The Highlander Who Stole Christmas

by Eliza Knight

  This time last year, they’d been celebrating the holiday season with their clan. Singing, dancing. There had been so much hope for a better future with Jon as their new leader. Edward and Ellyson had been eager to join their comrades in the Jacobite rebellion, to bring honor to the clan. Their eldest brother Jon had been wooing his new wife, Thea.

  Standing in the center of the great hall last Christmas, Sarah never would have guessed that she’d be where she was now. Jon and Thea dead. Her, escaping the family she’d once loved so fiercely.

  Och, not once, but still. She loved them even now when they were tearing her apart on the inside.

  Pushing away from the door, Sarah marched toward her wardrobe and wrenched it open. She pulled her leather traveling satchel out from behind the hanging gowns and stuffed her winter cloak inside, along with a gown, a pair of riding boots and a spare chemise. Then she opened the tiny box her father had carved for her and stared inside at the ring that had once belonged to her mother—the Campbell crest surrounded by rubies. It was her prized possession. If her brothers realized that she had it, they would steal it for certain.

  But the ring had been given to her in private by her and Jon’s mother just before she’d passed when she’d been barely five years old, and she doubted they were even aware of its existence. She put that into the satchel with her other belongings.

  This was all she could take with her.

  Where she would go, she’d not yet decided. Tonight, when it was dark, she would hide the satchel in the barn so that it was there when she was ready to leave. She prayed the feast tomorrow evening would give her some answers.

  Until then, she’d need to come up with a plan—any plan, as long as she was gone before midnight struck on Christmas.

  Chapter Two

  “Thanks for the borrow, sir. Though ye dinna know it yet, ye’ve done a great service to your fellow Scot.” Thane gave a salute to the unconscious man at his feet, speaking as he divested the costumed Father Christmas from his garments and pulled them on himself.

  He’d not had any idea of how he was going to sneak into Campbell castle until he’d happened upon the festively dressed man, and then he’d known exactly. Once inside, with Sarah held captive, he could divest himself of the costume and be about his business of abduction.

  The old red velvet cloak smelled of must and horses, and other unmentionable things. Probably hadn’t seen a wash since the Christmas before, but he tried not to think about that. Served these traitorous bastards right. They might have fought with the Scots on the field of battle, but Thane had to wonder if deep in their hearts, they were English loving all along.

  Father Christmas was distinctly un-Scottish.

  He tugged on the makeshift beard and curly, woolen hair that had once been white but now was yellowed with age. Good lord, but it smelled like sour, not so well-preserved, ale.

  Dressed, he hopped back onto Destiny’s back and rode casually right through the gates, shouting messages of good tidings to those he passed and tossing little wrapped sweets that had been prepared for the occasion. All the while, in his mind, he recited a prayer for their traitorous deaths. The bastards.

  In the bailey, a young lad came forward to take his mount by the reins. He was tall and lanky, hungry-looking. Eyes haunted. Poor bairn had likely been ill-treated by his clansmen.

  “Och, wee laddie, I’ve a task for ye.”

  The lad cocked his head, interest in his eyes, especially when Thane passed him a coin.

  “Rub him down, but then, if ye would, saddle him right back up again and keep him tied to the outside of the barn by the trough.” Thane made an exaggerated look about the bailey teeming with people, some of whom appeared already to be quite into their cups. “I dinna think I’ll be staying as long as I had anticipated.” He gave a slow, exaggerated wink. “And if ye’re a good lad, there’s another coin where the first one came from.”

  “Och, Father Christmas, I’d do it for free.” The lad beamed, looking as though the coin were the first that he’d ever seen, and likely the best gift he’d ever received in his entire life.

  Thane regretted disappointing the lad when he found out who Thane truly was—the enemy. Would he trade the coin for Lady Sarah’s life? Thane was willing to bet the lad would not.

  Guilt ebbed at his conscience. But feeling sorry had no place in his plan, else he might as well walk right out the castle gates and back to where he came from. There was no time for regrets.

  As Thane walked about the bailey, tossing out good cheer, sometimes through gritted teeth, he noted the various ways of escape and studied every female he passed in hopes of finding the red-haired beauty. The castle walls were being protected by guards. A good number of them, in fact, but they were all holding various cups likely filled with ale, wine or spirits, and they were all laughing and jesting instead of looking out over the snow-covered moors.

  The winds had died down, and the massive bonfires in the bailey warmed the air. People danced and lazed about as if it were the height of summer rather than the middle of winter.

  A tug at the bottom of his coat had Thane whirling about a little too exuberantly, afraid that he’d been caught. Much to his horror, the sudden movement sent a small child flying. The wee lass was sprawled on her backside, a look of alarm on her face. That expression alone was enough to make him want to abandon his cause. He’d not set out to frighten children. But her fear was quickly erased when she spied his beard and velvet coat. A tentative smile curved her tiny mouth.

  Thane rushed forward, extending his hand. “My dear, I am so verra sorry.”

  The wee lass grasped onto his outstretched hand with wide, blameless eyes.

  Forcing a smile, he said, “Why do ye no’ tell this clumsy Father Christmas what it is ye wish for.”

  The bairn stood before him, blinking upward with large eyes, hands clasped in front of her, and without preamble said, “I wish to have our lady and laird back.”

  The lass could not have done more damage if she’d thrust a dagger into the center of Thane’s heart. Her request broke his heart, and he found it hard to breathe for a moment. What innocence…

  “Lady Thea was helping my ma with the new bairn in her belly. ’Tis being quite troublesome. And the laird, my da said he was twice the laird as these new ones. Says only the weak need to rule together.” Truth out of the mouths of bairns.

  Thane choked on his heart, which seemed to have removed itself from his chest and thrust its way up into his throat. He, too, had thought it odd that Edward and Ellyson Campbell had made a pact to share the lairdship.

  He swallowed and then patted the lass on the head. “How old are ye?”

  “Six summers.”

  “Well then, ye’re practically grown. I bet ye can be a great help to your ma with the bairn.”

  The lass beamed up at him. “I think I can. But…” She shook her head and bit her lip. “What if she doesna want my help?” The wee thing looked so worried.

  Thane knelt before her at eye level. “All mothers want help from their older bairns with the younger set. Trust me.”

  The lass held her hands to her chest, a beaming smile cutting across her face. “Oh, thank ye, Father Christmas. Ye’ve given me a great gift.”

  She hugged him tightly, her little arms barely reaching around his middle, and Thane awkwardly patted her back.

  “Go on now, afore ye’re missed.”

  She skipped off, and again he felt that perhaps his plan had been misguided. The wee lass missed Thea.

  God, he missed his amazing sister too.

  And that was why he needed to avenge her death. He was not the only one suffering from Thea’s loss—the people were missing their mistress, their healer.

  A tap on his shoulder had him startling once more. He turned around a bit more carefully to avoid knocking down someone else. Only this time, he found himself staring into a pair of inquisitive brown eyes, with an equally inquisitive pair of red arched brows.

&nb
sp; “A word, Father Christmas?” Her voice was low and silky as she made her request.

  Finding Lady Sarah Campbell had been a lot simpler than he thought, for she had been the one to locate him.

  Sarah held her shock in well by masking it with curiosity.

  Just what was Thane Shaw doing here, and dressed as Father Christmas of all things?

  The man had a death wish to be certain, for why else would he appear here, apparently unarmed and unaided? She glanced around surreptitiously. No one seemed to recognize him just yet, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t soon. His face was quite distinctive. Blue eyes that were flickering in the bonfire light, the same shade as Thea’s. His golden locks were hidden beneath the decrepit wig, but she’d bet all the grain in the storehouse that it was him.

  “Is that your wish, my lady? I’m only giving away one to each soul.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ye dinna seem to grasp just what your position here is, sir.”

  “Father Christmas,” he insisted.

  “As ye say.” Miraculously, she kept from rolling her eyes at him.

  “Is over there fine?” He indicated the barn. “Ye can tell me what ye would rather see as my position.”

  He handed her a sweet from his satchel, but she pushed it back. “Nay, thank ye.”

  Thane held out his arm to her. She considered arguing about going toward the barn with the man, but then she realized perhaps now was the exact moment she needed to make her move. No one would care if they saw her walking about with Father Christmas. She might easily be able to slip away with him as a distraction.

  Besides, she had to find out just what the devil he was doing here.

  The soft velvet of the red coat was straining from the breadth of his muscular arms, and she wouldn’t be surprised if, at any moment, there was a tearing sound as his body gained its freedom from the restrictive garment. Normally a red coat would scare the devil out of everyone, fearing for their lives that the dragoons were back and ready to murder them all. Father Christmas was the only one who could get away with it. But Thane Shaw was not the man she’d hired to play the part.

  At the barn, she let her hand drop, and when he faced her fully, his thoughts shuttered from his face.

  “I am ready for my lesson.” There was a teasing note to his words that she found surprising, given the intensity of how much she knew he disliked her family. That had been evident at Thea and Jon’s wedding, and even more so after her death.

  “Father Christmas doesna grant wishes to souls,” Sarah mused. “Ye’re confusing too many ideologies.”

  Thane wiped his hand down the neck of a sleek black horse that did not belong to the Campbell clan. She guessed it was his, judging from the familiar way he stroked the mane.

  “He’s a beauty,” she said, adding her hand to the mix. “My brother had one just like it. Though truth be told the horse preferred his wife.”

  He stiffened beside her, catching on that she spoke of Thea. Oh, how she missed her. Wanted to talk to Thane about his sister, but knew that broaching the subject now when he was trying for anonymity would likely be the wrong course of action. Then again, if she was going to get what she wanted, there was no time like the present.

  “What is it ye wished to speak to me about?” he asked.

  “I know who ye are.”

  “Then ye must know why I’ve come.”

  “I have an idea, but I dinna think it will work,” she said.

  His gaze met hers, steel blue. “Just what is it ye think I’m here to do?”

  “Lay siege.” She shrugged. “Some sort of revenge.”

  “Ye have the latter right, but I’m afraid ye’ve got the execution wrong.”

  The way he said “execution” with a bite to it had her flinching. Was that what he thought had happened to Thea? No doubt.

  “I dinna deny that our clan likely is in need of some sort of punishment for what happened to your sister, but if ye should die too, ye will be of no help to your people.”

  “I think ye’re wrong,” he said, a menacing undertone. “I think what I’ve got planned will be a massive help.”

  Sarah sighed. “What is it ye have planned then?”

  He winged a brow in challenge. “Climb onto my horse, and I’ll tell ye all about it.”

  “Climb onto your horse?” She let out a short laugh and narrowed her gaze, the realization of his plot dawning. “Ah, so ye wish to abduct me.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest. “That is my Christmas wish.”

  Sarah sucked in a heady breath. Here was a gift placed right before her. The means to her escape. And he had no idea. They could kill two birds with one stone. He’d get his revenge, and she’d get her freedom.

  She didn’t even bother putting up a fight. “Can I get something from the barn first?”

  Thane looked taken aback. “As I’m certain ye’ve no’ been abducted before, I feel obliged to let ye know that will no’ be possible.”

  Sarah leaned in close enough that she could smell the stink of the rotting wool beard. “But, you see, I have already packed a bag.”

  “What?” he sounded exasperated.

  “I…” She licked her lips. “I was going to run away.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced around, wondering if anyone had taken note of just how long she’d been talking with Father Christmas, but everyone was enjoying the drinks and food and paid them no attention. At least not yet.

  “My brothers have arranged for several men to make offers for my hand this evening. One of whom is English. Nay, thank ye.”

  Thane groaned. “Fine. Get your bag, but I’m coming with ye. And just so we’re clear, this is still me taking ye, no’ me saving ye.”

  “Aye, of course,” she nodded emphatically, grateful he was letting her get the satchel.

  They entered the barn, and she spoke to the same wee lad Thane had given a coin to. “Just getting a sack of gifts for Father Christmas,” she explained.

  Thane tossed the lad another coin, which quickly distracted him from their task.

  A second later, she emerged with the satchel, beaming a smile at the lad and avoiding eye contact with Thane.

  “Here we are. Thank ye, Georgie, for all ye’ve done with the horses tonight. I know it’s been quite an ordeal with Harry sick.”

  The lad blushed and kicked at the barn floor. “Thank ye, my lady. I’m more than happy to help.”

  The lad glanced down at the coin in his hand, and Thane could practically see the thoughts about what he’d spend it on popping from his mind.

  Outside of the barn, Thane took Sarah’s satchel and attached it to his saddle.

  “Wait.” She touched his arm, and he ignored the frisson of heat that shot through him. “I need my cloak so that no one will see me.”

  This was ludicrous. She was actually helping him abduct her. This chore could not have been any easier. He was a little disappointed.

  “Good idea.” With his mount blocking him from the crowd in the bailey, he tossed the beard and wig, took off the red jacket, hanging it on the trough and then put on his own cloak.

  A few minutes later, they were riding outside of the gates with no one the wiser that Father Christmas had just stolen the best prize of all.

  Chapter Three

  Though the snowfall had ebbed before Thane arrived on Campbell lands, the storm had steadily picked up since they’d ridden away the night before. Save for a few short breaks to rest Destiny and relieve themselves, they’d ridden through the night. At times Sarah was alert, leaning away from him, and at other times her body sagged against him.

  He’d pulled her onto his lap and given her the extra blanket he had, and she’d buried herself inside of it so much that he could barely see her. If not for the weight of her body against him and the unintelligible words he could hear her murmur in her sleep, he might not have known she was even there.

  They were at least another day’s ride from his holding south of Inverness,
but with exhaustion setting in along with the renewed storm on this Christmas morning, they had nothing for it save to stop at the same place he’d stayed the night before on his way to Campbell lands—Balthazar’s.

  Good God, it had been a mess…But at least no one would come looking for them there.

  All through the night with Sarah on his lap, he’d followed the same northern star, keeping him on the right path. The lass had been quiet, thankfully, because he’d not wanted to talk, but rather concentrate on the horrible weather and the road ahead. Not to mention any sounds from behind them.

  If no one had realized she was gone the night before, they’d certainly be noticing now with the sun rising on the horizon. Christmas morning, the lass would have been expected to wed, or at the very least, woken in her own bed and joined her clan for breakfast.

  Knowing that he had many hours lead and the storm to protect them, a stopover at Balthazar’s, though it seemed a risky move, would not be as dangerous for them.

  “Are ye awake, lass?” he asked.

  She stirred in his arms, stretching her arms out and then tucking herself quickly back into the blanket. “Aye. Where are we?”

  Thane glanced toward the smoke curling into the sky just ahead, his stomach souring. This was the last place he wanted to be. Well, not the last—that would be Campbells’s dungeon. “Balthazar’s Tavern.”

  “Well, this will be a new Christmas adventure.” There was a bit of excitement in her tone that he found alarming.

  “Nay, lass. ’Tis no’ that kind of place. We’ll need to be on our guard. Dinna mention your name,” he warned. “And I’m no’ a Shaw while we’re here, and ye’re no’ a Campbell, understand?”

  Sarah stiffened in his arms. “Who might ye be, then?”

  “Munros. Headed home from the clan wedding of our cousins near Lindsay lands.”

  “All right…Is there a reason ye’ve named clans who fought with the dragoons at Culloden?” She sat up a little farther, her bottom rubbing against his thighs.