Page 48 of Caroline Saves the Blacksmith
He made to rise, but then the humming started, causing him to blink and lie back. Apparently, he had fallen asleep without realizing it and was dreaming of her once more. Was it to be like the dreams from Christmas Eve? A visitation in which she revealed some truth to him?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
The door of the bedroom next to his creaked as it was opened and then shut, and the humming grew louder, approaching the door of his bedchamber.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
He frowned, uncertain of his conclusion. If this were a mere conjuring in his dream, Caroline would sing the English lyrics he was familiar with, not the original Scottish lyrics which he did not know?
Through the gloom of night, he could just make out the door swinging open in the moonlight. There she stood, sunshine draped in that silly green cloak she loved so much.
“Caroline?”
“You should repair your back door. Since it is gone midnight, I suppose I can wish you a happy Old Year’s Day, blacksmith.”
“Is it you? Are you truly here?”
She made a low sound, humming a bar of the song that marked the end of the year. “I was thinking about what you did for me. I thought you might like to know what happened … or perhaps you might want to speak with me.”
“I do.”
She exhaled deeply, apparently needing to hear this. His sunshine might exude confidence, but it was apparent she had been uncertain of her welcome.
“Why are you here?”
“It did not seem fair that you gave me such a wonderful gift, but I have given you nothing in return. So I came to bring you one. If you want it.”
“A gift?”
“It is tradition to give gifts during Christmastide.”
“What is it?”
“Me. If you still want me?”
His heart leapt, drumming into high speed in his chest. With that, she crossed the room, coming to stand by the edge of his bed. She unbuttoned her cloak to shrug out of it and let it fall at her feet, revealing that she was dressed only in a night rail. Kicking off her shoes, her hand reached for his counterpane to pull it back.
“Wait!” It was incomprehensible that he had stopped her from joining him in his bed, but he had to know. “Is this a temporary gift?”
He waited with bated breath for her answer. If she were only here for the night, he must deny her. He could not go through it again. Losing her several days earlier had been hellish.
Nothing had brought any lasting solace, not even work as it had done before.
He had worked late into the night, coming home to fall into an exhausted heap on his bed, yet still he had found no respite from the aching loss of her presence. He had seen the future—what it could be—and it was too agonizing to have it ripped away a second time.
“I have to leave before dawn.”
