A Laird for Christmas (19 page)

A chill of foreboding shot down Nicholas’s spine as he watched Lord Galloway continue his work in silence. The man appeared to know what he was doing.

Nicholas noted he was not the only one staring at Lord Galloway.

“We are all in trouble if he actually creates something with all that string.” Bryce frowned down at the mass of fabric in his hands. The white fabric had been stitched into what might have resembled a body if the observer had indulged in his cups.

Nicholas narrowed his gaze and truly tried to see what it was Bryce was creating. The body appeared to have the pox, if the telltale dots of blood were to be regarded as part of his design. “What is it?” he finally asked.

Bryce pressed his lips together, studying his own creation. “Jane was so pleased with the doll Jules gave her during our first competition, that I thought perhaps she would like another.”

“What does that have to do with the Yule season?” Jules laughed.

Bryce became rigid as he cast Jules a frosty glare. “It is an angel. She named her puppy by that name. It must mean she likes angels, even just a little.”

Jules laughed, delighting in Bryce’s discomfort. “You might want to add some wings.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” he replied in a curt tone.

David ignored the lot of them as he sewed quietly in the corner. His fingers worked not with thread, but with folding the length of yellow cloth in his lap.

“This is not meant as a complaint,” Bryce said. “I really do hate this challenge.”

Colin frowned. “Where did you learn how to do that, Lord Galloway?”

Lord Galloway looked up from his many spindles. “I had five sisters. There was no one to fight with, so if I wanted company, I had to learn my way around the solar.”

“I feel very emasculated,” Jules complained.

“I feel out of my league,” Colin countered.

Nicholas glanced about the chamber as the men complained about their attempts to sew. He doubted women ever complained about sewing. More like they complained about the men in their lives while they sewed. The thought made him smile.

David growled and threw his folded cloth on the floor. “What is Jane trying to do to us with this test?”

“This was not her idea,” Lord Galloway offered.

David stood and strode about the chamber like a wild, caged beast. “Then whose idea was it?”

“I might have mentioned it to Lady Margaret,” he said with a smile.

David’s fists tightened, and he shot across the chamber until his hands were about Lord Galloway’s throat. “You pompous ass.”

Nicholas threw down his fabric and pulled David away. “Leave him be, David. We all have our strengths. Yours was definitely hunting.”

Lord Galloway massaged his abused throat. Several acknowledgments were echoed around the room.

When the fight left David, Nicholas released him. “Time is slipping by with such nonsense. It would be better spent finishing your creation than killing off the competition.”

David returned to his seat and started folding his cloth once more, grumbling beneath his breath the whole time.

He needed to take his own advice, Nicholas realized with a glance about the solar. The other men were much further along with their creations. His gaze settled on Lord Galloway, who worked on silently. He had tied the thread of several lengths of string to the pins and expertly moved the spindles back and forth, creating a lacy pattern with the string. Nicholas released a silent groan. How could any of them compete with a man who knew how to make lace?

Jane waited until the toll of the bell died before she reached for the door latch. Two hours had passed. The competition was at an end. A part of her was curious to see what they had created. Another part of her was less eager to have to choose a winner.

“Are you ready to see how they fared?” Margaret asked from beside her.

“They are awfully quiet.” Silence was all that greeted them from the opposite side of the door. “Perhaps they have killed each other with the pins?”

“Do not be dramatic, dearest. They are most likely as nervous as you are.”

She was nervous, but determined to get the selection of her next champion over with. Steeling herself, she opened the door and went in.

The first surprise was that they were all alive and watching her every move as she stepped into the chamber. The second surprise was that the room was clean. The fabric had been neatly gathered and placed back into the basket. The shears, needles, and thread were collected and returned to their proper places.

The third surprise was that each of the men waited not in his chair, but on their feet, their movements arrested as though only a heartbeat before they had been pacing like caged animals about the chamber.

“Goodness,” Lady Margaret exclaimed, giving voice to the thoughts running through Jane’s head. “You all completed your task. That is excellent. Simply marvelous.” Her aunt moved to stand near Lord Galloway. She offered him a coy smile and color flooded her cheeks.

Jane watched the exchange between her aunt and Lord Galloway with interest. Her aunt never blushed. And the look she gave him before leaning against the wall at his back was almost as though she were under some kind of spell.

The tension in the chamber was thick as Jane moved into the room slowly, allowing herself time to digest her aunt’s fascination with Lord Galloway. David stood off to her left. One glance at his dark expression revealed his trapped desperation. His eyes sparked with undisguised temper.

A quick glance at the others revealed the same caged energy. None of them were happy about the competition Lady Margaret had foisted on them.

Returning her gaze to David she asked, “What have you created for me, Sir David?”

David slowly unfolded his hands to reveal a bright yellow folded star.

She offered him a smile of appreciation. “How very clever of you to fold the cloth into angles, then secure it with thread.”

“It was all I could think of,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the star. “Leave me in the wilderness for days on end with no food or water and I can survive. But sewing, it is the worst sort of torture and not something I ever wish to do again.” Tension coiled in his wiry frame.

“Tell me why you chose a star.”

“It is supposed to be the Christmas star, the one the wise men followed to lead them to the Christ child.”

“Very well done, David.”

At her words he met her gaze once more. Some of the tension in him vanished. “Good enough to declare me the winner?”

“We will see,” she said, moving to her next suitor. Nicholas leaned casually against the wall by the hearth. He met her gaze boldly, confident as he held out his offering of a light green handkerchief with what appeared to be a
stitched holly leaf and berries in the center if she squinted her eyes enough to make the mass of green and red into a form. He had tried his hand at needlepoint. That fact itself warmed her heart. He knew from their earlier days together how much she detested needlepoint. Although she could say without a doubt that her skills, even as poor as they were, outstripped Nicholas’s talent with a needle.

That he had tried to make a connection with her over thread and needle warmed her to her toes. She turned the handkerchief over and inspected the sewn edges. The linen was folded neatly, but the hemming stiches were uneven, and after every three or four stitches, the thread bunched into a knot. Again, she hid a smile. She could see he had tried his best. “What a useful as well as pretty creation, Nicholas.” She set his creation on a small table nearby. “Every time I am taken by the chills or fever, I will think of you.”

He frowned. “That is not a good thing, is it?”

“ ’Tis part of life, and you did well,” Jane said.

Nicholas leaned back, his frown increasing as she moved on to Bryce.

Her cousin proudly displayed a mass of white fabric that might have been in the shape of a body, though it was oddly deformed and dotted with red spots.

“It is an angel,” he said when she remained silent, studying the object.

“Of course it is,” she breathed, pleased that he had informed her of such. She never would have guessed correctly otherwise. She took the angel from his fingers and held her up to the light. Large, bold stitches ran up and down the fabric, forming her body and what must have been her wings. Bryce did not have a dainty hand, but regardless the blood-spattered object she held showed he had indeed tried and sacrificed much of himself in the process. She dropped her gaze to his abused hands. “How are your fingers? Should I have one of the maids bring you a tisane to soak them?”

He moved his hands behind his back. “They are the wounds of my efforts, and just like battle wounds, they will heal eventually.”

Jane blinked, then searched his face, his eyes, seeking that unruly temper that usually simmered beneath the surface. What had happened to change
Bryce so completely since his abuse of Jules in the lists? Was his newfound patience and humility an act, or had he truly changed?

She liked this new side of Bryce. She narrowed her gaze. A part of her was still suspicious, expecting the temperamental boy she had known to appear at some unsuspecting moment. “Why an angel, Bryce?”

He straightened. “It is supposed to be a likeness of you,” he said in a low-toned voice.

After a pregnant pause during which she assessed and considered his true motive, she replied, “I am honored by your gift.” But was his effort enough to make her declare him the winner and give him the time he so obviously wanted to perhaps explain his change of heart?

Jane stepped toward Jules, hoping as she did that one of the creations would be far superior to all else so that her decision would be an easy one. Before her skirts had settled, Jules offered her his creation.

“If you thought Nicholas’s gift was useful, then mine is also that and necessary.” He handed her a pair of soft leather gloves.

Though the cut of the thin leather was uneven, she exclaimed, “Well done, Jules.” From her own experience she knew how difficult leather was to sew. She slid a hand into first one glove then the other and flexed her hands. The seams were loose enough to allow air to brush across her hands, which might be an admirable quality in the summer, but certainly not in the snow.

Jane flexed her fingers, admiring his work. As she did, several of the stiches came loose and two fingers popped out.

“I can fix that,” Jules assured her.

She studied her leather-covered palms, avoiding his eyes. She knew what she would see there—eagerness and a plea for her to choose him as the winner. She had seen it in all their eyes so far. “These gloves are very thoughtful, Jules. With a little repair, I imagine they will be quite delightful during this winter season.”

She met his gaze.

He beamed with pride.

Her chest tightened. It had been such a long time since she had seen any sort of pleasure on Jules’s gaunt face. A part of her wanted to see that pleasure continue, and it would if she declared him her champion. Putting the thought out of her mind, she drew in a tight breath, removed the gloves, and set them near the other gifts before moving on to Colin.

“Milady,” he greeted her with a bow of his head.

She allowed her gaze to travel to his hands. In them, he held a mass of pink—it was the very same fabric from the gown she had worn yesterday eve at the banquet.

“I know the challenge was to make something that might represent Christmastide, but I could not come up with an idea.” Colin held up his offering. “This is what came to mind. Because there were no flowers in the garden when we went there, I decided to create one for you today.”

It was a flower
. Jane accepted the unruly tangle of fabric and thread. After a long moment of study, she said, “You have captured the chaos of a rosebud before it is about to bloom into a beautiful flower.”

His brows drew together for a heartbeat before he smiled. “Ah, yes, that was my intent.”

She brought the bud to her nose and closed her eyes. “I can imagine the first scent of spring upon the petals.”

She opened her eyes at the touch of his fingers upon hers. “You are nothing if not kind, Lady Jane,” he said, offering her that gorgeous smile of his.

She placed Colin’s creation on the table with the others and moved to her final suitor.

Lord Galloway’s pose was casual as he leaned one shoulder against the wall, his gaze fixed on both the woman beside him and the woman who approached at the same time. Something was different about Lord Galloway this morning. He still offered Jane his usual seductive grin and he had arranged his body so that it was difficult to ignore all his male perfection—perfection that no one with functioning eyes would rate as less than phenomenal. His manliness was guaranteed to distract any living, breathing woman.

Jane shifted her gaze to her aunt. And distract her aunt he did. He took Jane’s hand and pressed a light kiss to the back. Margaret’s gaze fixed on each movement, followed his every breath. Jane blinked. Never had she seen her aunt so enthralled.

Lady Margaret was smitten with the man.

Jane pulled her hand away and stepped back, suddenly uneasy with the thought of this man vying for both her and her aunt’s attention. Her nerves tightened. “Lord Galloway, what do you have to show for your efforts with needle and thread?” Jane asked, praying the article would be something much worse than Colin’s attempt at a flower.

“For you,” he said as he slowly unfurled the golden mass in his hand. The fabric rippled with the movement, then settled to reveal a triangle of gold fabric trimmed in a narrow band of delicate lace.

Groans of disgust sounded behind her as she stared in awe at his creation. “You made this? In two hours?”

He picked up the edges and settled the garment about her shoulders.

The light, airy shawl molded to her. Jane brought her fingers up to feel the smooth edges of the lace. “How in heaven’s name did you create lace?”

He gave her a devilish smile. “I was raised in a house of women. I know a great many things that are more of the feminine persuasion.”

Jane fixed her gaze on her aunt’s face. Margaret greeted her with a sad half smile. “The winner of this competition could not be more obvious.”