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She smiled, so happy she could not help it. He had loved her well, teaching her to love their joining. By the time they had coupled, she was desperate to have him inside her. The pain was brief and he had warned her. Once it had diminished, she had moved with him, delighting in his body, as he whispered words of love, and took them to that place she had never been.

That was the first time, but there had been a second time, which had been even better, for he had made love to her slowly, driving her mad.

More shouts sounded from the town’s streets. She pictured the revelers swinging their fireballs. Wanting to see them before they were cast into the water of the harbor, she carefully extricated herself from Nash, kissing him on his forehead, and rose. She remembered seeing her blue velvet wrapper on the end of the bed and felt for it in the dim light. The lantern no longer gave its light, though the coals in the stove stilled glowed.

Donning her wrapper, she padded the short distance from the bed to the window that faced the harbor. Opening the curtains, she glimpsed the town, bright with flaming torches. Down the center of the main street, men marched, swinging the flaming balls they would have earlier steeped in paraffin, wrapped in sacking and tied with netting wire.

The fireballs that marked the Winter Solstice celebration lighted the snow-covered street, turning it into a river of glowing fire. Since she was a young girl, each year she and Will, and sometimes her parents and younger brothers, had sailed to Stonehaven to spend New Year’s with her grandparents to witness the ceremony.

“The bed is cold without you, my love,” said Nash, coming up behind her and crossing his arms over her chest. She leaned back into his warmth and turned her head to accept his kiss. He smelled of sandalwood and their joining.

She brought her hands up to cover his arms, loving the feel of the soft hair on his forearms, the same dark hair on his chest. “Don’t you want to see the fireballs?”

“It seems appropriate our wedding night should be marked by fire, don’t you think?”

He skin flushed with heat. “Aye.”

The men began to toss their fireballs into the harbor where they hissed as the flames were doused. She turned and laid her head on his warm chest. He was hers as she belonged to him now.

A chorus of Auld Lang Syne rose from the harbor. She looked back to see people standing together singing. Ailie joined them, singing softly,

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne,

We’ll take a cup o kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Another of Burns’ poems?”

“Aye and no. ’Tis an ancient poem Burns committed to paper. We sing the song after midnight at year’s end to remember happy days from the past, the days that followed after and coming back together.”

He held her tightly and kissed her temple. “A little like us, eh?”

She nodded and raised her head to kiss him.

“Come to bed, my love.”

Some hours later, Nash opened his eyes. The only light was from the dying coals in the stove that cast deep shadows around the cabin. He had no desire to leave his bride’s bed, but he remembered another tradition Will advised him to keep. “If you happen to think of it, that is. ’Tis your wedding night, after all.”

When he’d asked, Will told him of the Scots’ tradition of “first-footing” whereby if a man of dark hair bearing a gift was the first to cross the threshold after midnight on New Year’s Day, he would bring good luck to the household.

Nash tucked the cover around his bride and pulled on his breeches. Lifting from his coat pocket the gift he had acquired when he’d bought her wedding ring, he crept from the cabin. Once outside, standing in the cold passageway, he knocked loudly on the cabin door. When no sound came, he knocked again. She needed sleep after their night of lovemaking, but he thought she’d not mind rising for one of her traditions.

Finally, he heard her sleepy voice through the cabin door. “Nash?”

“Yes, love, it is I.”

The door opened and he entered, closing it behind him.

She peered at him in the dim light of the cabin. “Where did you go? The door was unlocked, you know.”

Rising to his full height, he grinned widely. “Behold, it is I, the first-footer!”

She laughed “Oh, Nash, you are, aren’t you?” She kissed him on the cheek. “Clever man. Did you bring me a lump of coal? We could add it to the stove. It’s freezing in here.”

“I will stir the coals and gladly add wood to the fire, but first I have a gift for you.” He pulled the brooch from his pocket and placed it in her palm. “I know a lump of coal is the usual gift but I thought you’d like this better. Come, you’ll be able to see it better as I light the fire.”

He went to the stove, stirred the coals to life and added two chunks of wood. When the flames caught, Ailie exclaimed, “Oh, Nash. ’Tis magnificent, a gift for a queen.”

“So it is. My queen.” He returned to her side and studied the brooch, a large sherry-colored oval stone surrounded by a wreath of silver, carved with thistle flowers and leaves. The gem seemed to be alive as it caught the light of the fire. “It’s a Madeira citrine. When I saw it, I knew it had to be yours. It’s the color of your eyes, Ailie.”

When she finally looked up, her eyes were full of tears. “I shall wear it always.”

“Here,” he said, taking it from her. “I’ll pin it to your wrapper for tonight.”

They returned to their bed and did not wake till the sun’s rays spilled into the cabin.