The Heart Of Christmas: A Handful Of Gold / The Season for Suitors / This Wicked Gift. Nicola Cornick
He beckoned to her.
She came and slumped tiredly against him when he wrapped an arm about her. She sighed deeply.
“Look.” He pointed.
She did not say anything for a long while. Neither did he. Words were unnecessary. The Christmas star beamed down at them, symbol of hope, a sign for all who sought wisdom and the meaning of their lives. He was not sure what either of them had learned about Christmas this year, but there was something. It was beyond words at the moment and even beyond coherent thought. But something had been learned. Something had been gained.
“It is Christmas,” she said softly at last. Her words held a wealth of meaning beyond themselves.
“Yes,” he said, turning his face and kissing the untidy titian hair on top of her head. “Yes, it is Christmas. Did they have their daughter?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I have never seen two people so happy, my lord. On Christmas morning. Could there be a more precious gift?”
“I doubt it,” he said, closing his eyes briefly.
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