Christmas morning dawned overcast and cold. There was a fierce wind from the west, one that slipped through the shutters and chilled the solar. The firth, when Amaury looked, was silver and its waters rough. Dark clouds were mustering to the west.
Elizabeth stirred as he tucked more fur pelts around her. “It is cold,” she said with a playful smile that invited his kiss.
“Linger abed a while. This day will be a long one.” Amaury did not mention that it would be their last at Beaupoint.
She nestled deeper beneath the covers. Grise rose and shook, then flung herself against Elizabeth and sighed contentment. By the time Amaury had dressed, they both were sound asleep.
He snapped his fingers and Bête and Noisette darted out of the chamber ahead of him. He could smell the cooking and baking
