She caught the enormous foot in her hands and gently shook it. “Oh, you needn’t make apologies for your master’s rudeness. He’s just hungry for the cake.”

Val’s lips twitched up in a smile.

Myrtle waggled a finger at his mouth. “Aha! I knew it.” She looked back at Horace. “And I’m not one for I-told-you-sos, but if I were, I’d mention that I knew your master was just pretending at being annoyed.” With the usual enthusiasm restored to her peppy steps and Horace at her side, Myrtle headed onward for her home; the lyrics to her Christmas carol rang out clearly as off she went.

“He spake, and straightway the celestial choir

in hymns of joy, unknown before, conspire,

the praises of redeeming love they sang,

and heav’n’s whole orb with alleluias rang.”

Giving his head a shake, Val started to follow along after her. And stopped.

His nape prickled as the sense that he was being watched—that they were being watched—froze him in his tracks.

Frowning, he did a quick sweep of the surroundings, searching out the source of that unease.

A light snow had begun to fall, adding to the heavy quiet which hung upon the winter air. But for the occasional gust of howling air, however, there was nothing.

Still, unable to shake the feeling of danger—

“Val?” Myrtle called out, a question contained in his name.

Several yards away, she stared back.

“Coming,” he said, and giving his head a hard shake, hurried to join her.

The lady’s fancifulness had begun to rub off on him. There was nothing else for it. There was no other explaining why he’d begun to look for foes in the shadows and sense danger amidst the stillness.

Even so, as they bypassed the front doors and headed around the back to the servants’ entrance, he couldn’t keep from taking one last look behind him.

Myrtle opened the door, letting Horace enter first, and then followed in after the dog.

Val joined the pair, closing the door behind them.

Loosening the ties of her cloak, she removed the garment and hung it upon the hook, and headed with purposeful steps for the fire.

Myrtle dropped to a knee and reached for several logs, filling her arms with them, then extended one.

Frowning, Val rushed over. “I’ll do that,” he said, reaching for that burden.

She drew back slightly, retaining her hold. “I can do—”

“I know,” he said, making another attempt to take them. “You’re quite capable.”

“You’re being sarcastic,” she muttered.