He should have been back hours ago; she could not pretend anymore that she was not worried.

Elizabeth picked up the likeness of his mother to study the high forehead and calm expression in the dark eyes.

"Where is your son so late on Christmas Eve?" she asked out loud, and then jumped back, startled, at a pounding on the door.

* * *

They came in with a great rush of cold air and loud noise that set the dogs to barking: Jed McGarrity's fiddle arguing with the great variety of tin horns and penny whistles with which Elizabeth's students were armed. There were shouted greetings and a great deal of laughter: Axel and Anna, Martha and the McGarritys, the Kaes girls trailing beaux, and most of the children of the village, many of them masked.

Elizabeth forced herself to smile, swallowing her disappointment. Hannah and Liam had brought the revelry up the mountainside for her; she could do no less than be cheerful for them. Hannah fairly capered around the room, her plaits flying in an impromptu dance to the fiddle music.

"Is that you, Ephraim?" Elizabeth's laugh was genuine, now. It was not so much the mask that hid most of the pale little—boy face that shocked, but the fact that he wore an empty ink pot on the end of every finger of his left hand. These he waved and clattered in her face ferociously.

A volley of gunfire from the porch made her start up again and blanch, but Martha was at her elbow before she could even turn in that direction. "Just the Cameron boys," she said. "They like to waste their powder on Christmas Eve."

"You missed the fireworks!" Anna announced, pushing a bowl of doughnuts into Elizabeth's arms. "But they thought you might like the noise anyway.

"Ah," Elizabeth said. "How thoughtful."

There was a new round of shouting outside. She moved toward the door with her heart high in her throat, hoping for the only Christmas surprise that seemed to matter now.

The door opened and the dogs took the opportunity to escape, howling into the night.

In the door frame was the large and familiar shape of Robbie MacLachlan, white—haired and blue—eyed, blushing the color of spring primroses. Beside him Treenie wagged her tail like a tattered flag.

The party turned in sudden silence to the door.

"Robbie MacLachlan," said Elizabeth, stunned.

"Oh, no, miss," breathed little Marie Dubonnet, her eyes wide with wonder. "That's Saint Nicholas."

* * *

When he had greeted everyone and convinced the younger children that he was not a Dutch saint, but only an old Scots soldier tired of his own company, Elizabeth drew Robbie into the workroom while the party carried on.

"What have ye done wi' Nathaniel?" he asked, his broad face creased with good humor. "Dinna tell me that ye've misplaced your guidman agin, and on the Yule?"

Then he looked closer at Elizabeth, and his expression sobered. He stood back, and pulled his hat from his head.

"What is it, lass?"

Determined not to ruin Hannah's Christmas Eve, Elizabeth pulled him farther away and into the shadows. Treenie followed, snuffling curiously at Elizabeth's stomach and rocking her back on her heels in her enthusiasm.

"He went out to get a turkey, very early this morning. I am worried, Robbie."

"Aye, and ye didna need tae tell me, for it's written clear on yer face, as much as ye wish tae hide it." He rubbed a hand over the white bristle on his cheeks, and then heaved a great sigh. "A few mair hours in the bush will no' harm me. I'll fetch him, aye?" He began to pull on his furs again, but then he stopped with a thoughtful look. "There's no' a chance o' foul play? Where is Richard Todd keepin' hisel’ these days?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "There is so much to tell you, I don't know where to begin. Whatever is keeping Nathaniel, Richard has nothing to do with it—he followed Kitty to Johnstown this morning."

"Did he? Luve—struck, is our Cat—Eater? Well. I'll have the whole o' the story later, lass. Let me be on ma way, sac much the sooner I'll be back."

"But you must be hungry." Elizabeth remembered her manners quite suddenly.

"It's no' sae bad. Thirsty, though."

"Robbie!" called Axel from the other room. "I've got the best of my schnapps here to warm your bones!"

The big man laughed out loud, with a half—apologetic glance toward Elizabeth.

"Aye, and wha' Scotsman wad turn that doon, on sic a night as this?"

Then with an encouraging wink to Elizabeth, he leaned over to talk into her ear. "Dinna fash yer bonny heid, lass. I wilna be long." In three paces he had crossed the room to take the cup offered to him.

"Axel Metzler, ye're a rare mannie tae brew nectar such as this," he muttered, inhaling deeply.

The whole room seemed to shine with his energy, and Elizabeth was comforted although she could not say exactly why. He held the cup up to the room, and winked at her.

"Here's tae us," he bellowed. "Wha's like us? Gey few, and they're a deid!" And he tipped back the cup with a neat movement of his wrist.

"Good Yule!" he finished, wiping his mouth with his hand.

"Good Yule!" echoed around the room.

Then he whistled to Treenie and strode to the door.

"But where are you going?" Hannah called.

"Dinna fear, lassie. I'm the ill shillin' ye heard aboot—ye canna be shut o' me. I'll soon be back."