“They’re only shaking because it stings. You know how I am with pain.”
“Aye, ’tis true I’ve not known anyone with as low a pain tolerance as yerself. Though, I was there when ye broke yer femur bone in two and yer hands dinna shake a bit then.”
“You’re an ass.”
I didn’t mean to be snippy with him—the words just slipped right out.
He laughed, and his next words only left me feeling more exposed. “I’m sorry. I doona mean to tease ye. ’Tis only that it pleases me to see that ye doona hate me completely.”
He was taking a gamble with such logic. He knew that hate or anger could cause my hands to shake just as much as attraction, but I didn’t see how arguing the point would help me. To continually deny it would only make him think I wanted him even more.
“I don’t hate you, Kamden. I never did.”
“Even when ye left?”
“Even then—especially not then.”
My hand was now tidily wrapped, but he didn’t release his grip.
“We need to talk, Harper—about all of it. I think we owe each other that much.”
I agreed. I just dreaded it. In our current situation, a heart-to-heart was inevitable.
“We will, but only after I have food and several glasses of wine in my tummy.”
I pulled my bandaged hand away from him, stood, and went in search of some wine.
* * *
He loved the way she looked when tipsy. Harper’s bright, wide smile grew even warmer than usual, and the speckled flush of her cheeks only seemed to enhance the honey color in her hair. She was on her third glass of wine, but for the ease of her movements and the ever-growing thickness of her words, it might as well have been her fifth.
She ate more than he did at dinner, but he expected it was the only meal she had eaten all day. After so many hours in the car, she was probably dehydrated to boot. He would have to take the bottle and put it away soon. While it was tempting to sit back and let Harper get totally soused, he didn’t wish for her to wake with a terrible headache come morning. More than that, he wanted her honesty, not drunken confessions of feelings she’d rather withhold from him. He wanted nothing from her that she wouldn’t freely give.
He stopped after one glass. He wanted a clear head when speaking with her, to say everything he wanted and be of present enough mind to hear everything she had to say.
He saw his chance when Harper stood to examine the fireplace, wine glass still in hand. For the briefest of moments, her back was turned. He stood quickly and grabbed the bottle.
“I’ll be back. I’m going to put the wine away. Then, may we talk?”
She waved him on without protest. When he returned, she held a small envelope and curiously extended it towards him.
“What is this?”
His first inclination was that one of the castle staff had picked up their Christmas bonus and then in the middle of saying goodbye to everyone, set it upon the mantle and left it, but as he reached for it, he could see that it was addressed to him. He read the words aloud.
“To McMillan Castle’s master. I wish you the happiest of Christmases.” His brows pinched in confusion. “Is this from you?”
“No.”
She laughed as she answered him and drew the word out humorously. He thought she looked a little unsteady on her feet and gently guided her over to the couch.
“Well, let’s find out who it’s from then, shall we?”
The letter was closed with an old-fashioned wax seal. In the center of the wax were the initials M.C. It opened easily. As he joined Harper on the couch, he read the words silently to himself.
Dear Mr. McMillan,
Let me begin by giving you our most profound gratitude for the special tour you gave my husband and me this afternoon. It was a joy to see the love you have for this place. I personally know some of your ancestors very well, and it would please them immensely to know that their home has been so well taken care of for so many generations.
Now, onto the real reason for my letter. You, fine sir, are a practical man. I know this because I knew the man who raised you. I knew the man who raised him and so on and so on. I could go for so many years past it would make your head spin. McMillan men are sound of mind and immensely practical in all things. I beg you to let go of that practicality. For a world of miracles and magic awaits you this night.
So, are you ready? You must promise me to rid yourself of doubt and criticism before you continue. I’ll give you a few minutes…Ready? Here we go.
As you know, my name is Morna. I’ll not tell you what I am for I see no real need to go into it here. All that’s important is that I care for you more than you know. I am so very sorry that your childhood was not filled with the love you deserved. As with most of us, our pasts shape us into the people that we are, but our pasts do not have to define our future.
Five years ago, you allowed that broken little boy to ruin the relationship with the woman you were meant for. You allowed your past to define your future. Broken-hearted little boys fear love. Grown men do not.
I know that my words may sound harsh, but I canna find it in myself to apologize for them. Sometimes those that love us need to shake the stupid right from us. Is that not what happened the night you dreamed of Baodan McMillan and his fair wife, Mitsy? That’s right, lad, I know all about it for I was the one who put the dream in your mind to wake you up. And wake you up, it did. You learned your lesson and I am glad of it. Now, what you need is a second chance.
So now, enough with the lecturing—I’m ready to gift you a little Christmas magic.
I don’t usually deal in the business of wish granting, but if you look to the earliest portrait in the grand hall, you will see the bonniest of your ancestors. His name is Cooper, and we are the dearest of friends. He often comes to visit me in this time. While he always says it is to see me, I know the truth–he really just misses his television and Disney movies.
Just last week, Cooper was over and we were watching the story of Aladdin and his big, blue genie. Have you seen this one? If not, I highly recommend it. I know I digress, but this genie gave me an idea. There always is a nice ring to things that come in threes, so I will follow the genie’s pattern.
I’m gifting you three wishes: one for you, one for sweet Harper, and one that the two of you must make together. Your wishes must be made before going to sleep this evening. To make your wishes, do the following:
1. Upon the letter’s completion, chunk this note straight in the fire. Harper need not see a word inside.
2. Say your wish aloud.
3. Have Harper do the same.
4. Repeat together.
5. Rest peacefully knowing that tomorrow will be a very different day for you both.
I’ve only one warning. Heed it well. For the love of all that is good in this world, wish for what you know you want the most. You’ve already made your wish a hundred times. Just wish for the same thing tonight. If you screw this up like you did your proposal five years earlier, I shall have to come and visit McMillan Castle once again, but this time it won’t be the friendly, nosy, old lady version of me you saw this afternoon. It will be the angry, distant second-aunt (or whatever I am to you) version that is good and ready to slap, rather than shake, the stupid out of you this time.
That’s right. We’re related. Surprise!
Jerry says hello and to tell you that he had nothing to do with any of this.
Good luck and Happy Christmas.
* * *
Morna Conall
Chapter 10
Even with one more glass of wine in my system than was wise, I knew I’d never seen such a strange look on Kamden’s face. The expression lay somewhere between fright and amusement. I couldn’t figure out which one was the overwhelming emotion. Whatever the letter contained, he had no wish for me to see it. As soon as he finished reading it, he stood and chunked it in the fire.
“Was it that bad? Who is it from?”
He might as well have been speaking Mandarin for as little sense as all of that made, and I didn’t think my slightly intoxicated state had anything to do with why I found it confusing.
“Why would she want you to burn the letter? And why is she insane?”
Kamden said nothing until he reseated himself. With Sileas still laying on the couch, I judged it safe to join him and sat on the other side of the dog.
“I doona quite know how to begin. I canna explain how she knew some of what she did.”
I could see him working through all of it in his mind. His thick, beautiful brows were pulled in tightly, and he rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers—something he only did when he was tired.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning? Talk through it with me.”
It suited me just fine if we spent the evening discussing his mysterious letter and the crazy lady who left it for him. If he was distracted, perhaps he would forget to discuss anything related to us.
“Aye, fine. Oddly enough, the letter was just as much about ye as ’twas me.”
“Great.” When I heard the ridiculously sarcastic response to his statement escape my lips, I knew I was more into my cups than I thought. It was exactly what I was thinking, but I never intended to say it aloud. “Let me go get a big glass of water first.”
He laughed and stood before I could move from the couch.
“I’ll get it. I need one, as well.”
It took less than a minute for him to return. He came back with two glasses of water and some aspirin for me. I smiled in thanks and quickly took the preventative painkillers.
“Okay, start at the beginning. How in the world could that woman know anything about me?”
As soon as Kamden twisted so that we faced one another on the couch, Sileas—the traitor—jumped up and went to lay by the fire. The space between us immediately seemed much too small, but I knew that moving would make my discomfort obvious.
“Well, she couldna know anything about ye. That is, unless she truly does have the powers she claims to have. Ye know as well as I the stories people tell about this and several other castles throughout the Highlands.”
I expected I knew the stories far better than Kamden. While he grew up having the stories whispered to him by his grandfather’s workers, I had intentionally learned as much about the tales as I could. In the end, resurrecting the rumors were what saved McMillan Castle after the death of Kamden’s grandfather. People love believing there’s the chance of magic lurking right around the corner. If they can go and explore a place where magic supposedly actually exists, they’re all over it. Much to Kamden’s chagrin, I’d been right that he should use the tales to his benefit.
Where the stories originated from, no one knew, but they all had to do with the castle’s ability to send its residents back and forward through time. At least for several generations, that is. At some point, the ritual to ignite the time travel got muddled, and over time it changed so much that it no longer contained its power. By the time I started my research into the old stories, the old tale claimed that in order to travel backward, one had to gather a rock and spin three times while holding the rock above your head, all while standing outside on the castle’s highest tower. Upon completing your spins, you had to chunk the rock into the castle’s pond. This method didn’t work. I knew. I tried it dozens of times with countless castle tours I helped lead during weekends and summers here with Kamden. It was the highlight of every tour.
You could see in the eyes of every tourist that some small part of them always hoped it would work. I’d always been one who enjoyed whimsy. Kamden hadn’t. To even hear him suggest that the old woman might have whatever “power” he referred to was startling.
“Power…as in some sort of magic? You don’t believe in anything like that.”
He blushed slightly and something in my stomach flip-flopped in response to how attractive he looked when embarrassed.
“Ye are right. I never did. Though the night ye left, something happened that I’ve not told a soul. For if I couldna explain it to myself, I knew no one else would be able to help me sort through it either. This woman knew about it. I canna see how she could’ve known.”
What intrigue—Kamden McMillan experiencing something that didn’t fit into one of his tight, rational boxes of logic. I couldn’t wait to hear more.
“What happened?”
He scooted closer—too close—so close that our knees touched. Then with absolutely no hesitation, he reached for my hands and gathered them into his own. My chest tightened and my breathing escalated. The only saving grace was that he held onto my hands so tightly they couldn’t shake. At least there was that to save me from total humiliation.
“I’ll tell ye, but it all relates back to ye. So first, I’ll say what I’ve been trying to tell ye since I saw ye on the stairs a few hours ago. I know ye well enough to know that yer eagerness to speak of this letter is an avoidance tactic. Aye?”
“Maybe.” I would give him no more than that.
He smiled and released his grip on one of my hands to reach up and brush a strand of hair away from my face. I drew in a shaky breath and closed my eyes, hoping every minute he would stop before I melted into him.
“Did ye know that until ye, Margaret was the only person in my life to tell me she loved me? I’m sure my parents did, but I doona remember them at all. And Margaret told everyone she loved them. I always rather thought she must not really know what love is either to use the word so freely. My grandfather raised me on his own. Not once did he ever say those words to me. The only time I ever heard him utter the word love was the day he told me just how dangerous such emotion was. ‘We lose the things we love,’ he said. ‘Best not to love at all.’”
I never met Kamden’s grandfather. He passed away just one week after we met, but I’d heard enough stories about the old man to form an unfavorable opinion of him. Still, to imagine a young boy growing up without ever having had that validation broke my heart completely. I couldn’t imagine it.
“I’m so sorry, Kamden.” The words fell short of what I felt, but I knew that my apology was not what he sought anyway.
“Ye doona need to be sorry, Harper. I am the one who is sorry, though ’tis no excuse for what I did to ye. I always knew better. My first love was a lass who lived just down the road. I was no more than fifteen. I loved her. I truly did. I knew it without doubt. If I remember correctly, I told her so only three months after our first date. My love for her dinna frighten me a bit. I remember thinking what a sad, lonely man Grandfather must be to have closed himself off so completely. I never bought into Grandfather’s delusions about love. Through my whole life, I’ve allowed love to drive almost every decision I’ve ever made. It served me well until I met ye.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. If he meant to make me feel better about anything that had passed between us, it wasn’t working.
“Kamden, are you trying to tell me that you couldn’t return my feelings because you still love your first love more than you ever loved me? If so, that’s totally fan-freaking-tastic, but there was no need for you to tell me that now. It just sort of rubs salt in the wound.”
I tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t allow it. Instead, his hands moved from mine up to my arms where he gripped me tightly.
“Harper, ’tis not what I’m saying to ye at all. I canna even remember that girl’s last name. I told her I loved her on month three and by month five, I was with someone else whom I loved just as much. Do ye know the difference between the love I felt for those that came before ye and the love I’ve felt for ye since the first moment I saw ye?”<
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I was at a disadvantage. I couldn’t move away from his grip, and the need in his eyes was as telling of his feelings as my shaking hands were of mine. Any resolve I had to resist him was crumbling by the second.
“No.”
His voice was hoarse and gritty, and there was a sense of desperation in it that caused my eyes to fill with tears.
“I’ve always known what love was. But before ye, the loss of love was worth the risk. I could fall in love, lose it, and survive. I knew from the start that wasn’t the case with ye. I knew if I loved ye and lost ye, I wouldna survive the grief of it. But at the same time, I couldna keep myself away from ye. I thought that if I kept ye at a distance and never admitted it aloud, I could protect myself from my grandfather’s miserable fate. I was a fool, Harper. Denying love does nothing to prevent pain. It only makes it worse, for ’tis the loving that makes pain bearable.”
He could sense that I no longer wished to pull away. His hands moved from my arms to my face where he brushed away my tears before leaning in to place his lips on mine.
Chapter 11
He knew he should stop himself. There was still so much he needed to say to her, so much he needed to explain, but God, she felt good pressed against him. Her desperation seemed to match his own. She opened herself to him, easily accepting the swift dip of his tongue as he explored her mouth with an insatiable hunger.
He lost himself when she moaned beneath him. As he slid his hand over her breast, all thoughts of conversation left him. It was only when she stilled and pushed him away that any sensible thought returned.
“I’m sorry, Harper. I—” She interrupted him before he could say more.
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. I think…I just don’t think this is very wise.”
A McMillan Christmas - A Novella: Book 7.5 of Morna’s Legacy Series Page 5
