“A famous Tudor tradition, that one,” Laurence observed before he could stop himself.
Avery shrugged. “I bought a wireless some winters ago. I like to listen to it, when no one else is here.”
Laurence said hurriedly, because that stung, “And carols and ghost stories by the fire, and a Yule log, of course.”
“It’s already burning. That’s the one tradition I’ll never neglect.”
Laurence leaned forward and squinted into the golden heart of the fireplace. And there, sure enough, was a huge log, blackened ribbons still hanging off its sides.
“Twelve nights and twelve days it will burn,” Avery said, that sad, faraway note in his voice again. “And when it is done, so is this Christmastide, and we must wait for all to begin again.”
“But we’ll have a good Christmas before that,” Laurence said.
Avery’s smile shone out again. “Yes. Yes, we will. And methinks our pie is close to done, and dinner awaits.”
They ate in yet another room, one that seemed to be waiting for them—white tablecloth draped perfectly, candles glowing along the table, already lit when they walked in, but not so burned down that they could have been burning long. Their places were set, and when they brought the pie in, there was a trivet waiting in the middle of the table.
Maybe there was something to this idea of magic.
The pie was good, and by the time they’d plowed through half of it, Laurence was blinking back sleep. It had been an unexpectedly long day.
It wasn’t long before he had to catch himself and avoid falling face-first into his empty plate. Avery smiled at him and ushered him upstairs, despite Laurence’s protests that he could help with the dishes.
The bedroom was cozy—a fire smoldering in the hearth, a soft bed with piles of soft blankets, and a rag rug covering the polished boards beside the bed. Laurence barely heard the door click closed behind Avery before he was asleep.
It was, he thought as he drifted away, rather magical.
Chapter Three
HE WOKE warm, snuggled under layers of thick, comfortable blankets and entirely bemused. The angle of the light was wrong for either the hospital or the hotel he’d been staying in since his release, but it was too quiet to be Portsmouth. The only sounds were a soft whisper of wind outside and the quick trill of a robin defending its territory.
And someone downstairs was singing softly, a warm, quiet rendition of the “Coventry Carol.”
With that, Laurence remembered where he was. For a moment he just lay there, wondering. Last night still seemed a little dreamlike. Would Avery look as lovely and sound as strange by the light of morning?
Laurence had no grounds on which to call anyone else strange. Sitting up, he made a decision. He would do what he had always done when faced with a new place—accept without question, be agreeable, and observe until he knew both what to expect and what was expected of him. And if by doing so he won himself a pleasant and entirely unexpected Christmas, that was all the better.
When he pushed his blankets back, there was a winter sting in the air. The fire was still burning, though, and there was a basin of warm water on the table by the bed. How was it warm, when the air around it was not? More of Avery’s magic, or whatever it was?
Accept, be agreeable, observe, Laurence reminded himself. If that meant temporarily believing in magic, so be it.
He dressed quickly and went to the window, drawn by the blue edge to the light.
From here, he could see right down the low valley, over the holly bushes that grew almost as high as his windowsill. Everything was deep in snow, but trails of smoke rose from the chimneys of lone farmhouses and, in the distance, a little cluster of houses around a tall church spire—the village he had failed to find last night.
From downstairs, Avery’s voice grew louder—he must have heard Laurence moving around. He sounded happy, welcoming in the season, and Laurence smiled and headed downstairs to join him.
Even by daylight, the cottage was welcoming. The walls were white, the beams blackened oak, and the furniture simple, but it all felt warm and old and loved. Long boughs of holly and other green and glossy leaves lay along the backs of all the cabinets and on the sill of the window halfway down the stairs.
As Laurence reached the bottom of the stairs, Avery came out of the kitchen. At once his face lit up with the broadest smile Laurence had ever seen. He cried cheerfully, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” Laurence said, smiling himself. Damn, but the man was just as good-looking by daylight. “You seem to be enjoying the season.”
Avery beamed at him. “The snow no longer falls, the goose is in the oven, and Christ our Savior is born! ’Tis a time for rejoicing!”
Laurence, who had always regarded faith as something both private and serious, had nothing to say to that.
Avery didn’t seem to notice. Instead he reached out and seized Laurence’s hand. “Come, let us break our fast! And then you must help me mix the punch for wassailing.”
“You needn’t feel obliged…,” Laurence started awkwardly. He had asked for this, but it was occurring to him now that it was quite an imposition in such an old-fashioned cottage. How much work had Avery already done?
Avery shook his head. “It makes me happy. It has been a long time since I enjoyed Christmas. Let me see if I can reverse that, just this once.”
Laurence acquiesced, and he was glad he had when he discovered hot toast and warm scrambled eggs waiting on the dining-room table along with bowls of steaming spiced porridge.
“No bacon, alas,” Avery said. “Even I cannot entirely overcome rationing.”
“Should I ask where this food comes from?” Laurence said, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Nowhere where anyone will suffer for missing it.” Avery looked very serious for a few moments. “I was careless with others once, but there is a price even to unintentional cruelty. I am careful now.”
“You don’t seem cruel to me. Rather the opposite.” Laurence felt his cheeks heat up when Avery smiled, surprised and delighted. He didn’t normally say such things out loud, however much he thought them.
“You are too kind,” Avery murmured, but he was smiling again. Laurence was liking that smile more and more.
The rest of the day was easy and delightful. They feasted on roast goose and all the trimmings. Laurence would have happily dozed by the fire after that, but Avery cajoled him into a walk, and they headed out across crisp snow, their breath rising in clouds in front of them. It was very quiet outside, even after they left the shelter of the holly copse. The only footprints were deer tracks across one of the fields and the lighter prints of a running rabbit. They didn’t see another human soul, although there was still smoke rising from chimneys and they heard the distant sounds of a dog barking and children’s voices raised in excitement.
Laurence found he didn’t mind. He was enjoying Avery’s company, and there was a virtue in the quiet, in the great sweep of bright sky and gleaming fields, which soothed his soul after so long in close quarters.
When they got back, the dishes had been washed and the punch was warming atop the stove. Avery looked sheepish, but Laurence decided not to comment.
They tuned the radio and listened to the greetings from the Commonwealth and Empire and the king’s speech, Avery’s eyes wide with wonder. It was a good speech this year, one that balanced recognition of the challenges faced with hope for the future, now the war was over.