Chapter 8

E verything about him was red.

His ears were red. His nose, he was certain, was red. He was fairly certain his cheeks were red, and his fingers underneath his gloves were most certainly red. His entire body felt tingling and alive.

As a matter of fact, it was perhaps the most alive he’d felt in some time, outside of Perdita’s company. He reveled in it. He was surprised. Usually, when he went into the forest, he went with just his falcon.

And his falcon was overhead now, cutting through the sky, thrilling at being outdoors, completely unbothered by the cold.

With the Briarwoods, the woods were definitely a different experience. He had been hit with multiple snowballs. This was something that had not happened to him since he was a child. It was so strange, these grownup men who acted, in many ways, as if they were still exuberant, overactive youths.

Ajax winked at him. “You are doing well, but now we have something rather important to do. Now that we’ve seen that you can handle a bit of snow—”

“A bit of snow?” he wanted to echo. There was well over a foot, and it was still falling about the forest.

If he was honest, under the canopy of trees really was the best place. The snow came in drifts, like an ancient pattern.

There were actually places to walk underneath the heavy branches of the old oaks that had long since shed their leaves.

“What is it?” Gordon dared to ask.

“Bloody hell, man,” Lord Zephyr intoned. “You sound as if you’re bored.”

“Not bored. Just concerned. You might leave me out here for the foxes to eat.”

Lord Zephyr gave a wounded look. “Never. No. We wouldn’t do that—”

“To the poor foxes,” broke in Hector.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “I think I would make excellent fare.”

Zephyr waggled his brows at him, his gaze alight with mischief. “Shall we find out?”

Gordon ignored him. “Just tell me what we’re about.”

“We’re going to find a Yule log,” Zephyr declared gleefully.

“A Yule log?”

Lord Ajax’s face was a mask of concern. “Don’t you know what that is?”

Gordon tugged on his coat. “Of course I know what it is.”

“Then why are you saying it like that?” Lord Hector asked seriously.

Gordon paused. He didn’t want sympathy, nor did he really wish to give explanations. “I haven’t had a Yule log in I don’t know how long. Not since my parents died. The servants have one, of course. I ensured that. But I…never saw the point.”

The three brothers stared at him as if he had just said kittens should die on a daily basis and puppies were oft murdered in their little beds.

“It’s just a fallen tree,” he pointed out, mystified by their response.

Lord Ajax brought a gloved hand to his chest and drew in a dramatic breath. “Just a fallen tree. Dear God, man, Mother would drop down dead if you said that in front of her, or at least she would faint.”

“Beautifully,” said Zephyr, his boots crunching in the snow.

“She is an actress,” admitted Hector. “But she’d have the right of it.”

Gordon scowled. “What? I don’t understand.”

“When was the last time you had a Yule log with people about it? How old were you?” Hector asked with a shocking dose of kindness.

Gordon didn’t like it. He’d spent most of his life making certain he did not feel the pain of his parents’ deaths. It had hit him like a hell hound that had sunk its teeth into Gordon’s flesh and never let go. Yet he couldn’t give in to grief. Even though he’d been a boy, he was the earl. There was too much to be done.

And he’d been instructed at his school that boys don’t weep. Not even when their parents died.

As they trudged through the snow, deeper into the forest, he said as casually as he could, “Perhaps when I was twelve years old.”

“Bloody hell, old boy, what kind of Christmases have you had since then?” demanded Ajax.

Gordon blinked and stated, “I always make certain that the servants are very well taken care of. I give them the day off. Presents are provided, as is a dinner and oranges and all sort of good things from London. The villagers are given hams and pheasant. And I ensure that several cakes from the kitchen are distributed, as well as dried fruits. I have crates of oranges imported. Then, of course, are the walnuts given about. There’s also candied meats.” Gordon shrugged. “All sorts of things. But I don’t have time for any of that.”

Zephyr’s eyes bulged in horror. “You work on Christmas.”

“Indeed, I do. Why would I not? Does the world stop suffering and needing assistance just because it is Christmas? It’s just another day,” he gritted.

“Another day?” Hector repeated, as if he had been clocked in the jaw by a prize fighter. “Do you know nothing about being merry?”

“Look here,” Gordon defended. “I know how to have fun—”

“No, you don’t,” Ajax contradicted. “Clearly. Bloody hell, old boy. My heart bleeds for you.”

“Please don’t let it,” Gordon replied. “My Christmases have been perfectly adequate.”

Hector looked ashen. “Adequate.”

Zephyr grabbed him by the shoulder. “Right. You listen here. You pick your log.”

“No,” Gordon said quickly, not knowing if he was touched or about to punch Lord Zephyr in the face, thereby dislodging the man’s grip. “I shall not do that.”

“You shall,” Zephyr replied firmly. “Or we will bury you here in the woods. You’ll be frozen until March, and then the animals will get you.”

Gordon rolled his eyes and batted at Zephyr’s hand. “Cease your idol threats. I don’t believe you for a moment.”

“You should,” called the duke suddenly from behind him.

Gordon jumped. “How the devil did you sneak up on us like that?”

The duke grinned madly, his eyes brighter than usual. “Oh, easily, old boy. I’ve been at one with these woods since I was a small thing. I used to come out here when Perdita was little to make sure she didn’t get lost, which is absolutely hilarious because we could drop her in the middle of Yorkshire, and she’d find her way back here. My sister knows the wild creatures better than any of us. The forest bows to her, and the fields? They all but call her by name. And you? You need to return to that, I think. So, you will choose the log.”

Gordon ground his teeth together. He was, at present, surrounded by Briarwood men. There was no point in arguing. Not over this.

“If you insist,” he replied.

“Oh, we do,” the brothers replied as if they were a chorus.

Resigned, Gordon began to look about.

“Oak is the best,” the duke said. “Burns beautifully.”

And as he looked at the trees, he made a small sound of concern. The truth was he didn’t want to fail any of them. He didn’t want to fail Perdita.

It was clear they all loved Christmas.

“We’re looking for a recently felled tree,” Ajax said. “Perdita would never forgive us if we took one down for no reason. Generally, we only take down trees that are sick, or if we or the tenants need firewood, that sort of thing. But frequently, you can find quite a good log about. The storms can be ferocious up here.”

Gordon paused and wondered what it’d be like to be in this forest with the trees’ branches waving overhead and the sound of the wind whipping through it. And suddenly he wondered what it would’ve been like thousands of years ago, back when the old gods whispered to the people here.

For a moment, the maddest of all possible moments, he felt as if he could hear the trees whispering to each other, whispering to him, and he blinked.

“You quite all right there?” Zephyr asked.

He was silent for a moment.

Zephyr smiled. “That’s it. Give yourself over. Enjoy life.”

He narrowed his eyes.

The duke nodded. “I know that’s quite a radical thought for you. But life is meant to be enjoyed, not suffered through, my friend.”

It was a radical thought. Gordon didn’t really enjoy things. He had so much to do that he simply didn’t have time to allow himself to give into the pleasure of life. He should actually be back at the house working now, reading through one of the speeches that was often sent to him, but obviously he couldn’t.

Not surrounded like this.

And he was never going to find a bloody log. He was going to freeze to death out in the snow, with this family who seemed determined to drag him into their world.

It was never going to happen. He’d never fit.

And then suddenly, as if fate had heard him and laughed loudly, his eyes spotted something in the distance. “That one,” he said, pointing.

The brothers spotted it too.

“You are a natural, old boy,” Ajax whispered.

“We are thrilled,” enthused Hector.

“It is a relief,” added Zephyr. “Because quite frankly, if you weren’t up to this job, we were going to have to tell our brother here, the duke of all dukes, that he’d failed miserably. If you’d found a less than superior Yule log, we would’ve had to punt you out of the estate and Perdita’s life immediately.”

His brows narrowed. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

The four brothers looked at him as if of course they were, but then Ajax started to laugh. “The look on your face. We wouldn’t possibly throw you out for not finding the right Yule log.”

Zephyr nodded. “We’ll only do that if you fail to kiss our sister by Christmas.”

A strangled note erupted from Gordon’s throat. “What is wrong with the four of you?”

The duke gave him a slightly unhinged look, then clapped him on the back again. “So much, so very, very much. But I promise you, it’s all positively delightful. You should simply throw yourself in with it and join us.”

It was tempting, Gordon realized. So very tempting. He’d spent so much time alone that he was struggling to understand that he could have this sort of life.

He stopped suddenly. “Why have you picked me?”

The duke tilted his head to the side, his blue-black hair as dark as Perdita’s crow’s wing, even in the morning light, falling across his face. “Are you searching for compliments? Because I thought I made it fairly clear why I picked you.”

“Not exactly,” he rasped. “Or perhaps I just simply don’t remember it because the whole state of affairs is so absolutely preposterous that my mind ejected it all—”

“Because you are good,” said Lord Zephyr simply.

“And you clearly have an affinity with animals,” added Hector, pointing up at his falcon.

He was perching in the trees.

The bird had followed them from the castle and come out quite happily.

Gordon was glad that he’d been able to bring the animal. It was hard keeping him cooped up in a room. He had gone and collected the bird from the barn and brought him to his chamber. The falcon stretched its wings out as if knowing that they were all talking about him, dropped down, soared, and let out a beautiful fierce cry before landing upon Gordon’s shoulder.

Lord Zephyr stared. “You see. The two of you are a perfect pair. Who keeps wild birds on their shoulders? You and my sister.”

“Nobody else I know walks around with a bird on their shoulder,” stated Ajax.

“I don’t generally,” Gordon said softly, feeling the intensity of the animal he had rescued so near his cheek. “He prefers his freedom, but he does like to be close.”

Ajax snorted. “Anybody who walks around with a bird on their shoulder and acts like you is clearly meant for our sister.”

“I see,” he replied. But there was one thing, and he didn’t want to tell the brothers because it was an unpleasant fact. Crows and falcons did not like each other. They did not get on. They were natural enemies. A falcon would attack a crow, and crows in a group would chase a falcon and attack it. So, if this was why he’d been picked, the brothers had gotten it very wrong.

Indeed, there would be no good outcome between a crow and a falcon. How did he make them understand that maybe he couldn’t marry Perdita? Maybe he would simply have to show them?

It was a dangerous thought, one which coiled his belly, but he was a man of facts.

If they wouldn’t understand his arguments, he would simply have to stop arguing and make them see that what they wanted would not work.

Could he do that?

Could he hurt them all so dearly?

Perhaps he could. After all, sometimes the only way to help someone was to hurt them, but bloody hell, he didn’t want to hurt Perdita. Not at all, but if it was the only way that they would understand the truth, then he would because it was the truth. A falcon and a crow could never mate. They could never be one. He needed to be alone like his falcon.

A crow? It belonged to the group, and that was the simple truth. Christmas or no.