Lachlan licks his lips and tucks a napkin into his collar, making Fiona giggle. Sheena holds her flute up for a refill of champagne, while Nolan butters a roll and hands it to Eleanor, and far at the other end of the table sit Santa and McKenna. He’s leaning over and whispering something to her, and she’s throwing back her head and howling with laughter.
I wonder about Malachy, though. Shouldn’t they be here by now?
“Keenan. Shouldn’t we check on Malachy?” As if on cue, Maeve rises and excuses herself from the table. I wonder if she feels the need to stand sentry.
“I have,” he says quietly.
Does Keenan notice how nervous Maeve is?
Tiernan takes a bowl of soup and places it gently on the plate beside Fiadha. She smiles and thanks him, as Santa clangs his goblet with a fork.
“A toast!”
We all quiet.
“To Keenan and Caitlin.” I smile bashfully at the others, surprised by this. “For giving us the blessing of an example of a devoted marriage.” His eyes warm, and his voice softens. “For welcoming us all in as family.”
Keenan smiles, and my heart swells with pride at my handsome husband, father-figure to all. I’ve watched him grow into this role over the years, from a young man, still wet-behind-the-ears, to the man he’s become today. He’s attentive to all, always aware of the needs of the many members of the Clan. He can be stern at times, and I’ve seen him with both our own children and the brotherhood of the Clan. But he’s attentive and kind, a good balance to his high demands and stern nature.
“Thank you,” Keenan says, as we clink glasses and begin with the first appetizer. He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Having a wife like you certainly makes all the difference, Caitlin.”
I flush pink, pleased with the praise, and squeeze his hand.
“Now can I open the cracker?” Eleanor asks. Nolan chuckles.
“Have at it, love.”
I nod to the children, and they eagerly reach for the shiny crackers. Soon, the sounds of little popping and squeals of delight fill the room.
“I got a mirror!” Eleanor grins, showing Sheena.
“Oh, it’s just like mommy’s,” Sheena says with a smile. “I got a little box of chocolate.” She smiles.
“Got a new pocket knife,” Nolan says. “Thanks very much for that, Santa.”
Tully grins. “I’ll trade you for the mini clock?”
“Not on your life.”
The kids squeal. Torin shows me the fountain pen he got, and Seamus smiles, holding up a little deck of cards.
“What’d you get, Cait?” Keenan asks, but though he seems curious, his eyes are troubled. He’s worried about Malachy.
I show him the keychain bottle opener. “Always be prepared?”
He smiles. “Let’s eat.”
And we begin to feast.
We start with a creamy chicken soup, followed by roast goose and glazed ham, hearty savory stuffing, fluffy mashed potatoes, and carrots and peas. We eat freshly made rolls, and golden popovers that melt in your mouth, dotted with the staff’s handmade luscious butter.
Just when I think I can’t eat another possible morsel of food, the staff brings round a kettle of tea and platters of pastries, cake, and traditional Irish Christmas desserts. There’s Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, flaky mini mince pies, and a decadent iced Christmas cake as well.
“Easy, now, Torin,” I warn, as he takes three fairy cakes, a slice of pie, and a stack of shortbread onto his plate.
Keenan chuckles. “Don’t want a Christmas bellyache, son.”
Megan pops a red and green piece of cake into her mouth. “Definitely not.”
Carson grins at her and admires the small set of colored pencils his daughter Breena shows him. I look to the doorway. No Maeve.
“Keenan, I think your mom’s a bit worried about Malachy and Daniel,” I say quietly.
“Aye,” he agrees. “I’m worried myself.”
“Should we send a search party?”
He frowns, gets to his feet, and walks to Maeve without responding. I eat my dessert and drink my tea, but my mind is on Malachy.
“It’s snowing!” Torin shouts, waving his hands excitedly at the window.
“Oooh!” Our little Cara, the youngest of our three, hops down from her chair and races to the window to look. A few of the other children follow. I join them.
“It’s a fairy wonderland out there, isn’t it?”
“They say no two snowflakes are ever the same,” Seamus says with a smile.
“Tis true” I tell him. “Seems metaphorical, doesn’t it?”
He grins. I smile back, but can’t settle the nerves in my belly.
We go back to the table, and Keenan rejoins us.
“Have you heard anything?”
“I haven’t,” he says. He enforces his rule of no phones at the dining room table, but when he rises, has his own phone out and in the palm of his hand. He hits redial, but frowns when it isn’t answered. “But I’m going to form a search party as you suggested. I’ll have a brief meeting with the men after dinner, and see if anyone will volunteer.”