by Megan McCoy
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The Laird’s Christmas
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020 - Book 2
Finley Brown
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Finley Brown
The Laird’s Christmas
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64563-782-0
v1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Chapter 1
Dust from the attic lined the boxes in thick mounds like dirty snow on a walkway. Ailsa looked around the packed room and sneezed as she brushed the cobwebs off the ones labeled CHRISTMAS. “I wonder how long it’s been since these have been brought down?” she asked Isobel, wiping her face on the sleeve of her sweater. The village of Glen Torridon had been celebrating Christmas for the past month and she felt she had been patient long enough, waiting for Ian’s approval to decorate the Big House.
“From the looks of them, forever.” Izzy ran a hand through her black spiky hair, leaving a smudge of dirt across her forehead, and shivered. The attic was not heated, and drafts of cold air seeped in through cracks in the stone walls.
“I know Ian doesn’t like Christmas, but surely he put up some decorations in the past?” Two hundred years of trinkets, baubles, ornaments and history sat jumbled in chests and crates.
“I don’t know. He never accepted my father’s invitation to spend the holiday with us,” Izzy said ruefully. “I think he’s rather a bah humbug.” She added another box to the stack and sat down on an old rocking chair.
“Well I don’t care what he thinks. This is Robbie’s first Christmas and I want it to be magical, even if he’s only a month old.”
Alec, the estate’s ghillie, popped his head through the door. “Let me know what boxes to bring down, my lady,” he said, giving her a wink.
Ailsa smiled at his teasing. He knew she hated it when he referred to her as ‘my lady’. She might have married a duke, but almost a year later, she still struggled with the title of duchess. She thought the whole idea rather fussy and antiquated. “That pile over there. I think we’ve got everything sorted. Did you get the tree?”
“Aye, I set it up in the sitting room by the window.”
“Perfect,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans as she stood. “Alec, when was the last time Ian celebrated Christmas?”
He paused, thinking. “I guess it was before his father passed away, when his sister was still alive.”
“Well this should be a surprise for him then.”
She headed downstairs, stopping by the nursery. Robbie was just beginning to stir from his nap. Mrs. Innes sat knitting in a rocking chair. “He’s been a little lamb.”
Ailsa picked him up, he was nothing more than a tiny bundle in her arms. How quickly he had become the light of her life. She looked down at his round little face, brushing the dark fuzz on top of his head with her finger. Ian Robert McLennan II, Marquis of Torridon, such a hefty name and title for someone so young. She was glad he was still innocent to the burden it carried. “How’s my wee man?” she cooed at him. She was rewarded with a toothless smile. “Let’s go down and decorate the tree for Daddy coming home.”
“Ailsa, don’t be surprised, pet, if Ian isn’t thrilled over the Christmas decorations,” Mrs. Innes warned.
“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, I understand if it’s not been his favorite holiday in the past, but things are different now.” She didn’t expect an answer. She had asked both Alec and Mrs. Innes several times why Ian didn’t like the holiday. They both gave her the same answer - that she needed to talk to him.
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed, lass.” She took Robbie from Ailsa’s arms. “You go down and start on the tree. I’ll change his nappy and bring him to you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Innes.” Ailsa ran her hand along the curved wooden banister, making her way to the sitting room. This Christmas meant everything to her; growing up in homeless shelters and with a drug-addicted mom, the holiday was often overlooked. She wanted everything to be perfect for Robbie. She paused in the doorway, a wide smile erupting on her face. The tree stood at least eight feet high, a scotch pine from their own property. It was perfect. She ran her hands along the velvety needles and a sharp, sweet smell filled the air, refreshing and clean. Alec had placed it in front of the bay window so when it was lit up at night, the tiny lights would sparkle to the outside world.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Innes said, handing Robbie off to Ailsa. “I’m away for the evening to my sister’s house.”
“Be safe,” Ailsa said. “Ian will come get you if you need him to.”
“Och, I’ll be fine,” the elderly woman said.
Ailsa kissed the top of the baby’s head, holding him to her chest as she walked around the tree. It was funny how something so simple could change one’s perspective. She’d never considered Glen Torridon her place, but now, holding her son and looking at their first Christmas tree, she actually felt like she was home.
She set Robbie down in his swing and strapped him in, turning it on low. The wooden boxes sat neatly stacked in the corner. Bringing one down, she pried the top off with a metal crowbar Alec had left. Various items spilled out in a hodgepodge of red and green. Old stockings, ceramic figurines, wreaths, and a nutcracker in a kilt, to name a few. At the bottom of the box, she found a gold framed photograph of a small boy with his dog in front of a Christmas tree. Ailsa looked closely, it was definitely Ian when he was a child. She had never seen any pictures of him when he was young, but she couldn’t miss the tell-tale scowl between his eyebrows. She set the picture on a side table and closed the box, opening a second one. This box was mostly books and records. She pulled one out and went over to the vintage record player, putting it on. Bing Crosby’s voice crackled throughout the room with an occasional hiss and pop from the old vinyl as he sang about a white Christmas.
She smiled as she checked on R
obbie who was taking in everything with his big gray eyes, so much like his father. “If this doesn’t put Daddy in the mood, I’m not sure what will.” The third box was the winner. Ornaments and lights wrapped neatly in tissue paper were packed inside. She set to work, trimming the tree. When she was finished, except for the star that would go on top, she plugged in the lights and stepped back admiring her work. “What do you think?” she asked Robbie.
He looked at her as he rocked in his swing and gave her a bubbly, wet smile.
“I agree,” she said. “It’s perfect.”
The sound of the door closing made her tense up. That would be Ian and she was unsure exactly how he would react.
“I’m home, darling,” he said from the entryway.
“We’re in the sitting room.”
He popped his head in. “How’s my wee bairn?” He paused as he looked around the room, frowning, and took off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair. Ailsa didn’t miss the change to his posture, now stiff and rigid. “What’s this?” he asked, running his hand through his dark hair.
“I thought we might decorate for Christmas for Robbie. It’s just four days away,” she said anxiously.
He didn’t say anything right away, but instead he stopped the swing and picked Robbie up, cradling him in his arms. “It’s nice,” he said with a sigh, kissing her on the forehead.
“Really?” A slow smile spread across her face along with a sense of relief.
“Aye, really. But promise me this is it. I don’t want you to go overboard.”
She bit her lip, she still wanted to put garland up the banister and hang their stockings, not to mention bake cookies, but she would worry about that later. “I thought you could hang the star?”
He shook his head, pouring himself a whiskey from a crystal decanter. “I’ve told you before, it’s just not my holiday, darling.”
“Maybe if you told me why, I would at least understand.”
“The past is the past. Let’s just keep it small. As long as we’re together that’s all that matters.”
“You’re right, the past is the past,” she said, taking Robbie from him. “But we have Robbie now and we need to think of him.”
“I am thinking of him, and you, and I said I’m fine with what you’ve done as long as we keep it small. We can have a big celebration on Hogmanay. That’s Scotland’s true holiday anyway. A time to celebrate a new year and new beginnings.” He set his whiskey down and put him arms around her, looking her in the eyes. “Now, if it means that much to you, give me the star and I’ll hang it for you.”
She smiled and handed him the antique ornament out of the box. He reached up and easily placed it on top of the tree. It was a beautiful, silver filigree, north star with tiny crystals set into the eight points. Light from the fire caught the faceted prisms, sending small rainbows throughout the room and giving Ailsa some hope. If she had a little patience, maybe he could still find his direction.
Chapter 2
It was a clear day according to Scottish standards, which wasn’t saying much, as Ailsa pushed the pram around the dark blue loch. Wispy clouds dotted the winter sky sending the sun’s rays down in a softly, filtered hue. The mountains that surrounded the glen were white with snow, their hillsides having gone from being covered in bright purple heather to a dull brown several months ago. She stopped and checked the blankets that covered Robbie, making sure he was warm enough. Izzy, Ian’s cousin, walked beside her, humming quietly.
“How’s Tom?” Ailsa asked. Tom had been a personal protection officer (PPO) for her and Ian last year when she was receiving death threats during their engagement, and then afterward, as newlyweds. He and Izzy had formed a relationship and when they no longer needed such tight security, Tom took the job as detective sergeant for Glen Torridon. Now they rarely saw Izzy.
“He’s doing great. He said to say thank you for the invite to Christmas dinner.”
“Of course.” She hadn’t told Ian yet that she had invited him, but she doubted it would be an issue. Tom was like family.
“If it’s a problem, we can go somewhere else,” Izzy said, reading her face. “Tom’s parents will be in Glasgow and they’ve invited us there. I know how Ian feels about the holiday.”
“It’s not just Ian’s holiday, it’s mine and Robbie’s as well, and I say the more the merrier.”
“Well, let me know either way. Honestly, it’s not a problem.” The young girl paused, squinting out across the pebbly beach. “There’s something over there,” she said. “Something’s washed up on shore.”
Ailsa held her hand up to block the sun glinting off the water. Izzy was right; something had washed up. She picked Robbie up out of the carriage and the girls walked over to the water’s edge. A small wooden chest lay upside down in the sandy dirt as water lapped over it. Izzy picked it up. “It seems old,” she said, wiping the sand off.
“I wonder what’s in it?”
She turned it over. “It’s got a lock on it.”
“We can take it up to Alec and see if he can open it,” Ailsa suggested. The box was exquisite in and of itself. The richly polished wood was ornately carved throughout with scenes of Asian lifestyle and landscapes. “It doesn’t appear to have been in the water very long. It doesn’t look warped.”
Izzy carried it as they finished their walk and made their way over to one of the outbuildings Alec used as an office. Knocking softly, they waited.
Alec opened the door. “What can I do for you, my lady?” he asked, giving Ailsa a wink. “Isobel.” He gave the girl a quick nod, ushering them both inside.
Ailsa pretended to punch him on the arm as she passed him, pushing the pram with her. Izzy set the wet box down on his desk. “We’ve found something on the shore of the loch. It must have washed up there.”
Alec listened as he bent over the baby carriage to see Robbie. “Och, he’s a braw wee lad. Just like his da.” His thick highland brogue was as charming as the twinkle in his eye. He glanced up, only now realizing there was a purpose to their visit other than showing off the baby. Walking over to the desk, he ran his hand over the top of the box. “You say you found it by the loch.”
“Aye, it was in the water.”
He picked it up, inspecting it.
Ailsa caught the slight expanding of his pupils as his bright blue eyes opened wide for a split second. Recognition perhaps? The look was fleeting, and they quickly narrowed in speculation.
“Have you seen it before?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, putting it down.
“Well, do you think you could open it for us?”
“Not the noo, lass. I’ve the sheep ta see to on the eastern field.”
Ailsa spied a freshly poured cup of tea on his desk. He wasn’t telling the truth. The sheep could wait. He had seen the box before or at least one like it. “Fine, we’ll find another way.”
Izzy picked it back up and they started to leave. Alec stopped them. “Duchess, leave it for Ian to open.”
“Why?” she asked, turning around to look at him.
He gave her a sideways glance. “Because some things are better left in the past.”
Ailsa shut the door behind them, as they walked away.
“What do you think all that was about?” Izzy asked.
“I’m not sure, but he definitely doesn’t want us opening the box.”
“I wish I could stay and help you, but I promised Archie I would work the lunch shift at the pub. With the holiday coming up, we’ve been busier than normal.”
“No worries, I’ll work on the lock and I’ll let you know if I get it open.”
“Are you going to wait for Ian?”
She shook her head. Alec’s cryptic warning sat uneasy in her gut, first the Christmas decorations and now this box. “No. What Ian doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Chapter 3
Ailsa placed the chest on the coffee table. She had fed and put R
obbie down for a nap and now had some free time to look at it. After cleaning it up with a rag, she examined the brass lock, unsure of how to go about picking it. She unfolded a paperclip and stuck it in the lock, jiggling it around with no success, and let out a slow sigh, it looked so easy in the movies.
“There you are darling,” Ian said, causing her to jump.
“I thought you were making house calls to some of the tenants today?” She set the paperclip down and covered the box.
“Only to Andrew Brown and Prune Campbell and they’ll both outlive us all.” Ian ran a community health clinic three days a week for the village, but was often known to make house calls to some of his elderly tenants. “I’m starving.”
“Cook left soup on the stove. I can make you a sandwich to go with it,” she said, standing up.
“I can get it.” He looked over at the table. “What’s that you’re working on?”
“Oh, um, just something that washed up from the loch.”
“Washed up from the loch? Where?”
“On the beach. Izzy and I found it this morning.”
“Do you mind if I see?” he asked, touching the edge of the rag that covered it.
“Um, of course not.”
He lifted the cloth, tilting his head to the side, and sat down on the couch to examine it.
Ailsa studied his face to see if he recognized it, though it showed nothing but curiosity as he leaned in to get a better look. “Have you seen anything like it before?” she asked, sitting down next to him.
“No.” He picked up the rich honey colored box and turned it over. “I wonder where it came from?”
