English countryside, long ago…

Beatrix Belden scowled at the embroidery in her lap and wondered why it bore absolutely no resemblance to the even stitches and artistic embellishment of the work of the young lady beside her. Reading her mind, Madeleine Wheeler giggled and set aside her own embroidery work.

“Don’t look now, but Mistress Lefferts is asleep,” she said, lowering her eyes but using her chin to gesture to the elderly woman in a dark, plain dress sitting at the window.

Trixie heaved a sigh of relief and tossed her embroidery to a nearby table. “Thank goodness!” she whispered. At least, she thought she whispered. Based on Honey’s wide-eyed, startled expression, and the sudden jerk of Mistress Lefferts’ head, Trixie had to assume that she’d been louder than she intended.

Again .

But Mistress Lefferts merely snorted, mumbled under her breath, and then made a horrible smacking sound that made Trixie clasp a hand over her own mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Eyes dancing with silent mirth, the girls tiptoed from the room, gathering their long skirts to keep from tripping on them.

“We’ll tell her we went to fetch tea,” Honey decided after escaping to the drafty hallway and closing the door behind them.

“Oh, do, let’s!” Trixie implored. “Cook makes the best biscuits. And cakes. And scones!”

“And tea,” an amused voice said. “Don’t forget tea.”

“Diana!” Honey exclaimed, startled. “I didn’t see you there!”

“As you shouldn’t,” the young maid agreed, grinning. “The kitchen help isn’t supposed to be seen.”

Honey frowned and would have argued, but Trixie took her arm and lead all three of them to the small sitting room attached to Honey’s bed chamber.

“We can have tea here, can’t we?” she asked. “After all, it would be rude to wake up Mistress Lefferts!”

Honey nodded vigorously. Mistress Lefferts had no real authority over the young woman any longer, not since Mistress Trask had been employed to take over her education, but years of acquiescing to the domineering woman had left Honey singularly reluctant to assert herself. More often than not, it was easier to avoid her.

The girls crowded into the sitting room, and Diana carefully placed the tray on the table. “There,” she said, inspecting the tray. “Will there be anything else, Lady Madeleine?”

“I’ve asked you to call me Honey,” she said, “and I can’t imagine what else we could want. This is enough food for ten people!”

“Well, it was probably intended to include Mistress Lefferts,” Trixie said, and there was a moment of silence before all three girls burst into laughter. Mistress Lefferts, while continually instructing the girls that a proper lady should eat only mincingly in public, managed to consume more sweets than everyone else combined when it came to teatime.

“Trixie, that wasn’t very nice,” Honey scolded, even as she gently wiped away a tear of laughter.

“It sure wasn’t,” Trixie agreed. “Now, are you going to pour the tea, or are we waiting for me to spill it?”

Honey slipped smoothly into her role as hostess and motioned for the girls to sit. Diana glanced quickly over her shoulder, but when the hall remained empty, perched on the edge of a fancy chair. Acknowledging Di’s reluctance to be caught sitting when she ought to be working, Trixie stretched her leg and pushed the door closed.

“There,” she said. “Now you’re safe.”

Di smiled fleetingly. “I suppose I ought to enjoy a few minutes off my feet,” she said. “Before we know it, we’ll be preparing for Christmas.”

Honey smiled, her expression dreamy. “I just love Christmas,” she said.

Trixie nodded vehemently. “The food! Goose and venison and pudding and—”

“I was thinking of having Father and James home,” Honey giggled.

Trixie brightened at the mention of Honey’s older brother. “That’s right! The boys should be coming home any day now!” she said, referring to her older brothers as well. James, Brian, and Martin were all studying at Cambridge, but they’d promised to be home for the festivities.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Honey exclaimed, turning to Diana. “What about your brothers? Have you had any news?”

Diana lowered her eyes and shook her head. Her twin brothers, older than her by several years, had left home years ago to sail on a merchant ship. It was a dangerous life, and Diana and her mother, the Wheelers’ cook, rarely heard from them. There had been talk earlier in the year that the brothers might be home for part of the winter, but they hadn’t had any word from them since.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon,” Honey said, throwing her arms around Diana in an impulsive hug.

Di sniffed. “Maybe,” she agreed, but her voice wobbled, and Trixie and Honey both knew that she was close to giving up hope. After all, anything could happen at sea, and there was no telling when, or if, word would ever reach them.

Trixie grasped Diana’s hand. “They’ll make it home,” she promised. “See if they don’t!”

“You said the blacksmith would let us ride in the back of his wagon.”

Martin Belden stared down the rutted, puddle-filled path. The empty path. Without any trace of a wagon waiting for them. “He promised he’d be here!”

His older brother Brian scowled and swung his bag over his shoulder. It was a good thing the masters had refused to let any of the medical tomes leave the school, he realized. He had a feeling he’d be grateful for his light sack before long. Mart hefted his own, heavier bag and thanked his lucky stars that he’d raided the kitchen and pilfered several apples and meat pasties. The food at Cambridge wasn’t nearly as good as at home, but sometimes, food was food, and this was one of those times.

“It could be worse,” James Frayne said, joining them. He was bulkier than either Brian or Mart, and his sack looked as if it weighed more than the brothers’ combined. “At least the weather is good.”

Mart stared incredulously at the puddles and overcast sky.

“It could be raining.”

A few drops plinked in the puddle.

“At least it’s not snowing?”

The chill wind picked up and Mart clapped a hand over the redhead’s mouth. “Not another word.”

Jim grinned. “It’s not that far. If we start walking now, we can make it home by—”

“Boxing Day?” Brian asked.

Mart’s eyes widened in comical horror. “And miss the Christmas feast?” He scrambled down the rutted road at an exaggeratedly brisk pace. “Not if I can help it!”

Brian and Jim caught up easily and the three walked in companionable silence, navigating the almost-but-not-quite frozen terrain. “If we pooled our money we could hire a coach,” Mart suggested, grimacing as not only his shoe, but his hose squelched.

“For about a mile,” Brian snorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re poor.”

“And I don’t have access to my funds, yet,” Jim said regretfully. “Not that there will be any funds left by the time I come of age…”

In the tradition of the nobility, James Frayne had been sent as a foster to the Wheelers. It pleased Jim’s stepfather to be rid of his wife’s pesky son, and it pleased Jim to be out from under his stepfather’s thumb. Lord Matthew of the Manor Wheeler was more than happy to consider Jim his own son, and aside from the fact that Jim doubted he would ever see any of his inheritance, they all considered the situation a success. Lord Matthew sometimes attempted to bestow more funds upon his foster son, but Jim’s stubbornness had so far prevailed. It had even prevailed without either of the redheads losing their tempers, which was a miracle in and of itself.

The only downside to the situation was that while Jim was technically wealthy, he had no more coin to hire a coach than did either of the brothers, the sons of Mr. Wheeler’s right-hand man. This left the three young men miles from home with no transportation.

“We could always stay at school for Christmas,” Brian suggested half-heartedly.

Jim snorted and picked his way around a particularly deep rut. “I’d like to see you explain that to my sister! Can you imagine?”

Brian flushed at the mention of Jim’s foster sister, but Mart grinned. “Honey would be disappointed, yes, but Trixie would be livid.”

Brian and Jim both shivered at the thought of the spitfire’s temper. “Walking it is,” they agreed, and picked up the pace.

He slipped through the trees, picking his way carefully to avoid dry twigs and deep mud. He couldn’t entirely hide his presence from the animals, not even with his faded and filthy brown and green clothing, but he could avoid being seen by people.

If he was careful.

He knelt, careful not to let the heels of his shoes sink into the soft earth, and studied the set of tracks he’d been following for what felt like forever.

Fresh. These were the freshest tracks he’d seen yet.

He smiled and ran his finger along the bow strapped to his back. If all went well, they’d be eating well for Christmas this year.

For once.

“Does this clearing look familiar?” Lawrence Lynch asked, pausing as he and his twin brother tramped through the woods.

They both stared blankly at the trees surrounding them.

“Maybe?”

Instinctively, they looked to the sky, but it wasn’t quite dark enough to make out any constellations.

“We’ve passed this tree—”

“Three times already.” Lawrence Lynch finished his brother’s sentence with ease. “I was wondering when you would notice.”

“You knew and didn’t say anything?” his companion demanded, his temper rising. His hair might be as dark as his father’s had been, but his temper was quick and volatile.

Larry shrugged. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” He grinned. “Want to know the best part?”

His shoulders dropped. “No.” He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Yes,” Larry said, his blond cherubic features masking what his brother considered diabolical delight. “There’s an abandoned well fifteen feet that way.” He pointed past the tree in question, the one that Bob was beginning to suspect was following them.

Bob threw his pack at the foot of the tree, barely wincing when all his worldly belongings rattled and jumbled together. He joined the pack, not caring that the ground was wet. After all, so were his clothes.

“So, I win,” Lawrence continued. “Tomorrow, you have to carry the lute.” He unstrapped the stringed instrument from his back and handed it to his brother. Bob sighed, but didn’t argue. A deal was a deal, after all. And Larry had found the water supply first.

“You win,” he agreed. “But not until you actually bring back the water.” He untied the drawstring of his sack and rummaged until he found a canteen. “And hurry it up, would you? I’m thirsty.” He tossed the canteen to his brother, and then leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. Life at sea wasn’t easy, but at least it was familiar. He’d assumed that the trek to their mother’s home would be, well, a walk in the park. Instead, he had yet to find his land legs, and if he never saw another tree again, it would be too soon. Even worse, Larry hadn’t seemed to have any problems adjusting to life on land. He’d even played the lute while Bob struggled to keep putting one foot in front of the other. How was that possibly fair?

It felt like he’d barely closed his eyes when Larry joined him, slapping the now full canteen against his abdomen. He grunted, almost too tired to drink.

Almost, but not quite. He drank deeply, enjoying the flavour of water that hadn’t been stored in a barrel for months on end.

“What do you think Mom’s doing right now?”

Bob brightened. “Cooking supper. Mutton.” He paused. “Or maybe beef?” His mouth watered just thinking about the extravagant meals she cooked for the Wheelers. “Gooseberry pie for dessert.”

“Chestnuts with stuffing,” Larry continued. “And she’s probably already soaking the fruit in brandy for the Christmas cake!”

Their stomachs growled in unison. Bob fished some dried meat out of his sack and handed half to his brother before settling back against the tree.

“I wonder if Diana’s been married off, just like Nina and Mary,” Larry said, referring to their older twin sisters.

“No!” Bob protested, aghast. “She’s what, twelve?”

“More like sixteen,” his brother corrected him. “The same age the twins married.”

They contemplated it.

“No,” Bob decided. “She’s the baby of the family. Mom wouldn’t…” They looked at each other. “Would she?”

“Probably not? I think she only encouraged the twins to get married because it was just after Dad died, and she didn’t think she could support us all.”

They looked at each other again. They never spoke of it, but they hadn’t become sailors because of any great love for the sea. They, too, hadn’t wanted to be a burden on the family, and the sea was a sure way to support themselves and even send money home occasionally. Young and naïve, they’d left home shortly after their sisters had married, leaving their mother and youngest sister living at Wheeler Manor.

By mutual assent, they hoisted their packs and continued the long trek inland.

Robert Belden’s review of the story was in, and it was not favourable. He flung his chubby arms, wailing as Trixie tried to comfort him. She patted the infant-almost-toddler’s back, hoping his bad humour was due to gas and not an actual complaint about the stories she made up for him.

“See?” she said, pointing out the window. “That’s where the rabbit lives!” They’d only barely passed the winter solstice, so it was full dark outside and neither of them could see anything past the murky glass of the window, but she was desperate. “We can’t see him because he’s gone to bed for the night.”

Bobby stared up at her, his blue eyes still sparking with anger. Colic, her mother called it. Bad-temper, Trixie thought, less charitably. “What should we name the rabbit?”

Bobby squirmed and screeched the only word he’d mastered to date. “Da-da!”

Trixie nodded seriously. “Very well. We’ll call him Peter Rabbit, after Dad.”

Bobby chanted “Da-da” several more times, eventually subsiding into happy gurgles. His eyes grew heavy, but Trixie knew better than to believe he’d fall asleep easily. If she tried to sit in the rocking chair Old Brom had made when her dad was a baby, the little boy would get his second wind and keep everyone focused on him for the next few hours.

Not that anyone besides her was focused on him at the moment. She frowned, looking over Bobby’s mop of downy curls to where her parents sat at the table, their heads close together in quiet conversation. Months ago, when it had seemed like the only time her younger sibling slept was when he was being carried, Trixie had perfected a shuffle-bounce-sway that seemed to soothe him. Now she used it to keep him quiet enough that she could edge closer to the kitchen table.

“Shh…” she whispered, as his complaints subsided to fretful whimpers.

“…reports of strange noises…”

“…damage to smoke-houses…”

Trixie’s ears pricked up. She leaned closer, hoping to hear a little more, but it threw off the rhythm of her sway and Bobby stirred restlessly.

“…stay close to home…”

“…the boys…”

“…not safe…”

Trixie froze, her heart thudding painfully. Bobby jolted, then let his head fall heavily to Trixie’s shoulder. The little scamp was asleep, but Trixie was too curious to take advantage of it and lay him in his crib. Instead, she approached her parents, keeping a hand on Bobby’s head to keep him settled.

“What are you talking about?” she whispered. Helen Belden jumped, as if she’d forgotten that she and Peter weren’t alone in the cottage. She stood up as if to take Bobby from Trixie, but Trixie shook her head. There was no sense risking waking him up, after all.

Helen busied herself at the stove, throwing in the last log of the night.

Trixie turned to her father, who set down his mug of ale and sighed.

“The boys ought to be on their way here,” he said, and Trixie nodded impatiently. This wasn’t news. She and Honey had been watching all day, hoping to see them arrive. There was no guarantee which day it would be, because it depended on the weather and the roads and any number of factors out of their control, but she had been hoping against hope that they’d arrive in plenty of time for Christmas.

Which was only two days away!

But none of that explained what her parents had been discussing.

“Old Brom stopped in today,” he continued. Peter’s official job was to handle day-to-day money matters for Mr. Wheeler, but, because the Beldens had lived in the area for years, he also found himself being approached by the local people when they needed the powerful landowner’s ear.

“Is he sick? Does he need food?” Trixie asked, suddenly worried. Old Brom was a fixture in the community, living in quiet retirement deep in the woods. Lord Matthew provided for him, but they all worried that he’d be too proud to ask for help if he needed it.

“He’s fine,” Peter assured her. “And I made sure to send a servant with extra food and firewood for him.”

Trixie blew out a sigh of relief, and then frowned in confusion. So far, her father had managed to tell her exactly nothing! She bit her lip, knowing that the more she pestered him, the longer it would take him to tell her anything. Probably he was teaching her patience, she thought grumpily, but she didn’t think it was working very well.

“There have been strange paw prints in the woods,” he finally said, his hands cupping the mug of ale. “And some damage to property.”

Trixie’s mind raced, running through the list of possible predators in the area. “Fox?” she questioned. “Wolf?”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe.”

Trixie could tell, though, that he didn’t believe it. She could also tell that he didn’t want to discuss the topic any further. She bit her lip, knowing that she ought to let it go, but…

“You’re worried about the boys!” she blurted, remembering the snippet of conversation she overheard. “You’re not sure what animal is in the woods, and you’re worried about Brian and Mart and Jim walking home and being attacked by it!”

“Your brothers are grown men,” Peter said firmly, though Trixie thought she heard her mother cough. “They were born and raised here and they know how to keep themselves and Jim safe.”

Trixie flushed at the slight to the Wheelers’ foster. “Jim knows the land almost as well as they do,” she protested.

“Exactly so,” Peter agreed. “They, all three of them, will be fine.”

“I think it’s safe to put Bobby in the cradle,” Helen said, dusting her hands on her apron and signalling an end to the conversation.

Trixie blinked, having forgotten that she was holding her younger brother. He was well and truly asleep, she realized gratefully. After settling him in his cradle for the night, she sat and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was safe and protected within the walls of their cottage. She could only hope and pray that her brothers and Jim were just as safe outside those walls.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone,” Mart said cheerfully, “but our choices for breakfast today are apples or…” he paused, rooting through his sack, “apples.”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “We had apples for supper last night,” he reminded them.

“Yes,” Mart agreed. “I was there.” He pulled out a weathered apple and offered it to him.

Jim shook his head. “It can’t be much further,” he said. “I’ll wait until I can have some of Mrs. Lynch’s chicken pie.”

Brian’s stomach gurgled, but he, too, refused the offer of fruit. “Don’t you have any of the dried venison left?”

Mart shook his head mournfully. “I think we ate it all yesterday. I wasn’t able to sneak very much away from the kitchens.”

Brian considered the apple again. “Fine,” he sighed. “But next time, would it hurt to pilfer some bread and cheese?”

“Next time, we’ll accept Lord Matthew’s offer of a carriage,” Jim said, putting an end to the bickering.

“Ah, a carriage,” Mart enthused, tossing his apple core behind them. “A most glorious form of transportation.”

“Any transportation that doesn’t involve my feet is a glorious form of transportation,” Brian agreed.

“Or maybe horses,” Jim said thoughtfully. “Lord Matthew might suggest having us ride to Cambridge and keep the mounts there for our personal use.”

The Belden brothers brightened, thinking of the fine horses from the Wheelers’ stable. They’d spent plenty of hours exploring the woods around the manor with Jim, and though the redhead could still ride circles around them, they had improved their own skills enough that the journey to and from college would be manageable.

“Ah, the magnificence of a fine steed, covering the miles in a fraction of the time that we, poor plebeians that we are—”

“Did you hear that?” Jim asked, stopping and staring into the woods, as if his eyes could penetrate the dense wall of conifers.

“Hear what?” Brian asked, after they’d all stared uselessly for several long minutes.

Jim frowned. “I don’t know. But…” He shook his head. “Let’s keep going.”

Mart extricated a few more apples from his sack and handed them to his friends. If he didn’t start rationing, he supposed the apple supply wouldn’t last much longer, but at least they’d have full stomachs while whatever Jim had heard continued to follow them. Because while Mart hadn’t heard or seen anything, he couldn’t shake the uncanny impression of being watched.

He watched the underbrush intently. Down the path, a few leaves rustled despite the lack of wind.

He waited.

The leaves rustled again.

Silently, slowly, he reached behind his shoulder and gripped his bow. He pulled it from the sheath with painstaking patience, determined not to alert his quarry.

The underbrush exploded in a flurry of motion and noise and chaos. He drew the bow, but there was nothing to aim at as the animal disappeared without letting him catch even a glimpse of it, and there was no sense in wasting a good arrow. He mentally followed the sound as the animal retreated further into the woods and knew that he didn’t stand a chance of catching it.

It was faster than he’d thought. And from the amount of noise it had made, bigger, too.

He approached the spot where the animal had been, hoping to learn more about it, but all he found was a half-eaten apple core.

“Do you ever get the feeling—”

“That you’re being watched?”

The twins looked at each other, and then down the path. Life at sea was easier, in some ways. Sure, their days were full of grueling work and storms and substandard food, but there wasn’t a whole lot by way of predators. And they could see for miles at sea. There might be danger, but they could generally see it coming. In the woods, however…

Anything could be out there, and they’d never even know!

Noise, Bob decided. Weren’t they supposed to make noise to scare away a bear? And it would probably work for a wolf, too, wouldn’t it? It seemed like it should.

“Sing,” he ordered his brother. He swung the lute that he’d been carrying on his back to his front and strummed a few chords.

“Sing what?” Larry asked, still staring into the trees.

“Anything!” Usually, Bob waited for Larry to take the lead vocally when they sang together, but fear of what lurked in the woods galvanized him. He strummed through the first chords of Greensleeves, and then the brothers sang, their voices blending in tight harmonies. Bob felt his initial alarm subside as they sang the familiar, soothing melody, but he had a niggling suspicion that they ought to have chosen a more rousing tune if they wanted to frighten the animal away.

As if reading his mind, Larry broke into a silly Spanish song that they’d learned from their fellow sailors. Bob increased the tempo and volume of the accompaniment, and they added weight to each step as they sang about a dancing cucumber. At least, he thought that was what the song was about. The sailors hadn’t seemed to have a firm grasp of the language, and for all he knew they were singing about a hairbrush. Which was fine by him if it kept them safe!

When the last notes of the song faded away, they listened. The silence was heavy, as if they and all the living creatures in the woods were waiting to see what would happen next.

The silence stretched, growing more and more ominous. Keeping his eyes trained on impenetrable woods, Larry said, “Do you think we should—”

His words were cut off by the sudden rustling of what had to be a very heavy animal in the brush on the other side of the path. Before either brother could move, almost two hundred pounds of enraged boar tore down the path, straight toward them.

“Run!” Bob shouted, the lute slapping his chest as he grabbed his brother and sprinted. This, he thought desperately, was not how he had wanted to recover his land legs! Though he couldn’t afford the time or co-ordination to look behind him, he could feel the huge animal behind them, gaining ground with every step.

“Tree!” Larry panted, and threw himself against the nearest tree with limbs low enough to reach. By the time Bob corrected his course, Larry was up two branches and reaching a hand down for him.

“Boars can’t climb trees,” Larry explained, hauling his brother up. Bob ignored the painful scrapes and scrambled to join his brother. They climbed up another two branches, and then perched, watching the boar paw at the tree.

“Are you sure it can’t climb trees?” Bob asked, as the animal bellowed in anger.

Larry shrugged helplessly. “Probably?”

The boar circled the tree, pawing at the earth. When he threw his body against the tree trunk, the entire tree shook so hard that Larry’s sack fell to the ground and their few supplies rolled out. The boar was momentarily distracted, but Bob knew there was nothing in it to hold his attention. After all, they’d finished all the food that morning. If they were lucky, the boar would lose interest and look for easier prey. If they weren’t lucky…

“It has to get bored at some point, right?”

Bob nodded, never taking his eyes from the animal.

“Get it?” Larry said, nudging Bob. “Bored? Boar?”

Bob gripped the branch tighter and gritted his teeth. Generally, Larry provided a light-heartedness that eased Bob’s tension and made the world a better place. Now, Bob couldn’t help thinking, was not the time for tomfoolery. His heart sank as he watched the boar grow gradually more frustrated. It circled the tree, occasionally ramming it with its shoulder to make the tree shudder and groan.

Bob shuddered and groaned right along with it.

“Do you hear that?” Mart asked, stopping in the middle of the path and tilting his head to the side.

Jim glared at him. “I haven’t heard anything since you dunked me in the ravine!” He, too, tilted his head to the side. He hopped on one foot, attempting to drain the water from his ear. When he was unsuccessful, he glared at Mart with renewed vigour and shook his still-wet hair in his direction, spraying the younger Belden brother.

Mart wiped the water from his face and grinned at the memory of the redhead’s startled expression when he’d been pushed face-first into the stream they’d been drinking from. “Hey, you were the one who complained that we were all smelly after taking a shortcut through that field.”

They all grimaced at the reminder of the field that had turned out to be full of both cows and cow plops.

“And how, exactly, did soaking me from the neck up accomplish anything?” Jim inquired, holding on to his temper with obvious effort.

Mart grinned. “Have you been thinking about the smell since I dunked you?”

Both Brian and Jim shook their heads, though Jim muttered under his breath about not being able to smell anything at all since he’d inhaled what felt like half of the ravine.

“Well, then.” Mart nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Jim gave his head another shake and drained the last of the water from his ears. He stilled, staring straight ahead of them down the path. “Do you hear that?” he asked, his voice hushed.

Mart threw his hands in the air. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Jim frantically shushed him, but it was too late. The three young men stared at each other as, just out of sight down the path, the sound of an aggressive animal grew louder. Jim motioned that they should retreat, backing away slowly, but before they had taken more than a few steps, they heard the unmistakable cries of panic, far too close to both them and the large animal.

“Weapons?” Jim asked, his voice rough.

Mart and Brian shook their heads, eyes still trained down the path.

Jim clutched the small knife he always carried on his person, knowing that it would be largely useless. They waited, readying themselves for whatever came.

Dan’s eyes lit up. He’d know that sound anywhere! Gliding through the forest like a ghost, he stopped at the edge of the clearing to nock an arrow. The boar was huge! Big enough to feed him and Old Man Maypenny for a good while. If they were careful, they might even be able to stretch it to spring. His stomach clenched and growled at the thought of regular food. They normally didn’t have any problem finding food, not between their garden and their hunting skills, but Maypenny had been sick, and the garden had suffered, and Dan hadn’t wanted to leave him to hunt, and…

His stomach clenched again, and this time it wasn’t from hunger. Old Man Maypenny was all he had left, and he was sickly certain that unless something drastic happened, he wouldn’t last until spring, even if Dan managed to get the boar. But he’d taken the chance of leaving Maypenny alone in the cottage, and he wasn’t going back without something to show for his effort.

He trained the arrow on the dancing, bellowing boar, ignoring the shouts of the men the boar must have treed. He’d worry about them after, after the boar was dead. But the slight breeze shifted and the boar, who’d been single-mindedly intent on its quarry, scented him. In the blink of an eye, the boar rushed him, Dan let his arrow fly, and three men burst into the clearing. Chaos reigned, subsiding only when all six men had scrambled as far up the trees as they could.

The boar turned in a circle, taking note of the occupied trees.

“Well,” the blond newcomer said, panting as he established himself on the branch beside Dan, “that could have gone better.”

“You think?” one of the two original men who the boar had treed retorted drily. “Well met, Belden.”

“Larry!” Mart exclaimed. “Terry! Is Diana every going to be happy to see you!”

“Actually, I go by Bob now,” Terry said, conducting the conversation as casually as if a boar wasn’t currently deciding which of them to eat first. “It was too confusing at sea, having twins with rhyming names. Made for a few mix-ups, it did.”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit awkward,” Mart said, “seeing as how you now share a name with the youngest Belden.”

“Trixie changed her name to Bob?” Larry inquired. “I can’t see your mother agreeing to that! She barely allowed her to shorten her name from Beatrix to Trixie!”

“No, no,” Mart said, ignoring the boar sniffing their tree. “Our Bobby is not quite a year old.”

“Our Bobby?” Larry asked, an edge to his voice. Mart and Di’s mutual attraction was well-known in both their families and while the Lynch brothers mainly approved, surely news of a wedding and birth would have reached them! And if there hadn’t been a wedding…

“What? No!” Mart fidgeted in their tree, sending a few twigs to the ground. Dan shot him an exasperated glare and gripped his own branch tighter.

“Bobby is our younger brother,” Mart explained.

“This is nice,” Dan objected acerbically, “but are we really getting acquainted while that thing tries to kill us?” Dan gestured to the wild boar, who seemed intent on roaring loud enough to knock them out of their trees.

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Do we know you?” he asked, taking in Dan’s shabby clothing and unrefined demeanor.

“Does it matter?” Dan retorted.

“That’s a fancy bow and arrow you’ve got there,” Bob said thoughtfully.

“That’s right,” Larry agreed. “Wasn’t there a notice in the last village we went through? Something about a poacher using a bow and arrow to kill game in Lord Wheeler’s preserve?”

Dan’s expression didn’t waver, but his heart sank. He hadn’t meant to stray from Maypenny’s pie-shaped section of land, but he’d followed where the game had led, and… Well. If the boar didn’t get him, no doubt Lord Wheeler would. No matter what happened, he refused to feel guilt for doing what he’d had to do to keep Maypenny fed over the last few months. Whatever happened now, there wasn’t anything he could have done differently.

“We can worry about who he is later,” Brian said. “The important thing right now is to…” His voice trailed off. “Did you hear that?”

“I’m beginning to seriously detest that question,” Mart muttered.

“Is that…” Larry craned his neck sending leaves flying and enraging the boar.

“I hear voices,” Jim agreed grimly. “And I think it’s the girls.”

“I can’t believe you talked Mrs. Trask into letting us try to find the boys!” Honey said, clutching Trixie’s arm and glancing back toward the Manor over her shoulder.

“Shhh…” Trixie cautioned. “We’re definitely not trying to find the boys,” she said, shaking her head emphatically.

“No, we’re gathering evergreen boughs to decorate the manor,” Di said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “At least, that’s what I told Mummy. We are doing that, aren’t we?”

“Of course, we are,” Trixie said, taking Honey’s and Di’s arms and tugging them toward a dense grouping of trees on the edge of the spacious lawn. “There’s no reason we can’t keep an eye out for our brothers while we gather branches, right? And if we happen to find traces of whatever strange animal is causing problems…” She shrugged. “Well, that’s not our fault, now, is it?”

Honey shivered. “I guess not, but I’d be just as happy if we didn’t have anything to do with that awful animal.”

Trixie grinned. “Which of our brothers are you calling an awful animal?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Honey scolded, but she was also laughing, which had been Trixie’s goal. After all, it was difficult to be afraid if you were laughing.

“And who knows?” Trixie continued. “Maybe we’ll find that your brothers are on their way home, too!” she said to Diana. “After all, they talked about coming home for Christmas, didn’t they?”

Di nodded. “I don’t want to get my hopes up,” she admitted. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful for all our brothers to be home?”

“It’s only been a few months since I’ve seen Jim and I miss him terribly! I can’t imagine how much you and your mother must miss the twins,” Honey sympathized.

“I see my sisters at the market often,” Di said, “since they live in the village. But the boys…” She shook her head. “Let’s gather the boughs and get them back to the Manor so we can finish decorating. What do you think of this tree?”

“Too thin, Trixie said critically. “And not green enough. We don’t want any brown needles. No, we need something more like…” She pointed to a tree deeper into the woods. “More like that.”

The tramped through the snow, soaking the hems of their long skirts.

“I don’t know,” Di said doubtfully. “I think all these branches are too big for the mantel.”

Honey pursed her lips. “You’re right,” she agreed after studying it. “Maybe from that tree, instead?”

But there was something wrong with each of the trees, until they found themselves far from the Manor, surrounded on all sides by towering pines.

Di turned in a slow circle. “Which way is home?”

Trixie immediately pointed in one direction while Honey pointed in the opposite. They all giggled, but Di sobered quickly. “No, really,” she said, glancing around and rubbing her hands together to warm them. “Which way is it?”

The girls pointed again, this time in new directions.

“This is silly,” Trixie said dismissively. “We’ll just follow our footprints back.” But they’d wandered erratically while searching for the perfect bough, and none of the trails appeared to lead anywhere other than in circles. Honey giggled again, but it sounded forced rather than amused.

“It’s fine,” Trixie assured them, though she sounded less certain than she had a few moments earlier. “We’ll just…” She paused.

“We’ll just what?” Di asked, her voice high and slightly hysterical. Her duties as her mother’s assistant meant she didn’t often spend time exploring the woods like Honey and Trixie did. The only reason her mother had allowed her to accompany the girls today was so that she could help carry back the boughs they chose. It was a rare treat, but she was starting to wish they’d asked Regan, or Tom, or, really, anyone with a sense of direction, to accompany them.

“We’ll just…” Trixie repeated herself absentmindedly. “We’ll just—did you hear that?”

And those, Di thought, might be the words she least wanted to hear while lost in the woods. The three girls stood, frozen, and listened.

“That sounds like my brother,” Honey whispered, her eyes wide.

“And my brothers!” Trixie exclaimed, glowing.

“And… and my brothers?” Di questioned.

And then, suddenly none of them cared that they were getting themselves even more lost. They tore through the woods, following the sounds of the voices.

“Why are they yelling?” Honey wondered. “They wouldn’t fight, would they?”

“Mine would,” Trixie scoffed. “But only with each other. And it doesn’t sound like they’re fighting. It almost sounds as if…” She cocked her head to the side.

“As if they’re all yelling at the same thing, not at each other,” Honey said. “But what could they be yelling at?”

“Let’s find out!” Trixie said, and immediately tripped over a sack as she hurried down the path. She landed on her hands and knees, the items she had dislodged rolling down the path and into the underbrush. “What on earth…” she muttered, staring at the odd assortment of detritus. “Who would have left a quill, a half-eaten apple, and a tome the size of a—”

“Boar!” Honey squeaked.

Trixie frowned. “Boars are huge, from what I’ve heard. Remember when Jim was teaching us all about the animals we might come across if we wandered too far into the woods? But I think he might have just been trying to scare us. Because I’ve never seen one, or even heard of anyone seeing one, and—”

“No!” Honey interrupted, her voice quiet and desperate. “Trixie, look over there! It’s a boar!”

Trixie rolled her eyes and continued to study the massive book. “You’re not going to fool me! Remember when I convinced Jim that there was a water buffalo in the bush?”

“Jim believed you because he always believes you,” Di teased, kneeling to help return the wayward items to the sack.

“He does not! “Trixie protested, flushing.

“There. Is. A. Boar. On. The. Path.” Honey enunciated each word, her voice crisp with terror.

Finally picking up on the gravity of the situation, Trixie looked up. “Oh,” she said blankly. She ran through every tale she’d ever been told about the almost fictional wild boar. The stories had been big on excitement and drama, but decidedly lacking in practical advice on what to do when encountering a boar unexpectedly! Were they supposed to make themselves look bigger? Make loud noises? Play dead? Climb a tree?

In the end, she did none of those things. The boar bellowed. The voices they’d been following stilled, then erupted in a fresh clamor. Footsteps pounded toward them, which encouraged Trixie, but spooked the boar. Caught between the two groups of people, the boar chose the group with the least people, and bolted straight toward the girls.

Trixie scrambled to her feet while Honey and Di dove to opposite sides. Trixie knew she ought to do the same, but there wasn’t time and she had to do something and—with a scream every bit as savage as the boar’s, Trixie hurled her only weapon at the boar. The book she’d picked up sailed through the air with force born of desperation. Time slowed as the group of men burst into view, the boar charged forward, faster than any animal had a right to be, and the heavy tome flew straight and true, striking the boar square in the mouth.

After the initial burst of sound, silence fell as they all watched to see what the boar would do. Because a book, no matter how thick, couldn’t possibly stop a two-hundred pound angry boar.

Could it?

The boar turned in a rough circle, pawing at its face. The book however, remained firmly lodged in its gaping maw. It convulsed, eyes bulging in panic.

“Is it… choking?” Trixie asked, staring in disbelief. “On a book?”

Jim’s face was unnaturally pale, each freckle standing out in stark relief. “It’s Aristotle,” he said, as if the author mattered. “It was a Christmas gift for Lord Wheeler.”

Honey edged cautiously out of the brush where she’d hidden. “Father would have loved it,” she said, her voice distant.

The boar gave one last shudder and fell on its side.

“Is it dead?” Honey asked faintly. She and Di clutched each other while Trixie and the boys slowly approached the animal.

“Let’s find out,” Mart suggested, and lobbed an apple core at it. It struck it in the eye, but the boar didn’t so much as twitch.

“I think it’s dead,” Jim said, mystified.

The men surrounded it and moved closer, wielding fallen branches as makeshift weapons. Trixie paused, frowning, as she counted heads. Everyone was milling around the boar, and it was hard to get an exact number, but she was almost certain that there was one too many heads and that one of those heads was unfamiliar. When she spotted a figure unobtrusively back away from the group, holding something that looked like an arrow, she knew something was amiss. A quick glance told her that everyone else’s attention was focused on the boar. Without a second thought, Trixie followed the stranger as he melted into the woods. She suspected he could have lost her easily, but instead he sighed in resignation when she picked her way toward him. He didn’t even leave when her skirt caught on a branch and she was held fast. Instead, he wordlessly set her free, and then stepped back, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Who are you?” Trixie demanded, too impatient to wait for him to offer an explanation.

He stared back.

Trixie planted her hands on her hips. “And don’t think I didn’t see you pluck an arrow from the boar,” she accused.

“You didn’t see anything,” he told her flatly. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget that you saw me at all.”

“Why?” Trixie asked curiously. “Don’t you want credit for killing the boar? I’m sure Lord Matthew will be grateful. You saved us all, you know.”

He snorted. “I doubt it. And it was your book that did it. Remember?”

“My book to the mouth and your arrow to the throat,” Trixie argued. “The book alone wouldn’t have killed it, and you couldn’t get that shot until the boar was distracted.”

His face remained impassive. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally said. “It won’t do us any good now, anyway.”

Trixie frowned. “What won’t do us any good? The boar? Or talking about who killed it? And us who? Us?” she asked, gesturing between her and Dan, “or us someone else?”

Dan stared at her, bewildered. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Only when people don’t tell me what I want to know!” Trixie exclaimed, her voice rising.

“Hey!” Trixie heard a rustle and Jim appeared, one hand attempting to tame his unruly red hair. “Trixie? What are you—” His eyes narrowed. “You,” he said, his voice an accusation.

Tension stiffened Dan’s shoulders. “I’ll go with you,” he finally said. “I’m the one who shot game on Lord Wheeler’s preserve.”

“Yes!” Trixie exclaimed. “The boar! Which saved our lives!” She frowned. “How is that a problem?”

Jim’s initial anger faded. “That makes a lot more sense than Aristotle getting the job done.” He glanced at Trixie. “It was a good throw,” he said hastily.

“But it wasn’t good enough to kill a boar where it stood! That’s what I was telling him!” Trixie agreed. She tugged impatiently on Dan’s arm. “Don’t you want to come with us back to the Manor? I’m sure Mrs. Lynch will roast the boar in no time, and you can stay for Christmas dinner, and—”

“I can’t,” Dan interrupted. “If I’m free to go?” He stared just over Jim’s shoulder, too proud to beg but desperate enough to ask.

“I suppose so,” Jim said slowly, “but you can’t continue poaching.”

Dan’s lips tightened. “It won’t happen again. It was an honest mistake, but I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“’It won’t do us any good,’” Trixie repeated, tugging at Dan until he was forced to meet her eyes. “You’re trying to provide food for someone! That’s why you said the boar wouldn’t do us any good! You meant you and whoever you were hunting for!”

“It won’t matter for much longer,” Dan said, despair straining his voice. “And then I’ll leave the area. Maybe try my luck in the city. Or at sea.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Trixie said, conviction giving her strength. “And what do you mean, it won’t matter much longer?” Her eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean…”

Dan shook her hand off his arm. “He’s sick. Without food…” His voice trailed off. He gazed into the woods, as if he’d forgotten about Trixie and Jim.

“Who?” Jim demanded, stepping between Trixie and Dan. “Who is sick?”

Dan didn’t look at either of them. “He’s a hermit. You wouldn’t know him.”

“Old Brom?” Trixie gasped. “But Father said he was fine—”

“I said you wouldn’t know him,” Dan interrupted, irritation shortening his temper. When Jim crossed his arms and waited him out, Dan sighed. “His name is Maypenny. He lives on a pie-shaped clearing deep in the woods. It was given to his family hundreds of years ago, but I think everyone has forgotten that his family ever existed.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Trixie said flatly. “And my dad knows everyone.”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. You didn’t know about me, either, and I’ve been living with the old man for three years.”

Trixie sputtered indignantly, but forget her outrage as Jim continued to question the young man. “Where exactly does he live? And what can we do to help? We can send for a healer, or Brian can come with you right now. He hasn’t finished his studies, but he knows what he’s doing.” Without waiting for an answer, Jim called for the others to join them.

Trixie grasped Dan’s arm, preventing him from fading into the forest as the others crowded around them. He was skittish, Trixie realized, and she looked at Honey helplessly. Rising to Trixie’s unspoken plea, Honey listened to Jim’s explanation of events and then turned her friendliest smile on the stranger.

“I’m so glad our paths crossed,” Honey told him. “Father is slowly learning about this land and the people who live here. He’ll be upset to learn that someone under his protection has been suffering.” She smiled encouragingly. “Won’t you let us help?”

He frowned, but Trixie could tell that he was more undecided than angry. “Being independent is a good thing,” she told him. “But not if it prevents someone from getting the help they need.”

Finally, he nodded. “I can take you there.” He paused. “But not all of you. Old Man Maypenny is shy around strangers.”

Trixie opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again when she saw how cold and miserable Honey and Di were. If she insisted on going, her friends would, too. And she’d probably involved them in enough trouble already, what with facing down a wild boar. After escaping the beast unharmed, it seemed imprudent to risk catching their death of colds.

“We’ll walk back with the girls,” Larry offered cheerfully. “Terry and I have had enough tramping through the preserve to last us forever.”

“Oh, I’m back to Terry now?” his twin inquired.

“We’re not at sea anymore,” Larry said, sounding even more cheerful. “And it wouldn’t do to get you confused with the youngest Belden.”

“Oh, you have to come meet him!” Diana exclaimed, wedging herself between her brothers and tucking her arms through theirs. “He’s the most darling baby you’ve ever seen!”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “You haven’t tried to get him to sleep recently.”

“We’ll teach you some new lullabies,” Terry promised. “Have you heard the one with the cebu?”

“What’s a cebu?” Di questioned. “Is that like a water buffalo?”

“Cebu is actually an alternate pronunciation of zebu, a domesticated ox in India and East Asia,” Mart informed her, and Trixie rolled her eyes so hard that her head ached. Trust her brother to take over any conversation with obscure trivia!

“I knew it was a mistake when Father let you go off to school,” she muttered, but she followed up her words with a grin. Her brothers might be the most irritating people in the world, but she loved them with all her heart, and they were home for Christmas, and life was almost perfectly perfect.

Caught up in the heady satisfaction of having so much of her family and friends together, she tugged on Dan’s arm as he brushed past her. “Come for Christmas dinner,” she pleaded. “You and Mr. Maypenny, if he can. And if you can’t, we’ll bring Christmas to you.”

He didn’t look as if he believed her, but Jim did. He nodded, promising that he’d make sure Dan and Mr. Maypenny didn’t disappear from their lives.

Trixie clapped her hands in delight as Brian lit the pudding and set it in front of the elderly man propped up in bed.

“Christmas pudding,” Maypenny said, his voice frail. “I haven’t had Christmas pudding since… Well. It’s been a good many years. And I’m sure I’ve never seen one as fine as this.” He sniffed appreciatively, and both Honey and Diana beamed. Diana’s mother had allowed them to make the pudding themselves, and they thought it looked almost as good as what the cook had served at the Manor the previous day on Christmas. Mr. Maypenny hadn’t been well enough to travel all the way to the Wheeler estate for Christmas dinner, so Trixie had insisted on bringing Christmas dinner, in the form of the roasted boar, to him as soon as they could the following day. They’d filled the small cottage, bringing more food than they could eat in a month.

“Lord Wheeler came here on Christmas Eve,” Dan said, speaking quietly to Trixie as they enjoyed the Christmas pudding. “He’s promised to look after Maypenny, and he’s given me a job.” He sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I’m to patrol the preserve and keep him apprised of poachers or anyone needing help.”

Trixie clapped her hands again. “That’s wonderful! I’m so glad that we’ll be seeing more of you!” She beamed, thrilled that life was improving for both men. “I know you’ll be busy, but you won’t mind if Honey and Di and I come out to visit you and Mr. Maypenny, will you? And we can bring you supplies and—”

“Hey! Watch it!” Mart exclaimed, juggling his dish of pudding as he tried to find a place to sit. The cabin was bursting at the seams with the young people taking up every chair and stool. “Why are you standing in the middle of the room?”

“I’m sitting,” Jim retorted, rubbing the foot that Mart had trampled. “In plain view!”

Always eager to avoid conflict, Honey raised her voice in a Christmas carol, and the room filled with harmony and good will. Larry added accompaniment on his lute, and Trixie’s heart swelled. A wild boar might have brought them all together, but friendship would keep them there.