August and Rosalind are in the spare room, while Portia is in Amelia’s little bed. We were offered the nursery—with spare cots—but we decided the children would prefer a Christmas Eve together... and the parents would prefer one without children in their beds. So we have quite happily taken the parlor, where we will sleep by the fire, the smell of evergreen perfuming the air as we are surrounded by boughs and a towering tree. Also presents. We get to sleep with the presents.
“I propose an early exchange,” Nicolas says. “There is one gift I would like to give you in private.”
I waggle my brows. “How scandalous. You do realize there’s no lock on the parlor door.”
“Oh, I believe we can manage nonetheless. But that is not the gift I mean. Not yet, at least.” He crawls over to the tree and reaches under it, unerringly pulling out a box the length of my forearm. He holds it out. “Pour vous.”
I eagerly take the box, and I rip open the brown paper wrapping so fast that he laughs.
Inside is a polished wooden box, long and narrow. There’s a clasp, and I go to open it, only to find that it is locked.
I put out my hand. “The key, sir?”
“Tomorrow.” He eases back, propped on his arms. “What? Did we not agree to one gift? Now you must give me one.”
“Would a kick in the rear suffice?”
“Not really. I prefer something more easily wrapped in the form of a present.”
I glower. When I go to shake the box, he stops me. I back away and shake it again. “I cannot break this, can I? I should hate to break it, but I do not know what it is, and therefore I cannot be held responsible if I do.”
He holds out the key. I snatch it, making him laugh.
I unlock the clasp and open the box and let out a squeal. Then I reach in and take the sword by the grip. It is indeed a sword, no bigger than the gladius and looking equally old as I reverently turn it over in my hands.
“It is not Roman,” I say.
“No, it is far more suitable. Celtic.”
I stroke the metal. “Wherever did you find such a thing?”
“I snuck off when we were last in my time, and I found the gentleman who sold me the gladius. I asked if he had any others, and he said only this, which has nicks in the blade and so was not worth much. I agreed. It is quite damaged, and therefore you should not feel any obligation to turn it over to the museum.”
I beam and then lean over to thank him with a deep kiss.
“I really must find you more swords,” he murmurs when I pull back.
“You must.”
“And now my gift?” he says.
I kiss him again. “There.”
“I... hesitate to complain.”
“As you should.”
“However...”
“You wish something more easily wrapped in the form of a present?” I sigh and flounce back onto the blankets. “All right, but I warn you it is terribly small and rather commonplace. I feel as if I have quite lost the gift-exchange competition already.”
“There was a competition? That sounds most unhealthy.”
“True. Then I shall not fret overmuch. Now, close your eyes.”
He does, and I extract the gift. When he opens his eyes, I have hidden it away. I wave to the chair. “You must sit.”
“You have bought me boots? How delightful.”