Here’s wishing
all my Gentle Readers (all 2.5 of you, LOL 😉)
a very Merry Christmas!
In lieu of
actual Blog Post Content, please enjoy these Christmas-themed snippets from my Heirs of Dunsmüir series. (I’m sorry
there’s nothing here about the Birth of Christ; I haven’t written that part
yet. But if you like, you can check out my post from last year, and read the
lovely poem my mother wrote.)
A little
background: The setting is Sherwyn Hall, home of Gilbert “Gil the Green”
Sherwyn, in the heart of Glenwood Forest. The time is shortly after Anton has
found all the Heirs and assembled them in Glenwood for safe-keeping until they
make their début in the City of
Dunsmüir. Our Heroes and their friends are preparing Sherwyn Hall for the
annual Christmas Party hosted by Gil the Green and his band of Yeomen….
Anton skipped
through the corridor, singing an old Nórska Christmas song (off-key, as usual)
with a refrain of
kaladú, kaladú!
Catching sight of
Isabella, he beamed his sunniest smile and took hold of her
hands, whirling her around in a skipping sort of dance.
“God-yúl, mein lieb!” he chirruped.
“God-yúl, Anton,” she replied calmly.
He stopped as
abruptly as he’d begun, panting a little, still smiling. “Come with me,” he
said excitedly; “I want to show you something!”
She raised an
eyebrow. “What is it?”
“You’ll see. It’s
a surprise.”
Her face
re-composed. “Very well.”
He caught her by
the wrist and fairly dragged her through the rest of the corridor, past where
Jason and
Ember were hanging holly-garlands in the dining hall.
“An’ where might
he be takin’ her in such an all-fired hurry, then?” Ember wondered aloud.
“Did…didn’t we
just hang some mistletoe on that end of the Hall a few minutes ago?” Jason
mused.
“Aye, that we
did,” Ember began. Then she paused, both eyebrows raised, as if suddenly
enlightened. She burst out laughing. “Oh-ho-ho! the sly fox! Well, good luck to
him, say I. Sure, an’ ’twill take more’n a bunch o’ mistletoe to thaw out the
Ice Queen that much!”
* * *
“I’ve learned of
an interesting custom among our Ánglos and Gaelic cousins,” Anton explained,
his eyes twinkling. He pointed to a cluster of greenery hanging from the
ceiling above their heads, accented with red ribbons. “That’s mistletoe—”
“I can see that,”
Isabella deadpanned.
“They do say,” he
continued, ignoring her interruption, “that when a man and a woman stand under
it, they’re supposed to exchange a kiss—for good luck—and…something
about…keeping the berries…under…a pillow….” His voice died away as her face
assumed that icy, expressionless look, with the eyelids slightly lowered.
He grinned
foolishly, like a child caught snitching cookies and trying to charm his way
out of a spanking. “All right, I didn’t think you’d fancy that idea.” He dug
about in those bottomless pockets of his a moment as he spoke. “How about a—ach, where are they?—ahh, there we
are—how about a chocolate kiss instead?” He held out a small, mound-shaped
candy, wrapped in silvery foil.
* * *
“How d’ee like
our decorations, then?” Ember smirked.
“They’re quite
festive.”
“Did Anton show
you the mistletoe?”
“Ah—Ember…,”
Jason whispered.
Isabella blinked.
“He did.”
“And…?”
“Ember….”
Isabella turned
to face her. “And what?”
“Did he tell you
the tradition that goes along with it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Jason squirmed.
“Ember.”
Isabella calmly
began to unwrap the chocolate. “And he gave me a kiss,” she replied, calmer
still…although her mouth twitched as she said it.
Ember’s eyes
looked ready to pop out of her head. “He what?
An’ you let him?”
“Of course,”
Isabella replied, crumpling up the foil. “I’m rather fond of chocolate, after
all.” She held the candy so they could see it for a second or two, then popped
it in her mouth. “Merry Christmas, my friends,” she said. Then she disappeared
down the corridor.
Five seconds
later, Ember threw down the white satin bows she’d been putting along the
garland, sputtering like a firecracker. “Och!
Of all the—a chocolate kiss, forsooth! Aiee!
the cheeky—did ’ee see how she strung us along?!” She rattled off the rest of
her tirade in Gaelic.
Jason giggled. “I
think that’s rather clever. And you—you kind of—sort of—well, asked for it. I
mean, you didn’t really expect—well, after all, Anton’s got his head on straighter
than that, and—well, like you said, it’d take some doing for Isabella
to—er—warm up that much—especially to
Anton.”
Ember threw him a
pouty scowl. “Don’t speak to me, boy-o; ’tis a bad mood I’m in, just now.”
“I noticed.
Perhaps you need a chocolate kiss—”
Ember let out a
savage roar.
“Never mind,”
Jason squeaked, backing up a little. “Hand me another bow, would you please?”
* * *
“May I have the
pleasure of this dance, my lady?”
Isabella stared
at him, forming her reply—
“Say Yes,
Isabella,”
Lisbeth urged in Nórska. “It’ll be fun! And besides,” she giggled,
“he’s adorable.”
“Well, I’m
honored you think so, Princess,” Anton replied—also in Nórska. “Your sister
doesn’t seem to realize it—yet.” He winked.
Lisbeth’s expression
was priceless.
Isabella’s mouth
twitched, but she remained calm and collected. “I don’t dance,” she informed
him.
Lisbeth did a
double-take. “Váss—?”
“But my sister
does,” Isabella finished, covertly poking Lisbeth in the back.
Lisbeth flinched
and stumbled forward, looking confused.
Anton bowed
gallantly. “As you wish, your Majesty,” he smiled, leading Lisbeth towards the
dance floor. “But I’m saving the next one for you anyhow,” he flung cheerfully
over his shoulder.
* * *
The music
stopped, and the dance came to an end.
Tom and
Ciaran stood facing each other,
breathless yet smiling. Ciaran’s cheeks glowed—nearly obscuring his
freckles—and his eyes sparkled. Tom smiled broadly. She couldn’t remember the
last time she’d had so much fun…or been so happy.
A murmur about
the room drew her attention, and looking about, she spotted several people
pointing at her and Ciaran. Some smiled, others nudged their neighbors. A few
laughed or winked.
“Ciaran,” she
whispered, “what are they laughing about?”
Ciaran also
scanned the crowd with a puzzled frown. Then his face went blank, and he looked
up at the ceiling. He lifted one corner of his mouth, chuckling something in
Gaelic. “Look up, lass,” he whispered back.
Tom obeyed…and
groaned. There, suspended from the bottom of the central lantern, directly above their heads, hung a bunch of greenery
with leathery, oval-shaped leaves and white berries, decorated with cheery red
ribbons.
Mistletoe.
She cast a
suspicious sideways glance at him. “Ciaran….”
“’Twasna’
intentional, I assure ye,” he protested good-naturedly.
“So what do we do
now?”
A call of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! rang out from among
the crowd, and Tom fancied she saw Anton jumping up and down behind one of the
taller gentlemen.
Tom’s heart
froze. She’d never kissed a man in her life. She’d vowed to save her first kiss
for her future husband. Did these silly people really expect her to…? Oh, it
was too absurd—too mean! Too slushy. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry
or simply pound someone into gravy. Specifically, the silver-haired lout who
had dug up this ridiculous tradition in the first place….
Ciaran leaned
down a bit, smiling reassuringly at her. “Might I be suggestin’ a compromise?”
Tom raised an
eyebrow. “What sort of compromise?”
Without a word,
Ciaran raised two fingers to his lips.
Tom grinned—a bit
smugly, truth be told. She nodded. “I could live with that,” she smirked,
mirroring his pose.
Amid cheers (and
a few groans and cat-calls), Tom and Ciaran kissed their own fingertips, then
gently pressed them to each other’s. They grinned a little foolishly at each
other—Tom actually giggled at the ridiculousity of the situation—then gasped a
little as Ciaran laced his fingers through hers, his smile no longer foolish….
Then he winked
and draped a protective arm about her shoulders, gently leading her off the
dance floor—and away from the mistletoe.
Until next
time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,
Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year!
~R~
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
