"Robbie!"

He turned toward Elizabeth, one brow raised in question.

"Did you bring any word—”

“o' Hawkeye? Aye, lass. He's well. Do ye set doon and put up yer feet, and rest. I'll be back sae soon as I may."

* * *

It was another half hour before the Christmas mummers and revelers had been sent on their way to serenade the rest of Paradise, and Elizabeth could collapse into the rocker before the hearth. Hannah plopped down beside her, her face flushed still with excitement and pleasure.

"I'll make you some tea," Liam offered. It was a skill he had acquired after long tutoring, and one he was proud of. Elizabeth simply nodded.

"You're worried about Pa," observed Hannah. "He'll be back." She said this with such assurance and calm that Elizabeth had to smile. She was suddenly very tired, and content just to sit before the hearth and drink the tea that Liam pressed upon her. When they went off to their beds—Hannah to the sleeping loft, and Liam to his cot in the workroom—Elizabeth could not quite manage the energy to move. Although she did not mean to, she finally slept with the warmth of the fire on her face, and her hands spread protectively over her belly.

She did not hear the door open, some time later, nor did the familiar step wake her. Nathaniel stood looking down at her, wanting to touch the flushed curve of her cheek but loath to put even a finger on her, as cold as he was. She slept with her head bowed back. Her mouth was curved slightly in a near smile, so that he could see the glint of her teeth in the dim light of the dying fire. Her eyes moved rapidly behind lids as delicately colored as seashells. A good dream, then. One he did not want to disturb.

Nathaniel stoked the fire, and then he sat down in its warmth to watch his wife sleep. His stomach threatened loudly and his hands and feet had already begun to tingle painfully, but for the moment he could ignore all of that to study her in his own time.

There was a knock on the door and she started awake, her expression shifting from confusion and worry to joy as soon as she saw him. It was all the Christmas present he wanted or needed, to see how it pleased her to have him home. He brushed his mouth against her temple as he got to his feet.

"Nathaniel! What kept you so long?"

"I got disoriented." He grinned, moving toward the door.

"Thank God for Axel's fireworks. Now who could this be so late?"

"Robbie."

"You were dreaming of Robbie?" Nathaniel asked, surprised.

"I was not dreaming," she said, struggling up from the chair. "Robbie was here! He went out to look for you."

There was another muffled rattle at the door.

Nathaniel pulled up, suddenly uneasy.

"Who is it?" he called, reaching for his rifle.

From the corner of his eye he saw Hannah's head pop up over the rail of the sleeping loft. Liam had appeared in the shadows at the workroom door with a musket in his hands.

"Christ Almighty, man, will ye open the door afore I drop the bluidy great gomer el

Nathaniel threw up the bar and the door crashed open instantly to reveal Robbie strained forward, an unconscious man slung over his shoulder. He rushed into the room.

"Well, Robbie," said Nathaniel, laughing. "Brought us a Christmas present, have you?"

"Nathaniel," Elizabeth scolded softly, coming forward. But the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Is he dead?" called Hannah, already on her way down the ladder.

"Ach, no' a bit o' it. He's fu' o' drink." Robbie grunted as he deposited the limp form on the floor before the hearth.

The stranger was of middle age, dark haired and very lean of face, softly jowled. Nathaniel had never seen him before.

"—And p'rhaps froze a bit, for bye conceded Robbie. "But he wilma die, lass. It wad take mair than a cauld wind tae kill a Scotsman the likes o' this one."

Nathaniel and Elizabeth looked up at Robbie at the same moment.

"Do you know him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Aye, I do. It's no' sae proper as he wad have it, but I'll introduce him. This is Angus Moncrieff, factor and secretary to his lordship, Earl of Carrick. Or so he's tolt me."

He laughed in response to the blank look on their faces. "We'll let him dry oot, shall we, and he can tell ye his own story. In the morning, I'm guessin', by the look o' him."

But Angus Moncrieff, factor and secretary to his lordship, Earl of Carrick, was producing a low moan, and he began to stir.

"Hannah, he'll want water," Elizabeth said, sending the little girl scuttling off to the drinking bucket. Liam went to get blankets, and in a few minutes they had the stranger sitting up before the hearth, blinking at them all groggily. Then his gaze fell on Robbie, and his dark eyes narrowed slightly. He rubbed his head with one trembling hand.

"I see ye beat me here, MacLachlan."

Elizabeth's head jerked up in surprise. Nathaniel could see the calculations going on behind her eyes, and the questions quickly multiplying, at odds with her impulse to be polite.

"Aye," said Robbie. "But no' by much. Yer scout will hae broucht ye down the Canada, and here was I, hopin' tae give these people some preparation for yer news."

Moncrieff had sat up, and he shook his head to clear it. "I must thank ye, man. The scout is still back in the village tavern drinking that devil's brew—"

"Schnapps, aye," Robbie agreed. "And ye decided tae come up here by yersel'. Ye're no' the first tae misjudge Axel's schnapps, Moncrieff."