The Nurse's Christmas Temptation by Ann McIntosh

Author:Ann McIntosh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mills & Boon Medical
Published: 2019-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

“HARMONY, YOU HAVE to help me!”

Hearing Dora’s near shout on the other end of the line made Harmony’s heart-rate go into overdrive.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Come quickly.”

“Do you need Cam?”

He was out, checking on a visitor who’d fallen off his scooter earlier in the afternoon, leaving Harmony to close up the clinic. She hoped she could deal with whatever it was happening to Dora.

“No, no. Just you. Hurry!”

Grabbing her jacket and a medical kit from the back, Harmony swiftly locked up the surgery. Normally in an emergency she’d drive, although Dora’s house was only a short way away, but with the number of people on the roads, and walking all over the place, it would be a lot quicker to walk.

Or in this case trot—which was what she did, weaving her way through the throngs of visitors.

Hard to believe it was already midway through December, with the Winter Festival in full swing. Harder yet for Harmony to reconcile the sleepy little village she’d first seen on arrival with the wonderland it had become.

The lights, banners, decorations, and Christmas trees in every window gave the village a truly festive air. And it wasn’t just the village. A night drive around the island revealed light-encrusted fences, trees, and houses, a variety of seasonal lawn decor, and even a forest of firs in a field, all lit up and open to the public to walk through.

“Angus Stewart does that every year,” Cam had told her. “He tried growing a grove of firs, but the soil was wrong, so instead he buys the trees and sets them up like a miniature forest. And right in the center he has baskets of rowan and a stack of Cailleach logs for anyone who wants burn them in his nightly bonfire.”

“Cailleach logs?” she’d asked, bewildered. “What are those? And why burn the rowan?”

“Cailleach is also known as the Hag of Winter. It’s an old tradition to carve her face on a log and then burn it to banish the cold, the darkness, and any coming hardship. The rowan is supposed to burn away any hard feelings between friends or family members.”

Every day she learned something new. When she’d first heard about the festival she’d pictured something far less elaborate—although, to be fair, Cam had tried to warn her from the beginning.

On the other side of the green the fair grounds were a mass of people all day, and up until it closed at ten at night. She’d been twice already—once with the CIs and again with Cam—and she’d likened it to a cross between a Renaissance fair and a long, ongoing party. While she’d politely passed on the haggis, she’d enjoyed the Yule bread and the clootie pudding.

“It similar to a Jamaican Christmas pudding,” she’d told the CIs. “But blander. Ours has rum, and a lot more fruit. My gran kept her fruit soaking in rum and wine all year long, so as to have it ready for Christmas.”

The CIs had exchanged strange looks over that tidbit, but Harmony hadn’t been able to get them to say why.

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