A Dangerous Nativity

Chapter 7, Scene 1

"Brilliant!" Randy shouted.

He ran up the hill to greet his new friend. Charles walked down the lane herding three sheep, his uncle close behind. The boys had managed to contrive reasons to visit every other day, and now, the young duke had been dragooned into the animal nativity.

"I herded them myself," Charles crowed. "I told Uncle Will we needed sheep, and he said they were mine to give, but I wasn't to ask Mr. Archer to bring them. I had to figure out how to get them here."

"Dead perfect, Charles!" Freddy exclaimed. "These will fill out the nativity nicely. How did you learn to herd?"

Catherine looked at the earl's amused brown eyes. "Your Grace" seemed to have fled sometime in the last week.

"I found a book in the library, A Guide for Young Shepherds. It described how to herd them, and a whole lot more besides. Book was exactly right: it's easy. Will these do, then?"

Randy hugged one sheep around the neck and scratched the ears of another. "Are they ours to keep?"

"Certainly," Charles said regally. "I'm giving them to you."

"Can we, Cath? We don't have to give them back after Christmas, do we?"

She looked at Chadbourn for enlightenment, but his amused expression made it clear she was on her own.

"Do you think we have enough feed for winter?" she asked even though she knew the answer perfectly well.

Randy gave it some thought. "Yes, we do. We stocked more than we needed, in case. I guess it was in case we got three sheep! We'll need that book, though."

"Who will be the shepherd?" Freddy asked. "For the nativity, that is. Do you think we could borrow Lady Guinevere?"

"You could, but she's too big," Charles said. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I fed her a carrot yesterday without help." He grinned at the boys. "She's to be my mount, as soon as we become friends," he confided.

"Excellent, Charles. I told you it wasn't hard," Randy said. The duke beamed proudly.

The three, and their woolly friends, wandered off to the barn, arguing about what animal might stand for a shepherd. Randy argued correctly that Bertha, who was a sheepdog, would be the logical choice. "But she's going to be Mother Mary. If we make her a shepherd, where will we be?" Freddy insisted, lobbying for the loan of a horse.

When the barn door closed, Chadbourn and Catherine convulsed in laughter.

"Oh, my lord," Catherine laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "However am I going to keep from laughing on Christmas morning? I will disgrace myself during services."

"Will."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is William. Two people who laugh so hard together certainly ought to make use of given names, Catherine." His expression held a challenge.

She looked to the house, as if she could hear her father's fervent admonition about trusting titled blackguards, from the yard.

"Say it. Say my name."

"Will," she whispered. She felt a blush heat her cheeks. "For this moment. For the laughter, but not—"

"—not when I talk with your father? Have you convinced him I'm right about your brothers?"

She shook her head, a sly smile appearing only briefly. "Not quite. I'm wearing him down, though."

When he took her hand, she let him. When he drew it toward his lips rather than bowing over her fingers, she let him. When he cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her, she almost let him.

"Unhand my daughter, you damned rakehell!" Papa stood in the doorway in full outrage. She felt bereft when his warmth pulled away.

"Ah, Lord Arthur, just the person I came to see."

Papa looked skeptical, but he held the door. "Come in, then, and get at it." He glared at Catherine.

She watched the door close behind the two men. It was the third such visit. She suspected her father had come to enjoy sparring with the earl, and was holding out just for the fun of it.

The boys would be in school the following fall. The thought dampened her spirits. The earl would leave sooner. That thought depressed them thoroughly. One attempted kiss notwithstanding, the bastard daughter of a country scholar did not aspire to be Countess of Chadbourn.