Page 49 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

And something caught his eye. He turned back, toward the stand of trees that formed the far edge of the clearing—and breathed a sigh of relief.

She stood on a low branch of an elm—of course she did. She was flapping the wings of her costume and it was the movement that had grabbed his attention.

Their gazes met. He started toward her.

The church bell started to ring. Behind him the crowd roared their approval as the bonfire blazed into life.

And ahead of him, Gwyn tried to jump down from the tree, but her costumed wings had become hopelessly tangled in twigs and branches in the tree. At his feet, grasses and weeds shot upward, latching and curling around the strips of rags attached to his coat.

She was caught.

And so was he.

* * *

Thistle popped in and out, from rooftop to rooftop about the village, looking for a sign of Morcom, Locryn or Gwyn. Singers and performers still wandered the streets below, but it looked and sounded like the majority of the villagers had gathered near the outskirts of town.

She headed that way.

She found a scene of happy celebration. Children dashed around the fire, adults smiled and drank toasts and wished each other a Happy Christmas. But at the edge of the crowd . . .

Locryn. He was caught up, entangled in weeds and grasses, while vines crept in to hold him even tighter. He fought with them, struggling mightily, but when he ripped one encroaching plant, two more would grab him. He kept looking ahead and she followed his gaze to see Gwyn, her clothing similarly tangled in the branches of a tree.

Thistle looked up. Morcom sat in the heights of the elm, one hand spread wide before him, his expression one of fierce concentration.

She popped up beside him.

“Morcom! Stop this, please.”

He shook his head.

“Morcom, you’ve misunderstood. I don’t want to kiss that man down there.”

“You like him,” Morcom ground out. “I know.”

“No. I should have told you, I should have explained. I made a horrible, foolish mistake and I cursed him.”

“You kissed him. I saw it.”

She flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry you saw. I was wrong to interfere.”

“You didn’t want him to kiss that girl, that night. Then he went away and made you sad.”

She moved closer, touched his rigid arm and felt the incredible power he was controlling. “That’s true. I was sad because I was lonely, and because I accidentally cursed him into loneliness too. But I want him to kiss the girl down there. She’s the right one for him, the one he loves. He’ll find his happiness—and I’ll have a chance to find mine.”

Morcom blinked. He turned his head.

* * *

Locryn strained, but his coat was being pulled downward and the relentless pressure was tiring him. He struggled against the pull, but his knees were bending and soon they would buckle.

Abruptly, the pressure eased. Not completely, but enough for him to struggle out of the coat and leave it behind. Ahead, he could see Gwyn ripping away from her entangled wings. She jumped down from the tree, but her motions looked slow and exaggerated.

He tried to run toward her, but the force surrounding him pressed back, as if he battled a gale force wind that wasn’t there.

Harness the power of men’s love and goodwill, Sacha Morgan had told him. Behind him, the people of Bocka Morrow emanated those qualities. They’d come together in peace and celebration. Could such a force help him win his love? He imagined the strength of so much combined harmony and happiness as a shield before him.

Surely it was working? He moved a little easier and fought on, marching one step at a time toward Gwyn.

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