It had snowed most of Christmas day. Not a storm, but a gentle world of whiteness, softly falling ...

Those who had gone from the Manse to early communion came back red-faced and laughing, and talking of their glee at nearly falling into a drift. By the main morning service it was harder to stay upright, but that did not discourage the people in the Manse and all the villagers, as well as contingents from the Institute and the Castle from attending as well, even though it meant a long tramp through the snow both ways.

Davis had attended services, a straight-backed figure amongst many similar villagers. He never seemed to mind the snow and somehow less of it stuck to him than did to other people. Looking at the crowd in the sanctuary, it would have been clear to all that he was amongst relatives.

Davis made a point to circulate amongst the men of the village, both passing holiday tidings and warning them of the bad blood between Sir Colin and his heir, including the replacement Laird's feeling about the evening's plans. He also made plans with a few of the better musicians for an impromptu rehearsal in advance of the party, to learn a few new tunes.

Miss Tawney dutifully accompanied her hosts to the morning service, though more with the attitude of a spectator than a worshipper. She did participate in the responses, however, to the acute distress of whoever was next to her on either side, since she proved entirely unable to carry a tune.

Garreth had attended, riding Ian's bike down, with Rose on the handlebars. Morgan had thought him daft, sure he'd break a leg in the snow. It seemed either Garreth's lucky day or that Morgan was a bit grumpier than usual, which had been expected... what with the weather.

Adrian Quinn was there, having dragged his niece Emma along with him.

Zap, who was Jewish, attended with the others for the fun and camaraderie of the thing, and started a snowball fight on the trudge home. He did not actively participate in the service, but enjoyed watching and listening.

Naturally, Lord Eversham and his sister were in attendance, though they were both curiously silent. Apparently, the sister was something of a devout, when it came to actually attending service -- and her face pinched slightly at all the raucous exhibits en pilgrimage. Still, she resolutely forbade herself from speaking, except as bid during Service..

For his own part, Lord Eversham remained an enigma, saying nothing, revealing nothing, but taking everything in with his careful gaze. On the way back to the Castle, even, he lagged somewhat behind, smoking thoughtfully, and not mingling with the others.

Josette attended the service, hiding tiny yawns of boredom behind her hand where the ceremony dragged. She participated in Zap's impromtu snowball fight with zeal, until she accidentally hit a dour faced villager (who she was certain _had_ to be the schoolmarm) on the backside...

But mid afternoon it cleared. By the time people had finished their Christmas dinner (eaten at about one o'clock), the sun was shining on a crisp white wonderland of snow - and in the village, and as far up as the Manse, there was the sound of children playing with new toboggans in the snow, while snowball fights were fought among the bushes at the foot of the castle hill.

By six o'clock, it was fully dark, and yet the snow seemed to give off a gleaming light, relected into a warm golden glow as the villagers began to emerge from their houses, some bearing the traditional Christmas wreathes to be presented to the Laird, others carrying lanterns, mostly hurricane lanterns carried in the hand or at the end of long poles, although some intrepid souls had created torches with naked flames.

In the Castle, people were gathering in the Great Hall, ready to greet the guests. Evening dress was the order of the day; Douglas MacKenzie-Brown, who might have been expected to wear the kilt, was wearing white tie and tails.

Adrian was present in full Highland regalia, not the mish-mash some of his business colleagues chose to wear of kilt plus tailcoat. The tartan of the evening was that of his adopted home city, Inverness. At his side, his niece wore a black evening dress, but the accompanying handbag was the modern Sinclair tartan.

The villagers, of course, merely wore their finest clothes (with the men wearing kilts), but those who would be staying for the party were also expected to wear evening dress.

Davis stood in his small room in his father's house, shirt and kilt and one boot on, debating with himself. The uniform jacket was much finer than his other jacket, and perfectly acceptable. Yet, wearing it would seem to invite questions, and he was in no mood for that. More than ten years back on the island and he'd come to accommodation with his kinfolk about it, but this Christmas the island was full of strangers. He looked at his battered fiddle case neatly stowed under his folded long coat and hat. He shrugged to himself and finished dressing. He looked forward to the eventide walk in the brisk Christmastide air far more than he looked forward to the party.

If he was right about what was bothering Sir Colin, things were about to get rough.

At the Manse, the Rector (wearing his most formal clerical garb - minus cope) suggested that they should carry it with them in a couple of large suitcases and change once they arrived. There was no point, he suggested, in arriving in clothes that were saturated by snow water up to the knees.

Miss Tawney agreed to this readily. "I only really brought the one evening dress in any case," she said.

However, she also insisted on bringing along her tape recorder. "Didn't you say, Rector, that your traditional musician, Davis MacKenzie, will likely be there? If he's likely to perform the local favorites, I'd like to be able to record him -- with his permission, of course."

At the Institute, there had been heated debate as to whether Colin would be going at all (when Colin was not present, of course). Colin had consistently refused to say anything about his argument with his cousin - so the matter was open to some speculation. Nevertheless, when six o'clock struck, Colin appeared, dressed in the MacKenzie kilt and a formal jacket.

"Shall we go?" he said to the rest.

Garreth was dressed in a MacLoughlin dress kilt , complete with sgain dhu, sporran, a black jacket and a black tie himself.

"I thought you'd never make it down," he said with a smile.

"Really... You took longer to dress than I do to powder my nose!" Sandra mock exclaimed from the fire where she was warming her hands. Dr. Marsden was wearing a deep red cocktail dress, not terribly fancy. And silk stockings. And indeed she was powdered, her lips and eyes made up with darker than fashionable colors. She smiled at Colin as she turned from the fire and pulled on her white gloves. "Well, I'm ready, and the wreathes are already in the back the truck. Shall we?" she asked as she pulled her red wool coat on.

As the guests arrived, they were shown into the Great Hall, where mince pies and several large silver punch bowls containing steaming mulled wine were laid out on long tables covered with snowy cloths. The room was distinctly chilly at the moment, for although a fire had been laid out around the Yule log, it had not yet been lit.

"The Laird lights it after the wreathes have been presented," Colin said in a quiet voice to Sandra as they entered the room. "Another tradition. Don't worry - once it's lit, the room soon warms up."

The arrangement seemed to be that everyone, on entering the room, handed over their wreathes to the Laird and his wife, while Rendell announced their names. Then they were free to meet and mingle with other guests, although it was notable that the majority of the villagers kept themselves to themselves.

Selina MacKenzie-Brown stood tall and lovely in a magnificent gown of tight-bodiced, swirly-skirted dark-green satin, a short velvet cape over her beautiful bare arms. Jewels glittered from her swept-back hair, her ears, and her throat. She greeted guests with a charming smile (one that only Will St.Pierre could see was forced), and exclaimed prettily over every wreath handed her, not so much as wincing at the sharp evergreen needles that pricked her fingers and snagged her lace gloves. If she overdid the enthusiasm a trifle, it was only in hopes of compensating for her husband's dour frowns.

Now and then when the press of wreaths and introductions ebbed, her eyes wandered to Will, from whom she seemed to draw strength. At his brief nod, she greeted Colin MacKenzie with special warmth, avoiding her husband's eye as she did so.

As the opportunity had not arisen in the two days since their arrival from the mainland, Adrian insisted that Emma accompany him long enough to be introduced to Colin. Although not related directly to each other (they were both Douglas' cousins, but on different sides of his family), he felt it important to take what was likely to be the only chance to introduce them.

The strict formalities completed, he the proceeded to enquire about Colin's plans with the older ruins around which the newly-founded Institute for Celtic Studies.

Colin greeted them with friendliness, and introduced them to Garreth Warren - although his mind seemed to be on other things. He was watching MacKenzie-Brown closely.

Garreth introduced himself as "Colin's right hand" and that night it seemed to be almost literally. He kept to Colin's side except for the momentary trip to the punch bowls to bring back wine for himself and Colin.

Emma got a kiss on her hand and Adrian a firm handshake from calloused hands.

The firmness of the handshake was returned, though without turning it into a machismo contest. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, and not thrilled about having to admit that we're related to that lump of protoplasm and waste of oxygen standing in line over there."

The Skeffington-Nottles, a gregarious pair, were eager to be introduced to other guests - but when they saw Sandra, they hurried across.

"Professor Marsden!" said Lucinda. "What a lovely surprise! We haven't seen you since that dreadful business in Egypt!"

Dr. Marsden actually managed to turn several shades paler under her powder as the Skeffington-Nottles hurried up to her. "Good gods... I mean... Hello Lucinda, Oswald. What on earth are you doing here for Christmas?" she asked with a definite sense of apprehension.

"We're staying with the Rector, the Reverend Andrew Roberts," said Lucinda eagerly. "He's an old school chum of Oswald's."

"That's right," agreed Oswald cheerfully. "But what are you doing here, Professor? I thought your stomping ground was Egypt."

"Not this season," Sandra told them. "I'm up here surveying for the Museum, seeing if there's enough to warrant a dig in the next couple of seasons. It's looking very promising, especially out around the roman ruins on the island."

"I have to admit though... I'd thought you would have lost your appetite for Christmas travel by now," Dr. Marsden said wryly. "Haven't you had two unpleasant Christmases recently? That'd put me off traveling, I can assure you of that!"

The Rector was anxious to introduce Mabel Tawney to Davis MacKenzie.

"Davis," he said. "Miss Tawney here is the young lady who found the Verrisay Cycle!"

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. MacKenzie," said Mabel, extending her hand. "I wonder if I could get permission to record your performance this evening. I brought my equipment..." She indicated the large and bulky case that held her tape recorder.

The tall, sandy-haired man in the MacKenzie kilt smiled at her, the hard look he'd been wearing as he watched the festivities. If the villagers were a herd, then Davis MacKenzie had assigned himself the role of sentry, watching for danger.

"Miss Tawney," he replied, taking her hand gently in his large and weatherbeaten one. "Our little spot o' nowhere is overrun by scholars these days. I shall tell the lads to let you do your recording, but only if you'll let me see how your equipment works."

"Certainly, Mr. MacKenzie," Mabel agreed at once. "It isn't really =very= complicated. And of course I'd want to set it up so that it wouldn't be in your way."

"The order o' the evening calls for us to play country dance tunes for the amusement o' the notable guests. There willnae be much singin', unless they decide they've had enough o' our quaint folkways. I'm no' sure it'll be much different than what ye'd hear in Mull or Oban."

"Possibly not, but it's all grist for the scholar's mill," Mabel answered stoutly. "And even the smallest variations can turn out to have meaning."

As the wreathes were received, the MacKenzie-Browns handed them to footmen in Highland dress, who hung them on hooks attached to the stone walls, so that soon the Great Hall was festivally decorated, although Flora MacKenzie, the Rectory housekeeper, seemed disapproving.

"There's yew in some of those wreathes," she said darkly to Mary Roberts, the Rector's wife. "Bring yew into the house for Christmas, and there'll be a death before the New Year."

Once all the wreathes had been hung, MacKenzie-Brown turned to his English butler. "Rendell, get the fire started before our guests freeze to death."

"Yes, sir," said Rendell majestically, ignoring the murmur of disapproval from the islanders.

He strode to the fireplace and struck a match, lit a taper, and then the fire.

Colin MacKenzie watched, his face set.

"Yes, Colin," said Adrian Quinn, "Douglas has turned into something of a cad. I'd offer some hope that marriage would mellow him out, but he seems to be even worse now than he was at the wedding reception."

"So Aidan, what do you do for a living?" Garreth asked, obviously not interested in continuing a discussion about the new Laird. His eyes scanned the party like a pilot keeping watch for the enemy scouts. Hesitation only showed when Dr. Marsden happened into his field of vision.

Colin, however, picked up on the thread of Adrian's conversation, his tongue perhaps loosened by two glasses of mulled wine.

"You have no idea," he said quietly, just as William St Pierre came up.

Will St. Pierre had been standing slightly to the side, eyes on his sister, who was smiling, but tautly, and only he could see that her smile did not reach his eyes. Now he turned towards Adrian and Colin. "You'll excuse me for butting in to your conversation, but... that's my sister he married. What do you mean, the man's a cad?"

"Mr Quinn may have his own ideas," said Colin. "But I'd say it's the action of a cad to bleed this island for the last penny he can get - even if it means clearing out all the islanders. For that's his intention."

"Cad was actually my second choice of words," said Adrian. "My first choice isn't fit for mention in polite company, and my sister would disown me if I introduced her daughter to the sort of language I had in mind." This remark evoked a rather shocked look from his niece.

Garreth stifled a chuckle.

"I'm an architect - one of the senior partners with Fraser & Dunn, over in Inverness. That actually relates to one of the questions I was wanting to ask of somebody associated with the Institute - whether the plans included restoring any of the older structures. If so, I'd be interested in offering whatever professional assistance I could. How about yourself?"

"I'm just a man who decided to get away from the bustle and stresses of the city," Garreth admitted. "I've some investments and serve as the Institute's legal counsel."

"Which city?," asked Adrian. "And, if you don't mind me asking, how did you hear about this place? Verrisay isn't exactly on the beaten path. I'd never have heard of it myself if my Aunt Cassandra weren't Douglas' mother - which yet again forces me to admit that I'm related to him, something I'm liking less and less all the time."

The architect gave a very deep sigh. Somehow, Aunt Cassie had managed to have her son evolve into a bully, presumably under her nose. If she were able to see the way that Douglas was behaving now, Adrian thought to himself, she'd be extremely disappointed in him.

Garreth leaned over conspiratorially toward Colin, but spoke loudly enough for the others, "Anyone else would just call me a womanizing lay-about, which isn't that far from the truth." He smiled for the ladies present.

Emma fixed the solicitor with a brief glare indicating her dismay that he would have said such in polite company. "Uncle Adrian, I'm going to go speak more with Lady Amelia, if you don't mind. Please don't feel the need to come along, if you have other things to discuss here. Mr. Warren, Mr. Mackenzie, it's been a pleasure to meet you both."

Garreth smiled roguishly and nodded to the lady, "Miss Sinclair."

"What town? London, of course. Is there any other? As to how I came to find myself here on Verrisay? Like so many other motivations in a young man's life, it was a woman."

Adrian gave a small, low chuckle. "What's that expression the French use? Cherchez la femme, isn't it?

"As for other cities, I'm quite partial to my home of Inverness, and I don't doubt that there are some others here who would have words with you if you said anything to detract from Edinburgh. But you're right, London is a rather amazing place."

"Born and raised there," Garreth said. "Mother was a MacLoughlin from Skye, the kilt was my grand-da's. I guess that's why after I left the bar, I came north. It was in Edinburgh that I met Amelia, the woman who was intent on finding her Celt ancestors that led me here."

He sipped at his wine. "On hindsight, I think she just wanted a ride in my plane. Women seem to like the romanticism of pilots, but soon lose the mood a few thousand feet up in the cold wind with nothing between them and the chilly waters but cloth, wood and wire."

"Not having flown myself, I couldn't tell you. Though I've known a few to liken pilots to the last remnants of a chivalric corps left in the armed forces. Perhaps it was the dogfights over France during the Great War." Quinn's glass was closing on empty. "I'm on my way to refill the glass. While I'm at it, can I get you one as well?"

"Nothing chivalric about two men trying their best to kill each other, but there is an honor among pilots that few would understand if they hadn't e'er worn the wings," Garreth explained.

"A drink would be wonderful. Thank you."

It was at this point that young Brian Shea realised that Mr Barfard had escaped from his pocket.

Brian had been searching the hall all during the early part of the evening. He new Mr Barfard was probably scared, and would be hiding in the darkest parts of the room. He was glad to have something to do, or he felt he would died of boredom. He was distracted in his search, however, by the presentation of the jeweled cross. He watched in amazment. Real buried treasure. After the fuss died down, he said in the voice that kids think is quiet, but still managed to be heard across the room. "Ye pulled the treasure from a tomb, so it must be cursed. A ghost, or a mummy, or a pirate...or a pirate's mummified ghost while seek out vengence and the return of his treasure, from...beyond the grave. Killing all who stand in his way."

He shrugged, and turned away, leaving the great hall. He wanted to explore the castle, and figired the search for Mr Barfard would be a good excuse ... besides, he could be out there wandering around in the halls and chambers.

Dr. Campbell stood towards the back of the hall and raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, indicating disapproval and surprise. Even though he had been away from Verrisay for several years, the traditional presentment of the wreaths to the Laird remained a fond childhood memory. One this usurper seemed intent on spoiling.

All at once, he noticed an elegant young lady in a burgundy gown, bearing down on him with a genial smile and the full force of a chic and petite hurricane. She had begun an opening monologue to herald her advance, and was in no condition to stop, even when she arrived before him.

"Dear me, but you have just been pointed out to me as a local -- the GP. I'm Lady Amelia Bellmore," the storm gusted, "and I'm sorry I'm not waiting for proper introductions, but everything's sort of thrown to the winds here, wouldn't you agree? Not exactly slap-dash, but not quite protocol, either."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintence, Lady Bellmore. Dr. William Campbell, at your service." Campbell bowed. He was dressed in traditional formal wear, his kilt of the dark blue and green Campbell tartan.

"Do you know the MacKenzie-Browns? My brother -- that's Lord Eversham, over there, by the fire -- knows Mr. MacKenzie-Brown only slightly, and I know neither of them at all, although his wife has the most charming manner about her."

"I'm afriad I haven't had the ...", the doctor paused, trying not to be rude, "opportunity to meet the new laird."

"But then, perhaps you know the other one? The ex-laird, I mean, although, really, that apellation seems so silly. An ex-lord. Can you imagine someone being ex-king, for example? I mean, *really*."

For the moment, a tense silence reigned. The storm seemed to have blown itself out -- but perhaps they were merely scudding about in the eye, and the full force of gale winds would be on them again at once. Caution seemed to be indicated, but how does one take caution against a maelstrom Force of Nature?

Campbell tensed at the sudden quiet, then forced himself to answer. "Well, it seems to have happened in this case. Colin MacKenzie is a good man, and took care of his folk. But I'm sure the new Laird will fill his shoes admirably." He tried his best to sound diplomatic.

Her Ladyship hummed this over thoughtfully, and contemplated the Doctor.

"I don't know. Something about Americans generally sets my teeth on edge -- though our cousins, the New York Van der Roths, stayed with us at Bellmore last summer, and they were genial enough, though Jakob did use coarse language and Hope smoked like a chimney."

"Well, begging Milady's pardon, I thought it might not be appropriate for a humble country doctor to be raising the issues of purchased titles by foreigners - even foreigners that used to be subjects of the Crown." Campbell gave Lady Amelia an apologetic grin and spoke in a quiet tone, unconsciously slipping into a slight accent. "It must be obvious to Yuir Ladyship that the new Laird is not getting off to a good beginning with his subjects. It may lead tae resentment among the Verrisay elders if many such customs are tae be broken."

For their part, the Bannisters, led by David, circulated slowly through the Great Hall. The walk through the snow had not been the most comfortable for David, but in the warmth and company inside of the Hall, he was far more energetic than he had been a while ago.

He stood with his wife near the fire at last, watching and looking around, giving smiles and nods to the room at large. Protocols and proper introductions did seem less the rule than ad hoc meetings.

"How do you do?" asked a rich, masculine voice from across the mantel. At the other end was the towering, broad form of the Earl of Eversham, in tails and white tie, his blackish hair immaculate, his movement, as he approached them, both solid and smooth.

"May I make your acquaintance? I'm Lord Eversham, a business associate of Douglas's -- our host's. And you are?"

"Bannister. Dr. David Bannister." The dark haired man offered his right hand to the Earl, while putting his left hand on his wife. "And this is my wife, Patience."

"We're Missionaries, stationed in New Guinea. We were invited to spend the holiday at the Rectory." he effuses with a smile.

"Scotland is lovely," Patience murmured, her curiosity wandering the room. Her left hand came up to cover her husband's hand as it rested against her arm, comforted by his presence.

During Patience's perusal of the room she met eyes briefly with a bright-eyed man in a bright green dinner jacket that didn't look like wool, who seemed to be also entertaining himself looking at the crowd about them. He smiled at her, warmly.

Patience's smile widened, and she nodded in recognition of his smile. For a moment her eyes lit, recognizing a fellow watcher, and she cocked her head, inviting him to join them by the fireplace.

He uncoiled himself from his chair and came to join them. He was a very ordinary looking man (except for those bright eyes and the brighter green jacket wit the brass buttons): a little on the short side, average build, brown hair thinning on top. "Hello," he said, smiling.

"Hello." Patience remained within her husband's reach as her attention turned to the newcomer. Her answering smile was wide and bright, betraying the youth in her eyes. "I am Patience Bannister, and this is my husband, David." She touched David's hand upon her arm lightly as she introduced him. "It is a pleasure to meet you..." she let the question of his name hang in the air momentarily.

"Marcellus Arthur," he replied. "Please call me Zap. Everyone does."

"Zap." After a moment, Patience nodded, smiling, "I should have known you. I remember seeing you on the docks... David reminded me afterwards that we had seen one of your films once, while on a visit home." She smiled easily. "But I am certain that everyone wants to talk to you about your comedies... so we'll just set that aside." Her warm gaze considered him. "I am certain there is something more to you than the manic man on the screen."

"I'm not sure I'm a very interesting person, outside of that. Play a little piano...cards...croquet..." He shrugged. "Mainly, I just like people."

She laughed softly. "I am not so certain one needs to necessarily be interesting. Liking people is a good trait, in and of itself." It is said as if that were not a surprise at all... as if she had already surmised it. "I like to watch people... and to listen to them. I don't think enough people take the time to listen to what others are saying."

He grinned in appreciation. "I couldn't agree more. Where is 'home,' and where have you been that you need to visit?"

"I was born and raised in Stratford, Ontario," Patience xplained, "although now, perhaps, it would be more appropriate to say that home is with David." She gave a fond smile to her husband. "We are missionaries, and are currently stationed in New Guinea. We had a desire to see Scotland for the holidays, and the Rector has been kind enough to put us up."

David smiled "And listen she does, very well. A pleasure to meet you, Zap." David was a bit unfamiliar with using such a moniker, but he was willing to, if that was what Marcellus wanted.

"The uncivilized of the jungle haven't heard of you yet, Zap, but I am sure that they will, soon enough." David grinned.

"And I daresay you picked an interesting place to spend the holidays if you like people." he added.

"It would seem so," Zap murmured. "How did you become interested in New Guinea?"

"A good question." David replied with a grin. "The chance to really do some good work in bringing souls to the Lord in the healing of their bodies." he explained. "There is so much we don't know about the people there, people who have never seen a white man, in the numerous mountain valleys. It's wonderfully diverse, hundreds of tribes and peoples in a small area. My wife and I." he smiled to Patience "are needed and do very good work there. It's a good life. I daresay that it will take a lifetime or more to fully explore and meet the peoples of what really isn't that large of an island at all."

"And," David added, "it's a wonderfully situated place, on the doorstop of the mysterious Orient, but not too far away from Australia, either."

"We haven't managed to make it either there nor there yet," Zap said. "We've done a little touring in Europe -- my partner and I -- and I've been to Russia -- that was when Map got married, the first time -- and I know every train and small-town theater in America, I think. Intimately."

End of Chapter 4

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