Page 45 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“Yes, of—” Rose stopped, mid-sentence. “Gwyn, what are you wearing? I know you had a new gown made for the ball.”

“I did, I know. But I decided to go with this tonight.” She waved an impatient hand down her white velvet gown trimmed in silver. “If Mother asks after me, will you tell her that you’ve just seen me head toward the dancing? Or Father, of course.”

“Yes, but what—”

“Thank you!” Gwyn pressed a kiss on her sister’s cheek and moved on.

She found Tamsyn and Gryff near the refreshment table. “Tamsyn!” She clutched her sister’s hand.

“Gwyn? What’s this? Where is your new gown?”

She sidled closer to her sister. “I’m hoping to save it for a more . . . personal occasion. If you’ll help me tonight?”

Tamsyn’s brows lifted and she squeezed Gwyn’s hand. “What do you need?”

“Distract Mother and Father for me? If they ask, say you’ve just seen me go out for a breath of air, or off to the retiring room.”

“They are looking for Marjorie just now,” Tamsyn said. “I’ll do my best, and I’ll tell Morgan too.”

“Thank you!”

“Good luck!” Tamsyn pressed her lips together and held her crossed fingers in the air.

Gwyn slipped away, heading past the main staircase and through a baize door. Making her way through the labyrinth of servant’s passages, she arrived at the back end of the castle. No one moved about back here, they were all occupied with the ball. Opening a little-used closet, she still winced at the squeak of the door. But her bundle waited, undisturbed. She pulled it out, along with her cloak, and slipped outside into the gardens.

Here, she knew her way.

Ten o’clock. Beneath the oak. Tell no one.

It was all the note had said.

But Locryn had whispered to her as well. “Tonight. Wear what I brought you. Remember what I told you.”

She remembered. Passing the maze, she crossed through the rose garden and headed for the woods—and for Lancarrow.

* * *

Lancarrow sat dark and largely empty. The family had all gone to attend the Yule Ball at Castle Keyvnor. Most of the servants had gone to Bocka Morrow, to take part in the guise dancing and other revelries.

Locryn moved through the house on silent feet. His costume moved around him. It was an eerie feeling, in the dark. He saw and heard no one as he crept out into the gardens and made his way toward the oak tree.

But that didn’t mean that no one was there.

He paused a few feet from his destination, as he’d done before, on that first night. She was there ahead of him once more. Gwyn.

His heart swelled at the sight of her—and with his unswerving resolve to win her, once and for all.

He caught the flash of metal in the dim light and moved closer. She was dressed in a white velvet gown with silver trim at the hem. It could not have been a more perfect fit for what he’d planned this evening.

“You remembered,” he said as he drew closer. She was bent over, using a pair of scissors to cut her skirts into ragged strips.

She straightened, staring into the dark and her eyes widened as he stepped toward her. “Locryn?” she whispered.

“Who else?” He removed his mask and grinned. “You had better not be meeting anyone else out here in the dark.”

“No one else,” she said weakly. “And I did remember. Fancy clothes, but cut into tatters, you said.” She drew a deep breath. “Heavens, but you look magnificent. That mask . . .”

“Thank you.” He’d worked hard on his costume, and with his Aunt Morwen’s help, had accomplished something grand. His mask was a felted badger’s face, all in black and white, with silver tufts at the ears and jowls. He wore black trousers, a silver embroidered waistcoat and an old black frock coat—all of them in tatters. White, black and silver strips of ragged fabric were attached to his shoulders and sleeves, and they moved with his every step.

---