Nor, truth be told, could Skye.
Mayra puffed out her chest and lowered her chin, saying in a deep, gravelly voice, “Ye great clod head, did ye give us tainted whisky? I vow I see men wearin’ women’s gowns and floatin’ about singin’ gibberish.”
“Can you imagine what they think the heavenly hosts will say?” Arieen quipped, between giggles. “Bryston McPherson and Camden Kennedy both threatened to go home when they were assigned the roles of lambs.”
A new chorus of laughter filled the entryway, and Skye joined in their merriment.
She was only too glad to leave the chore of organizing the entertainment to Emeline and Kendra. What she thought would be a small family gathering had blossomed into something much more, and though she didn’t mind the extra work, she appreciated all of the help she could muster.
She glanced from woman to woman expectantly. “So, what’s our skit to be about it?”
“We’re performin’ Jesus’ birth, except it will be told from the perspective of the animals in the manger.”
Lips twitching, Skye raised an eyebrow. “Both of these skits smack of Kendra’s sense of humor.”
“Aye,” Berget agreed as she fell in step with Arianne behind Mayra and Skye. “She has a wicked wit. She also vowed that anyone who didn’t participate wouldn’t be allowed any of the delicious confections being prepared in the kitchens.”
Ah, and now Skye knew precisely why the men had conceded. She’d seen that lot eat. Very sly of Kendra, and she couldn’t help but admire her cousin’s cunning and initiative.
“Please, give me a moment to leave these gifts in the drawing room.” With a small upward bend of her mouth, she slipped into the room and placed the gifts on the appointed table. A few others had already been left there as well. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, a slight feeling of misgiving swept her.
Perhaps she should’ve considered giving gifts to the other women as well, but wouldn’t that have made them feel obligated in turn? In addition to Berget, Arieen, and Mayra, Marjorie Kennedy and her two darling little red-haired girls, as well as Bethea and Branwen Glanville—the Duke of Roxdale’s wards—were here.
Giving a slight shake of her head, she turned away from the table.
This gathering wasn’t about exchanging gifts, but about spending time with family and friends. The merest hint of sadness shrouded her for a moment when she again recalled that this would be her first Christmas without her parents.
Yes, but it would also be her first Christmas—God willing, of many—with Quinn. That knowledge quite put her in a cheerful mood. With each passing day—no hour—she grew to love him more. And if Liam remained obstinate and uncompromising, she would elope with Quinn.
Love like theirs was too precious and rare to cast aside.
She joined the other ladies in the corridor, and they made their way to the solarium to practice their skit.
Three hours later, she escaped with the excuse she needed to speak with Eytone Hall’s cook. Still chuckling under her breath at the silliness she’d been partaking in, she shook her head. Not only had Kendra and Emeline assigned each of the women the role of various animals—Skye was an Egyptian camel—the beasts had accents.
Horrible, hysterical accents.
A French cow. A Swiss goat. A Spanish donkey. A German lamb. An Italian ox…
If nothing else, they would all laugh.
She had just enough time to check with Mrs. Spence to make sure all of the food preparations were coming along before she must change for dinner and the charades afterward. Charades—another one of Kendra’s ideas, complete with a Christmastide theme.
So far, everyone had good-naturedly participated in the activities with patience and good cheer. Not for the want of a few rolled eyes and grumbles beneath the gentlemen’s breaths.
A grin tipped her lips upward.
Knowing Kendra’s penchant for outrageousness, someone might very well be pretending to bray like a donkey or riding a camel tonight. She just hoped it wasn’t her. A throaty chuckle escaped her. Watching Quinn do either might prove highly amusing, however.
As Skye turned the corner to descend into the kitchen, a man’s arm snaked around her waist.
A startled squeak caught in her throat, and she twisted this way and that to see who’d snared her. Although, she already had a pretty good idea who the villain might be. Quinn’s unique outdoorsy, spicy scent wafted around her, and she relaxed into his strong embrace.
“Quinn,” she chided. “We’re going to be caught.”
“Shh, my love. I havena had a moment alone with ye in two days. When Liam hasna had me at one task or another—I vow to keep me from ye—Grandmother has demanded my attention.” Quinn pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And I dinna care if we are outed. Then yer stubborn cousin would be marchin’ us before the cleric in a trice.”
Yes, but at what cost?
Besides, Quinn was too much of a gentleman to ruin her to gain what he wanted. He’d never use such nefarious means to win her hand. Even if she wouldn’t mind it too awfully much if he did. Skye had learned one very surprising thing about herself this past fortnight.
A wanton streak ran through her.
At least when it came to Quinn’s kisses and caresses.
Slipping her arms around his waist, she stepped nearer, savoring the feeling of arms encircling her and the wide expanse of his hard chest pressing against her breasts. A little thrill of sensation sparked from her bosom, outward to other more tantalizing places.
Yes, indeed. I am a wanton.
They’d indulged in numerous clandestine encounters over the past two weeks. Often, they’d only had time for a swift hug or a hot mouth pressed to her wrist accompanied by a wicked smile and his seductive gaze. Other times, they’d linger for blood-scorching kisses, and perhaps his hand stroking her spine or the curve of her throat.
Quinn never went beyond that, as if aware she wasn’t the kind of woman who could give herself to a man before vows were exchanged.
As he’d warned, his grandmother was an eccentric, but lovely woman with a penchant for outlandish wigs. Yesterday she wore a pink monstrosity adorned with several birds. Today, her two-foot-high white wig sported a birdcage. ’Twas a wonder the woman didn’t topple over, such were the height and weight of her headdresses.
Nonetheless, Elspet Dunwoodie possessed a keen wit, a charming sense of humor—much like her grandson—and a merry twinkle illuminated her dark brown eyes. Quizzing glass in hand, she’d taken Skye’s measure before declaring, “She’ll do, my boy. Indeed, she will.”
Rising to her toes, Skye kissed his jaw. “Have you spoken with Liam again?”
“No’ since last Wednesday. I thought I’d give him time to see how well we get on together, and to finish his snoopin’ about. I’ve nae doubt his man of business has been pokin’ around, verifyin’ my claims.” Twice more, Quinn had approached her mule-headed cousin and each time, he’d staunchly refused to agree to the match.
Disapproval turned Skye’s mouth down at the corners. “He’s your friend, for pity’s sake and knows your character. I cannot believe he’d stoop so low.”
Quinn merely lifted a shoulder and kissed her temple. “He cares about ye, love, and disna want to make a mistake he’d regret later. He’ll find nothin’ to forbid the match.” He gave her a saucy wink and a rakish grin. “I havena a wife hidden away or wee bairns toddlin’ about.”
“You’d better not, or I shall allow him to call you out.” She slapped his shoulder playfully before laying her cheek against the soft wool of his forest green coat.
Skye truly approached the end of her patience with Liam. But for the sake of the guests and the plans for the Christmastide festivities, she’d steadfastly relegated her frustration to a fusty corner, determined to enjoy the season despite her disappointment.
She, too, had met with her cousin and calmly, but quite firmly, expressed her desire to wed Quinn straightaway. Liam had listened attentively, a
small furl pulling his hawkish brows together, one finger tapping the top of his desk. “I am responsible for ye now, Skye. Such a matter canna be entered into lightly.”
“I appreciate that, Liam.” His genuine concern wasn’t easily dismissed. “But I love him, and he loves me. We have almost from the moment we met. And I believe you can understand how powerful true love is. It changes people. Makes them do things they’d vowed never to do. Makes them better. You, above all people, should know that.”
After losing his wife and children in a coaching accident, he’d sworn to never marry again. Skye didn’t know the particulars—only that his wife had been a difficult woman and had given him the scar slashing his right cheek.
But then, he’d rescued Emeline from certain death, and despite his pledge to never give his heart again, he’d fallen in love with her. The transformation in him astounded and touched her heart.
Genuine, sacrificial, unconditional love wasn’t meant to be disregarded. Rather the opposite. It should be greedily seized and treasured for all time.
“I have an appointment with him in half an hour. That’s why I sought ye. He may refuse me again, my love.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, such tenderness in his eyes, she wanted to weep.
“He may, but I’m more hopeful.” She smoothed his collar. “He’s been surreptitiously observing us these past few days. He follows us with his gaze, a pensive expression on his face. I also know Emeline and Aunt Louisa have spoken with him on our behalf as well.”
“’Tis good to ken we have their support. We have until Twelfth Night ends before we are forced to make a decision. I canna stay as a guest here forever, Skye.” He brushed his fingertips up and down her spine in a soothing fashion. “Ye ken that. I have my own home that I want ye mistress of.”
She laid her fingertips on his lips. “Let’s not make any rash decisions yet. Christmas is a time of miracles after all. And convincing my guardian to consent to our nuptials shouldn’t be too terribly hard.”
He gave her a dubious look and, after scanning the corridor to assure they were alone, tilted her chin with two fingers. Dragonflies capered behind her ribs as he captured her mouth in a fierce, sizzling kiss.
Several delicious, bone-melting minutes passed before she finally, reluctantly drew away. Someday, there’d be no need to end such a blood-stirring kiss.
“You’d best not be late,” she urged. “We want to keep his favor. Besides, I need to check with Cook.”
“I expect to be on yer team for charades tonight,” he said with a whimsical grin. “I quite loathe the game, but I’ve been informed I canna have any sugar plums or orange puddin’ if I dinna cooperate. Kendra MacKay is an honest-to-God fire-breathin’ dragon when it comes to her party novelties.”
She was, indeed.
He scratched his temple, making him appear quite boyish. “I’ve been given to understand that all of the hints must have a Christmas theme.”
“That’s correct.” Skye nodded, still uncertain what her clue would be. “Kendra has quite gotten into the Christmas spirit, has she not?”
“She has, indeed,” he replied distractedly. Likely, he was pondering what course to take with Liam next to best convince the man that he and Skye should wed.
Quinn drew her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest. “I love ye.” He spoke into her hair, giving her shoulders a firm squeeze.
Smiling, her heart overflowing with love for this marvelous man, she tilted her head up. “And I love you. Never forget that. As long as we have each other, we can overcome any obstacle.”
A footstep echoed, and he stepped away. An undefinable smile arcing his molded mouth, he retreated down the passageway.
Her heart was so full, she wanted to kick her heels together and dance a jig, Skye watched until he disappeared around the corner.
Though she missed her parents dreadfully, these past two weeks of gaiety and holiday preparations had taken the edge off that pain. And knowing Quinn loved her…well, no mere words were adequate to express how joyful that made her feel.
She continued to the kitchen and met with Mrs. Spence as planned. Typically, the mistress of the house attended to such matters, but since there were several dishes and special desserts on the extended menu, Emeline invited Skye to speak directly to the cook.
She closed her eyes and sniffed, inhaling the wonderful scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and the other delicious smells that accompanied holiday food preparation. Opening her eyes, she offered Mrs. Spence an approving grin. “I could sit here and breathe in this sumptuousness all day. You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
Mrs. Spence returned Skye’s smile with a slightly crooked-tooth grin of her own. “Och, I’m always up for learnin’ new recipes, and ’tis been a long while since we had a house full of guests that I could impress with my cookin’.” She winked as she stirred a pot.
All sorts of biscuits, gingerbread, and other dainties lay atop one long table beneath a spotless window. The kitchen staff had been very busy helping ensure the holiday would be a success.
“Well, I’m truly most grateful,” Skye said. “I cannot tell you how much it means to celebrate Christmas with traditions my mother and father always included.” She put her hands on her hips and glanced around the bustling kitchen. “And I confess, it’s been a lot of fun introducing some of the customs here. I must dress for dinner now. Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Och, lass, I surely will, but I think I’ve everythin’ well in hand.” Mrs. Spence angled her chins toward the main house. “Ye just enjoy yerself.”
Everything was nearly perfect.
Now if only Liam would agree to permit her and Quinn to wed, Skye could count this as the most joyous Christmas ever.
Chapter Eleven
The gentleman didn’t linger over their port and brandy after supper but, instead, as the last course was cleared away, everyone passed through to the drawing room eager for the evening’s entertainment.
More accurately, the married gentlemen were eager to keep their ladies’ favor and good-naturedly agreed to eschew the usual after dinner separation of the sexes to indulge their wives.
No doubt, they’d be duly rewarded for their sacrifices, damned lucky buggers.
Quinn, on the other hand, wouldn’t be sampling any of Skye’s voluptuous charms anytime soon, given the less than successful outcome of his meeting with Liam this afternoon.
Friend or not, he was quite out of patience with Skye’s cousin.
As he regarded Liam and Emeline, Logan and Mayra Rutherford, Graeme and Berget Kennedy, and Coburn and Arieen Wallace, also obviously in love, Quinn couldn’t help but feel a tiny jolt of envy. How so many of his set had found women who perfectly complemented them was against all odds.
If he didn’t miss his mark, interest sparked between Marjorie Kennedy and Roxdale as well. A whole different kind of fire simmered between Kendra and Broden McGregor, however. They’d sniped at each other all evening to the point that the dowager baroness had ordered Kendra to sit beside her on the divan so she could monitor her daughter’s behavior.
Arriving for dinner attired in a stunning crimson and black gown, Skye had sucked every bit of air from his lungs. My God, she is stunnin’. The rubies at her ears and throat, as well as the bracelet at her wrist caught the candlelight, glinting like miniature fire stones.
She was, in a word, breathtaking.
His jaw had sagged, and Broden had nudged him in the arm. “Close yer mouth, mon. Ye’re gawpin’ like a codfish.”
Taking a quick sip of his pre-supper drink, he’d covered his gaucheness, but had been unable to haul his attention from her for more than a minute or two all evening.
Emeline clapped her hands. “We’ll pick the charade teams now. Kendra will pass by with a bowl. Inside are slips of paper that say either Team 1 or Team 2.” She arched a winged brow in artificial chastisement. “Nae switchin’ either,” she admonished, shaking he
r finger as if they were children in the school room.
Several chuckles greeted her mock scolding.
In short order, the teams had been picked. To Quinn’s disappointment, he and Skye weren’t on the same side. He gave Liam a sour look from beneath hooded eyes, wondering if it had been by chance or design.
Of course it was by chance.
Everyone had picked from the same bowl. He was just out of sorts, his continued disappointment taking a toll.
Skye cast him an apologetic smile and, with the epitome of feminine grace, glided to sit with her team.
“I’m quite good at charades,” Grandmother announced as she settled into an armchair, and regally nodded her head. This evening’s wig, a rather conservative head covering compared to her earlier flamboyant hair dressings—was only adorned with green and gold silk flowers, ribbons, and feathers to match her gown.
She was having the time of her life, and gratitude for permitting her to be included in the house party tapped behind his ribs. She also heartily approved of Skye.
Everyone had written their Christmastide subject for the charades on slips of paper prior to dinner and placed them in another cut-crystal bowl. Emeline quickly explained the rules for those who hadn’t played before, and amid much hilarity, groans, laughter and cries of, “No’ done,” or “Ye canna talk,” over an hour passed.
“’Tis yer turn, Liam,” his wife said sweetly, crossing to present him with the bowl containing only a few scraps of paper.
Quinn stifled a chuckle.
Liam wasn’t long on parlor games.
Leveling his wife a long-suffering look, he unfolded his arms and straightened from where he’d been leaning beside the fireplace. With a theatrical sigh that would’ve earned Shakespeare’s applause, he reached inside the bowl and withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper.
“Mayhap ye drew holly,” Quinn suggested with false solicitousness. “Ye’re prickly already, so we should be able to guess quickly.”
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