Holiday House Parties (8 page)

However, the next morning, when he broached the subject of his departure to his aunt, she refused to hear of it. “Three more days, Geordie,” she pleaded. “Only three more days! Tomorrow night is Christmas Eve! How can you be so cruel as to even
suggest
leaving me in the lurch for such a tiny stretch of time as that? What can three days mean to a young man in his prime? You have all of
life
stretching out before you—years and years and
years
! How can you begrudge your only aunt a paltry three days?”

So, with a shrug, Geordie surrendered again. The three days would seem endless, but they would pass. He could, he supposed, endure.

The snow, though still falling, had slackened enough that afternoon to permit those of the company who wished to face the elements to go out and find a Yule log for the Christmas fire. As soon as the expedition was suggested by Lady Teale, Archie and Geordie volunteered. Then Bella shyly asked if she could join them, her example promptly followed by the hearty Emmaline. Lady Jane, having recovered from the injury to her finger (and unwilling to surrender the field to her rival), bravely declared herself ready to make one of the party, even if it meant risking an inflammation of the lungs.

Caroline, determined to avoid Geordie's company, did not join the group. She remained silent as the Yule log party began to dress themselves for the outdoor expedition. But Maud, determined to nurture the match she envisioned for her nephew, kept urging the girl to join the others. Caroline resisted as long as she could, but eventually her refusals began to seem rude, and she reluctantly succumbed to the older woman's importunities. Her swain, Douglas Dawlish, as soon as he learned that Caro was going, decided that he, too, would make one of the group. Maud tried several ploys to keep him at home (like tempting him to go down to the kitchen to sample some of the Christmas baking), but she could not prevail upon him to remain behind.

It was a cheerful crowd of seven that set out to brave the elements. Dressed warmly in galoe-shoes, mufflers, and mittens, and suitably supplied with two saws and a hefty rope, they slogged through the snow that covered the east lawn with a blanket over a foot deep, and headed toward the home woods. But they didn't hurry. Even though the sky was relentlessly grey, and a bitter wind nipped at their cheeks, they felt giddily happy. As they floundered with clumsy gaiety through drifts that were sometimes as high as their waists, they paused to toss snowballs at each other, to pull each other down into the snow, and generally to cavort like children. Soon the icy air was filled with the mist of their breath and the ring of their laughter.

Geordie, being pelted with snowballs by Emmaline from one side and Jane from another, shielded his face with a protective arm and loped through the snow away from them. Momentarily blinded, he blundered into Caroline, causing her to lose her balance and topple awkwardly into a drift. He laughed for a moment as he watched her flail about helplessly, and then he bent down, took both her mittened hands in his, and hauled her to her feet. “There ye are, lass,” he grinned. “No harm done.” And he reached out to straighten her bonnet, a little mauve silk confection tied with blue ribbons, which had been knocked askew.

Caroline, who'd been occupied with brushing the snow from her face and hair, looked up in time to see him reach toward her. Instantly her eyes became alarmed, and she held up her hands to ward him off. “No!” she gasped.

He backed off at once. “Wheesht, lass, what's afrighted ye? I was only goin' to straighten yer bonnet.”

“I can do it myself,” she said coldly.

His grin widened. “Ye needna fear I was goin' to kiss ye again. Not after that blow ye gave me the last time,” he teased, rubbing his cheek.

Her only answer was an angry glare, after which she turned away from him and stumbled through the snow to Douglas Dawlish's side, far enough away from Geordie to be out of his hearing but not out of his sight. Dawlish had paused under a tall oak tree (standing in lone splendor in the midst of the lawn) in order to lean on the trunk while he emptied his boot of a lump of snow that had fallen into the top, but as soon as Caroline came up to him, he straightened up and stepped toward her. Having felt a sense of competitiveness with the Scotsman from the first (though he didn't know why), he looked down at the girl with a frown. “Did that deuced maw-worm push you down on purpose, Caro? I'll give him a piece of my mind if he did.”

“No, of course he didn't,” Caroline said. “Pay him no mind. Just take my arm.”

Douglas was somewhat taken aback by her tone, but he offered his arm as directed. Caroline grasped it tightly, and after taking a quick backward glance at Geordie to make sure he was watching, smiled up at Douglas with flirtatious affection. “There,” she murmured, shamelessly fluttering her lashes up at him. “Your strong arm will keep me from another tumble.”

Geordie stared at the pair, his grin slowly fading. Something troublesome—a battle of emotions—was going on in his chest. What was there about Miss Caroline Woolcott that put him in turmoil every time he had even the slightest encounter with her? Was Archie right? Did he care for that toplofty female more than he was willing to admit? And even if he did, what good was it to acknowledge the feeling? The lass cared nothing for him. She evidently wanted that stick, Dawlish, and as far as Geordie was concerned, she could have him.

He was about to turn away when he heard a frightening sound—the awful crack of wood splitting. It was coming from the oak tree under which Dawlish and Caroline were standing. “Look out!” he shouted, wading through the snow toward them as quickly as he could. “The
tree
!”

The pair looked at him, confused. “The
tree
!” he shouted again, gesturing toward the branches above them, but he could feel the wind take the sound from his mouth and blow it away.

Dawlish backed away a few steps and looked up at the branches to see if he could understand what the Scotsman meant. “He's playing some childish trick on—” he said to Caroline, but he was interrupted by another cracking sound from above them. It was then that he realized that a huge branch—the one right above where Caroline was standing—was cracking off the tree from the weight of the snow on it. Dawlish froze in terror. Caroline, looking up, belatedly realized what was happening. But she had waited too long; the branch was already falling. In another second it would be right upon her. There was no time even to scream.

At that moment, Geordie hurtled himself upon her and rolled them both out of the way just as the huge branch came crashing down.

During the moment that followed no one moved. Geordie, with the breath knocked out of him, lay gasping. It took another moment before he realized that he was lying on top of a speechless, breathless Caroline, who was staring at him with eyes wide and mouth slightly opened to form an astounded, soundless O. He scrambled to his knees and, placing his hands under her arms, slowly raised them both to their feet. For a moment their eyes locked as they each expelled a long breath. Then she broke away and stared down at the fallen branch, wincing at the sight of her beribboned bonnet, which was crushed beneath it. The crushed bonnet made her shudder, and instinctively, she threw herself into Geordie's arms and hid her face in the capes of his greatcoat.

His arms tightened about her. “Wheesht, lassie,” he whispered, his lips on her hair, “ye needna get yersel' in a curfuffle. All's well that ends well.”

Before she could respond, Dawlish, white-faced and trembling, came up to them. “Caro? Are you all right?” he asked, taking her by the shoulders and turning her out of Geordie's hold so that she could face him.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine.” She smiled up at him reassuringly. “The branch completely missed us. You needn't get into a curfuffle.”

Geordie heard her use his Lallans word, but he did not smile. He felt too angry at Dawlish—and at her, too. It seemed to him that she'd turned from him to Dawlish much too readily.

By this time the others were crowding round, everyone talking at once. Archie pounded Geordie on the back, congratulating him on his quick thinking, while Jane and Emmaline enveloped Caroline in hysterical embraces. Only Bella was thoughtful enough to ask Geordie if he was unhurt. The Scotsman did not fail to notice that Caroline did not look in his direction but stood quite contentedly with Dawlish's arm about her, the center of attention. Disgusted, he reached down under the branch, pulled out her bonnet, pushed through the crowd surrounding her, and handed it to her. “Here, lass,” he said. “I ken ye can put it on yoursel'.”

Before she could respond, he turned about and strode off toward the woods. “I say, Geordie,” Archie called after him, “where are you going?”

“To find a Yule log,” he called back. “Is it no the reason we came out?”

Feeling unaccountably irritable, Geordie slogged off through the snow toward the woods at a purposeful pace. He didn't pause or look back until he found himself completely surrounded by trees. There within the woods the snow was much less deep, and he was able to move about more easily. His mood lifted again as he looked about him, for it was quite lovely under the trees. The wind soughed through the snow-covered branches above him, causing light clumps of snow to fall with unexpected, plashing noises. The evergreens were clad with white, while the deciduous trees seemed to have been sketched in by some unknown, heaven-sent artist who underlined their white blankets with thin black lines, gracefully etching them against the grey sky in indelible india ink. A frosty haze rose from the ground, making everything more than ten feet away almost invisible. It was a scene of wintry beauty, eerie with mist and magic.

The magic dissipated somewhat when Archie and Bella caught up with him, and they set out on the mundane task of finding a Yule log. By the time the rest of the group joined them, the three had found a fallen tree whose trunk seemed the right size. “Geordie says we just have to saw off a few branches,” Archie announced to the others, “and then we can tie it round with the rope and drag it back.”

Douglas Dawlish shook his head in annoyance. He was tired of hearing Geordie's name, tired of seeing his face, tired of the admiration with which his sister, and Archie, and almost everyone else in Teale Court spoke of him. Dawlish was not gifted with the talent for objective self-analysis, so he did not recognize that the cause of his animosity toward Geordie was an overwhelming jealousy; a feeling exacerbated by the Scotsman's courageous act a short while ago. Douglas felt keenly, in a buried part of his brain, that he should have been the one who'd saved Caroline, but he didn't acknowledge to himself his deep sense of shame. He only knew that he didn't like Lord Dunvegan at all, and he didn't want to do anything that the deuced Scotsman suggested. “I'm certain we can find a bigger log than that,” he said scornfully.

“But, Douglas,” Bella said mildly, “this one is perfectly adequate.”

“A larger one might be too big for the fireplace,” Emmaline pointed out.

“And the larger the log,” Archie nodded, “the heavier to drag.”

“There are three healthy men here,” Dawlish insisted. “Surely we can handle a heavier load than this puny specimen.”

“Blethers, laddie,” Geordie argued with good-natured logic, “ye canna call this log puny. It must be seven feet long.”

“And at least eighteen inches in diameter,” Archie added.

“Well, I'm going off to see if I can find one that's two feet across,” Douglas said stubbornly, and he stomped off into the trees.

“Really, Douglas,” his sister called after him in disgust, “must you always override everyone else? Come back here!”

But Douglas had already disappeared into the mist, and no answer drifted back from the shadows into which he'd vanished.

“Oh, dear! He's certain to get lost,” Jane murmured timorously.

“No, he won't,” Bella assured her. “These woods are not extensive.”

“But I suppose we'd better go after him,” Archie said glumly.

“Aye, let's go,” Geordie agreed. “Like as no, the lad'll find a better log than this.”

“This one seems perfect to me,” Emmaline grumbled. “My brother can be a bumptious idiot sometimes. I don't know what you see in him, Caro.”

“I?” Caroline gasped, astonished, as everyone's eyes turned toward her. The girl reddened painfully. “But, Emmaline, I never—”

At that moment, however, a loud cry of pain issued from the darkness into which Douglas had disappeared. “Oh, my
heavens
!” Jane cried. “What was
that
?”

“It sounded like Dawlish,” Archie said. “We'd better see—”

But Geordie had already set off at a run in the direction of the cry.

They found Douglas easily enough, just by following the sounds of his groans. They found him on the ground, lying on his side and clutching his leg. Geordie knelt beside him. “Is it yer knee, old fellow?”

Dawlish shook his head. “Broke my leg,” he gasped, his lips white and his face clenched in pain. “Stepped in a … damned hole and … broke my damned leg!”

“Oh, good heavens, a broken 1-leg!” Jane whimpered. “How very d-dreadful!”

“I wouldna jump to conclusions,” Geordie murmured, easing the fellow onto his back and straightening his leg gently. “Let's have a look at it first.”

“Are you a doctor, too?” Dawlish asked, a mixture of pain and contempt in his voice.

Geordie ignored his sarcasm. Motioning Archie to support Douglas's head and shoulders, he began to examine the leg, starting up at the thigh. At the first touch, Douglas winced and cried out. “Wait!” he gasped, white-lipped. “Caro … would you … hold my hand?”

Caroline knelt beside him. “Of course,” she said, biting her lip. She pulled off her mitten and took his hand in hers.