she’d decided to turn them into a gift. She was sure that her mother would appreciate it.

Many had dispersed for the evening, tired after walking all over the village wassailing. Wassailing was one of Sabine’s favourite things to do around Christmastime. Families would walk around their villages with a wassail bowl of hot, spiced ale. She loved cheering ‘Wassail!’ whenever the door opened. It meant ‘be well’. In return for the wassail, the people would give them money which they donated to the church for the poor. It was a long tradition to believe that the people who gave money would receive good luck for the year to come.

Only Sabine and Annie remained awake downstairs as they lethargically sipped tea and watched the fire as it engulfed one of the large logs that had been placed there to warm the house for the night.

“What did your father say when Joseph asked him for his permission to marry you?” Sabine asked quietly. Joseph was not a wealthy, nor a titled man, and definitely was not the kind of man that many noblemen wished their daughter’s to marry. She’d never heard the story of what happened, they’d only ever received the invitation to the marriage ceremony.

Annie’s brows furrowed as she looked at Sabine curiously. Her golden hair, the hair that she’d inherited from her mother, shone in the firelight. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” Sabine lied, shrugging her shoulders.

Annie pursed her lips. “Papa didn’t speak for a few moments, but then he gave Joseph his blessing to ask me. He knew Joseph made me happy, and that’s all he wanted for me,” she said, smiling.

Sabine set her teacup down and played with her long, blonde brain that hung over her shoulder. “So … even though he wasn’t wealthy, your father had no reservations?” she asked.

“Of course he had his reservations, he’s my father,” she laughed lightly. “And I am his youngest daughter. He worried for me that I was marrying too young but Joseph’s fortune, or lack thereof was never an issue.” She edged a little closer to Sabine on the settee. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she whispered, so that nobody, if they were still awake, could hear.

Sabine blushed a little, but she hoped it could be attributed to the heat that the fire was emitting. “No,” she replied quickly. “I was only wondering. Tell me, who is doing the Christmas services if Joseph is here?”

“There is another churchman who performs the services if Joseph is unable to, he was actually glad to be asked to conduct the Christmas services,” she replied. Sabine knew that there was no way that Annie was letting her get away with such a question so easily. “Have you anyone in your life?” Annie pressed, not giving up.

“There is only one in my life who holds my whole heart,” she said boldly.

“Puissant?” Annie guessed. Sabine’s whole family knew of her bond with her horse, it was something they admired, not laughed at.

“Yes,” she grinned. It wasn’t a lie. Puissant did hold her whole heart. Connor would, once she knew everything about him. She was willing to let him tell her in his own time, but once he had, she would give herself to him completely.

Thinking of him saddened her. It had been a fortnight since she’d left for Yorkshire, and she knew that he would have travelled to Scotland already to see his sister. She truly hoped he would use the money she gave him, but she knew he wouldn’t.

But she missed him. She couldn’t wait to see him once more when she arrived home. She still had no idea what she was to say to her parents, but one way or another, she and Connor would be united.

Annie stood up and stretched her arms. “I think I shall retire for the night. Spending the evening wassailing really helps me sleep,” she giggled.

“Do you believe that wassailing can offer luck both ways?” Sabine asked before Annie had an opportunity to go upstairs.

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But I’ve always believed that we make our own luck. We can’t rely on something blindly.”

“Annie … you are married to a man of the cloth – don’t let him hear you say that,” Sabine said comically.

Annie smiled and nodded. “God trusts us to make our own decisions and he watches over us as we do. He doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. I believe that’s different from luck.”

“Well put,” Sabine commended. “And I hope you’re right.”

The days leading up to Christmas Eve were spent carolling for charity. As their family was the most fortunate in the village, they liked to help other families at a time that was supposed to be merry.

The women spent the day baking while the men were outside in the snow cutting evergreen branches, searching for the perfect Yule log. Several batches of biscuits had been made, cakes had been baked and tarts had been prepared. A turkey had been caught in the woods and was being kept it its coop ready for cooking tomorrow. Sabine could never see it live, she would not be able to eat it the next day if she knew what it looked like before it had been killed.  

Sabine had already decided what her wish on the Yule log would be – for her father to allow her marriage to Connor, regardless of his lack of fortune.

The larder had been filled with baked goods upon the men’s return. The log that Sebastian held was perfectly cylindrical and the bark was completely smooth. “Come on, everyone,” he said, ushering them all to follow them into the sitting room, ready to burn it.

“I’ll fetch the ashes,” Catherine said giddily. It was good luck to keep the ashes from the Yule log from the previous year. They’d always used it as kindling to start burning the new log.

Entering the sitting room, the family gathered around the fireplace. The Yule log was placed in the centre of the hearth and it was sprinkled with oil, salt and mulled wine. Catherine appeared with the ashes and placed them atop the log as well. As it was lit, everyone closed their eyes and made their Christmas wish.

‘I wish for papa to allow my marriage to Connor,’ she thought. She opened her eyes and looked around the room with a smile on her face. Connor would fit in, she just knew it. Her family were the kindest, and most accepting people she knew. They’d accepted her after all.

After attending church in the evening and drinking the traditional glasses of posset, the family retired. Sabine was sharing a bedchamber on the third floor with Kitty and Little J. Kitty and Little J shared the bed whilst Sabine slept in a cot on the floor. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was closer to the ground then regular beds, and was covered in warm blankets and pillows so she was not cold.

Going to sleep that night, Sabine smiled, and she hoped, wherever he was, Connor was doing the same thing.

Connor had been with his sister and her husband a week when Christmas Day dawned. Looking out the sitting room window, he saw that a thick blanket of snow had covered the ground which he knew would make going to church dangerous and virtually impossible.

He stretched his tight muscles and groaned. Sleeping on the small settee was uncomfortable, mainly because he was a foot longer than the end cushion.

Buttoning up his shirt, he found his small sack and fished out the little trinkets he’d purchased for his niece and nephew. He’d found a small pair of riding boots. They were previously owned by the store owner’s child, but he knew Jamie would find them perfectly adequate once he grew into them. He’d also found a very fine piece of lace that he thought Merida would be able to sew into a dress for Lila one day. He placed them under the tree along with his mother’s, and Merida and Grant’s gifts.

No sooner had he dressed, Merida appeared downstairs wearing a simple nightdress and wrap, ready to prepare breakfast every morning as she did.

“Mornin’,” she chirped happily. Her red hair had been tamed with a comb and was hanging neatly down her back. Her green eyes sparkled as she saw the fresh snow outside. “I know it’s right to go to church on Christmas, but I much prefer spending the day with my family,” she said honestly as she went into the kitchen. Setting a pot to boil, she began to gather the necessary ingredients to bake bread.

“Merry Christmas,” Connor said tiredly as he ran his fingers through his longer than usual locks. 

“An’ to ye,” she grinned. “Did ye sleep well?” she asked as she made the dough. Merida was an expert when it come the motherly tasks, even after just three years. She didn’t even look at what her hands were doing.

“Fine,” he lied.

“Liar,” she giggled, seeing right through him. “I promise, I’ll have Grant get to work on another room … we’ll just save a bit for materials.”

“It’s no’ necessary, Merida,” he shook his head. “Ye need your pennies for ye bairns,” he said firmly. “A week on a settee is no’ goin’ to kill me.” Going over to the stove, he looked to see if the water was boiling. There wasn’t even a bubble.

“A watched pot never boils,” she said thoughtfully. “Can ye go an’ fetch me some eggs? I’d like to have breakfast on the table before the bairns wake up. I can’ do much with Lila in my arms.”

Connor nodded, exiting out the back door. It was a short walk to the chicken coop. It was nowhere near an elaborate coop, it was just made out of scrap wood and contained five chickens, but it was all they could afford. Collecting the eggs from the nests, much to the hen’s dismay, Connor put them in his pockets. He then made his way over to the barn where their goat, ‘Nannie’, resided along with their horses, as well as his borrowed stallion. Once he’d collected a pail of milk, and fed the horses, he returned to the house.

Merida beamed when she saw that he’d also fetched the milk. “I’d forgotten tha’, thank ye!” she said gratefully. He saw that she’d already kneaded the dough and it was now resting by the stove to expand before she baked it. Placing the eggs in the boiled water, she invited Connor to sit down with her at the dining table. Pouring him a cup of cold water, she began to set the table for breakfast.

No sooner had she sat down, Grant appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a bairn in each arm. Grant was a handsome young man. He was only twenty years old, but he was wise beyond his years, wiser than Connor’s father was when he denied them. Granted, they were both young, but what is age when one is in love?

Grant’s thick, black hair was as long and untidy as Connor’s blond hair was. He was a very tall man, and he towered over Merida. His arms and torso were thick with muscle through his labour at the blacksmith’s each day. Little Jamie was the image of his father. Jamie’s hair was curly and black and he shared his father’s hazel eyes. Lila on the other hand, at six months old, had short ringlets of red hair. Her eyes were a brilliant green like Merida’s and Connor knew that if she grew up to have her mother’s personality then they would have to watch out for her.

“Mornin’ all,” Grant grinned as he carried his children over to Connor and Merida. Kissing his wife’s cheek, he handed Lila to her. “I think she’s wanting her breakfast,” he grinned.

Merida cradled Lila in her arms and took her into the kitchen to feed her and to finish preparing breakfast.

“Look Jamie,” Grant said, directing his son’s attention to the tree. “I think Father Christmas has been! He must know ye have been a good boy to mama an’ me!” he said enthusiastically.

Jamie’s hazel eyes widened with excitement as he struggled in his father’s arms. Grant put him on the ground and Jamie quickly waddled over to the Christmas tree where the cloth wrapped gifts resided.

Connor chuckled. “Tha’ was always my favourite part of Christmas, knowing tha’ Father Christmas gave us gifts each year if we were good. Of course da’ told us the truth when we were too young when he was in a poor mood.”

Grant knew all too well of Mungo McKenzie’s temperament. “I can imagine,” he rolled his eyes. “Merida an’ I are goin’ to keep them believing as long as possible. Jamie an’ Lila deserve the childhood the neither of us had.”

Even though Connor and Merida had wanted for nothing in their grand castle, they didn’t have loving parents. When Deirdre wasn’t around Mungo she had been a very loving mother, but together, she shied away from showing her children affection. Grant, too, did not have a very good upbringing. His father had abandoned him and his mother when he was young, and his mother had died a few years later when he was twelve. He’d come to work in the village that the McKenzie castle had overlooked, and that’s where he in Merida had met.

“I commend ye,” Connor said sincerely. “You’ve looked after my sister, Grant, just like ye promised.”

His brother – in – law grinned. “Do ye think we’ll be seeing a bit more of ye, now that ye are engaged to a lass? Do ye think you’ll make a home up here?”

Connor knew that Sabine was very much an English girl. He knew she wouldn’t want to be separated from her family. If all went well, they’d be able to make their home in Nottingham. There was an abundance of good land, and once he’d saved enough, he would start training his horses to be sprinters.  “Nay,” he shook his head. “Sabine’s English, she’ll be wanting her home in England.”

Grant shrugged and nodded. “Just know that you’ve always go’ a place to call home if ye need it,” he offered.

“Thank ye,” Connor said gratefully.

“It’s hard to imagine ye with an English lass after I saw ye with Miss Murray all those times,” Grant chuckled as he watched Jamie play with the packages beneath the tree. The young lad hadn’t yet mastered how to open them, so what was inside was still a mystery. “Your da’ would have a fit if he knew. He hates the English.”

“I know,” Connor said, remembering the many times his father had reiterated his hatred for the English. Mungo had never liked how they were ruled by an English king. If Mungo had it his way, the tyrant himself would be the King of Scots. “I’ve come to know them, though, her family at least. They’re fine folks, an’ I’d be lucky to be in their family.”

“Breakfast is served!” Merida announced as she came back into the room from the kitchen. With Lila on her hip, she held a plat of divine smelling bread. Handing Lila over to Grant, she returned to the kitchen to fetch the eggs, salt and butter.

Sitting down as a family, they all chatted happily. Merida mashed up an egg for Jamie and he ate it hungrily. Looking around the table, Connor could see Sabine fitting in well. Merida and Grant were brilliant and beautiful people. But he didn’t want Sabine to have to live isolated from her parents, that wouldn’t be fair to her. He’d rather not marry her then see her sad and away from home.   

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