The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10)

by Carmichael, Jonnet

  He waited until he'd started the engine to ask, "Are you going to tell me what worry you left behind with your clootie? Or was it an ailment?"

  "Most times I give my trust to the Well to know what shouldn't be in my life," she said, fastening her seatbelt again and smelling of fresh air and wild woods. "And sure enough, something will disappear that wasn't as good for me as I thought it was."

  The main road was empty as he turned the direction she now pointed.

  "And this time?"

  "This time the same. More or less. There's Auntie's house over there – the one with all the rowan trees along the front."

  No' hard to guess that would be it after all he'd learned about the Harpers. A big limewashed stone farmhouse with overhanging eaves and several chimneys, and a driveway lined with hawthorn, apple, holly and hazel.

  At Freya's direction he drove round the back to where the lights were on. The way of the countrydwellers whose front doors were kept for grand occasions only, more often than not, because most folk had dirty boots to take off in the kitchen.

  A sprightly woman of about sixty came out to greet them, very like Freya in feature and form but never an older version of the portrait. He received a right good inspection head to foot and back up again, and then got as warm a hug as Freya did, and that was before he'd fetched out the gift baskets for them to take in while he carried the bags.

  Isla Harper would get on fine with the Wisewomen, that was for sure. She had a set of windchimes over the door that he clattered with his head, a cat that attached itself to his leg and clung on for the trip, and a house decked out like a New Age shop without a cheap import in sight. She pointed him to the staircase and he nipped up to leave the bags on the landing.

  Celtic knotwork patterns and geodes of crystals were everywhere downstairs. An orrery sat on the hall table depicting the movement of the solar system, and a star chart for the northern hemisphere covered one wall. There was a scent of real beeswax candles and a strong hint of thyme that disappeared when they went back into the big farmhouse kitchen. Smudging, if he were no' mistaken, just like the Wisewomen's homes. Even the antique cutlery on the sturdy big table had triskellion patterned handles, and the table legs themselves like carved Pictish stones.

  They all sat down immediately to a dinner that his castle chefs would have been proud to serve. Isla left it until after dessert and the last of the MacKrannan Elderberry winebottle to get down to business.

  "So... Freya tells me you keep a portrait of her, is that right, Callum?"

  "No' exactly." Freya's flashy diamond caught the candlelight as she ate, making the mixed-up statement worse than it was. "It's been in my family for a couple of centuries."

  "But you keep it still, is that right? Your generation of the clan down in Argyll hasn't sent it to the saleroom or given it to charity, is what I mean."

  "Technically it belongs to my father the Chief, but no, it would never be let go out of the family. The clan's historian tells of a superstition about that."

  He told a little of what he'd heard from Gillian about the minstrel's visit, mainly that the man had died soon after leaving the castle and the pity that he didn't get to play all the places he'd been invited to. It was all new to Freya, who sat wide-eyed throughout. What he held back was that the portrait had been a prophetic gift for some chieftain, and its name of the Fair Lass of Monlachan. Freya told her side of the story, the fainting part and all, and included the bit about recognizing him when they met.

  "And you'll have brought a photo of it to show me," said Isla.

  He displayed the photo on his phone and handed it over.

  A wee affirmative nod was all her reaction at seeing the double of Freya, but he could tell she was affected. Her lilting Highland accent went even higher when she said, "You have yourself the work of Symond Harper, my five times great grandfather. Seven times for Freya." She looked him straight in the eye then. "Fetch it out your car, there's a good lad."

  A squeak from beside him. "You brought it?"

  "Of course he brought it, Freya. Away and help him in with it while I clear the table and put down a clean cloth."

  Freya was out the back door before he'd even got to his feet. Isla gave him a wee wink, and her eyes darted from him to the door and back again. Either this lady was as good as Kenzie with the Second Sight, or his wanting Freya was written on him like an open book – in which case she was giving him every encouragement.

  He hoped it was more than a Highlander versus a Londoner at the root of her approval.

  "Why didn't you tell me you'd brought it?" Freya whispered angrily under cover of the four-by-four's open hatch.

  "Truth? I wanted to see if it was the painting or the turret room that affected you when you weren't prepared. I'd say both, in different ways. The combination is what made you pass out. You'd maybe have screamed the place down instead if you'd stayed conscious."

  Her usual calm had deserted her and one missed yoga session didn't account for it.

  "Oh really? I can scream right now if you like! All the drive up here I kept looking back and you didn't tell me this was in the car!" she hissed. "How do you know all this stuff, Callum! It doesn't go with running a hotel and a golf course and brewery and spa and herbery... okay, maybe with the herbery. And Tara's bees and oh god that Celtic room! Who are you people? And don't give me all that 'We're a superstitious clan' nonsense unless you can name me one clan that isn't!"

  She wasn't in the slightest bit scared. Just so frustrated with wondering what was going on here. There was some underlying agenda. Things that Callum wasn't telling her.

  He had grip of the painting, wrapped in a tartan blanket now, and shifted it under one arm. With his other hand he reached out to stroke her hair gently... a rush of heat ran through her and she rocked on her feet.

  "Some of it's a mystery to me too, lass." His hand moved to close the hatch. "Isla will be wanting to see this. We'd best go, aye?"

  Auntie Harper's eyes were on her instead of the tartan bundle when they came back in. Freya never could hide any emotions from her. Rattled as she was, she gave Auntie a shaky smile and tried to be blithe.

  "You'll freak out, Auntie. Chieftain on stand-by for another Harper lady fainting!"

  Callum laid it on the tablecloth and the candles flickered a little as he unwound the blanket. There she was again, that incredible likeness, and yes, even her hair was in the same style and twisted down the same side as she usually wore hers.

  Auntie didn't freak out at all. Merely took it all in slowly, then began smiling as if she was on her way up to heaven and seeing the angels during her rise.

  "Mmm-hmmph." Her usual throaty expression of satisfaction that she made without opening her mouth, and a sure sign that she was another one who knew more than she'd be telling.

  Freya's anger rose again. "Oh come on, you two! Why am I the only one here being left out the loop? This is me!"

  But it was Callum who got Auntie's next speech.

  "You'll have been told the name that Symond Harper gave to this portrait."

  A statement, not a question. Callum was leaning a shoulder against the big fridge, thumbs in his pockets. He didn't reply, but he did shrug and fold his arms. Typical defensive gesture to close himself off. And he smiled back at Auntie over the table. Oh yes, he knew.

  Freya felt as if her nerves were shredding into more pieces with every passing moment. Those queer vibes were coming off the portrait, the ones that had rung in her very bones all the way up here. No wonder she'd only been able to relax over lunch and then at the lochside. Even the Clootie Well had been a diversion that could have waited until after dinner if she'd been able to hold out that long for some inner peace.

  Now Callum was treating her like a child who couldn't be told a secret and Auntie was colluding with him.

  Enough. She marched straight over to him. "What's the name of it?"

  Nothing, except for unfolding his arms and sticking his hands back into his pockets.


  Auntie was flitting about, blowing out candles and putting the low-lights on under the kitchen units. Freya stood on tiptoe to hiss in Callum's face, her hands full of his sweater, feeling the hard muscles across his ribs. "Tell me!"

  And then Auntie was sailing past them with her jacket on, saying, "I have a Wisdom of the Cosmos class to teach at seven o'clock so I'll leave the pair of you to load the dishwasher. Cheerio for now."

  The back door closed and Callum's hands came onto her head, stroking her hair back from her face. She let go of his sweater to pull away but he kept his hands where they were, calming her...

  It was her hair he was looking at when he spoke low. "The fair lass of Monlachan."

  "Don't you dare start with the blonde jokes, Callum. Just tell me. Please!" While she could still think a rational thought. While she could still breathe.

  And he looked her right in the eye and said, "That was the name told to my ancestors."

  The blood pounded in her ears. "No... that can't be true..."

  "It is true. The Orkney minstrel painted that portrait at MacKrannan Castle and called it the Fair Lass of Monlachan. A gift to my people when he stayed there. It's written down in the clan's archives."

  She leaned her forehead against his chest, needing his strength. The Orkney minstrel... "But the Harpers didn't come to Monlachan until after the war... from Orkney. This place was an inheritance of my great-grandmother. Symond couldn't know we'd ever live here – he couldn't even know who his descendent would marry!"

  This was way beyond the regular level of two-boys-and-a-girl predictions. For her ancestor to paint her and to know where she'd be living...

  "Runs in your family, this fey thing, does it no'?"

  "It does, but..."

  His hand was around her back, rubbing it slowly, soothing. The most incredible sense of calm acceptance settled in her then, and a rising of something between them not peaceful at all.

  Callum was aroused. Fiercely so. His heartbeat thumped in her ear as he kept stroking her hair. She'd be kidding herself to believe he was on his own with it. She looked up to find his eyes smoldering much darker than usual, his lips slightly parted and that bit of hair coming onto his brow. If she could just touch it, see if it sparked some memory... her hand snaked up as it had done before in the long ago.

  He flinched at the contact. "Freya..."

  A breath on the wind. A call from the depths of time. The world slipped away and she went on tiptoe to put her lips on his cheek, needing to test out what this bond was which had come through the years to them and if he could possibly taste as good as he smelled. Oh yes he did... and she found her way round to his mouth then, and his arm pulled her tight to him, her breasts tingling against his chest as he kissed her and ran his fingers into her hair.

  She'd started it. He didn't end it. And wow, could he kiss...

  This bit she didn't know. All new to her, this wild steadiness, this feeling of being out of control in the security of his hold, this being kissed as if it were enough in itself instead of a mere cue to having her clothes disappear.

  A low moan rumbled in his chest as their tongues intertwined and his mouth grew harder on hers, demanding more and taking it. She was playing with fire here and knew it, and still pressed her belly against his hardness, revelling in her power to make Callum MacKrannan burn for her.

  At the castle he had all the power. Now there were in her home, and Zavier was on a different continent.

  Just once. Before she was married... Just one night with this handsome big Scot to lay whatever ghosts were haunting them both. Something primal was surging through her, taking away all her scruples. She had to have him... this MacKrannan chieftain belonged to her...

  But Callum was gone from her then, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his brow and lunging for the portrait. He lifted it up and took it through the long hallway to the coatstand where he set it on its side facing the umbrellas.

  Reality check.

  Oh god... what had she done... what kind of easy slapper would he think she was, grinding herself against him like that... what had possessed her to do it?

  "Callum, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I... you were there and..."

  She broke off as she watched him come back through the hallway, taking great strides as he came straight towards her... and then she was back in his arms again and this time it felt different. This was just Callum and he started the kiss. Something was missing and a million new sensations came in its place. Her legs would hardly hold her as she swam in the thrill. A lifetime later he set her away and spoke.

  "Will you stay away longer with me, Freya?"

  Straight invitation and no point denying they'd end up in bed. Of course she would refuse. She was engaged, for heavensakes.

  "Yes. Yes I will."

  "Tomorrow I'll find us a cottage – somewhere we can be alone."

  "No. Now. I've had..." She nearly said Zavier in my bedroom here. "...I've had enough of your chivalry. We can go to my room or yours."

  Auntie had lovers here too, men with shaman shirts and long hair tied back in leather thongs. There wouldn't be a problem. Callum was being considerate and old-fashioned. And cottage rentals were all minimum stay of three days, often a week. That took his intentions out of the category of one-night-stand and don't-tell. She couldn't get into that, not with a wedding to plan...

  His eyes were now darker than she'd ever seen them. "You might change your mind tomorrow. That's the chance I'm giving you."

  "Maybe you'll change your mind, Callum."

  A slow shake of his head. He closed the space between them and she was being kissed again, her belly clenching something wicked with the thoughts of what he looked like bared and what he would do to her.

  Two years since she'd been with anyone but Zavier. What was the norm now? Did the guy bring up the safety subject or was it up to her? She was too far gone to play by any rules. "Come to my room. It's okay, I have... protection in my bag. I've never done it without."

  "Same for myself on both counts but we'll no' be needing it in this house."

  She wrenched away and pulled at his hand. "Please."

  Callum didn't budge.

  "Lassie, if we were going upstairs for this your feet would no' still be touching the floor."

  It took all the willpower he had no' to grab her up and go. Her body was as ready for him now as his own had been when first they met, but her heart needed a bit extra time. This was a physical thing for her still, tagged onto the connection made for them by her ancestors. He'd be having more than that from her... and would have laughed at himself for his thoughts had his shaft no' been aching fit to burst.

  All those years of keeping clingy women at bay, keeping it strictly fun, and now he was denying the only one he would ever want again because she was no' clingy enough.

  She opened the dishwasher and busied herself with shoving the dinnerplates into the rack, so he helped her with that by passing dishes to her. It was as cosy a domestic scene as they'd be getting this night and quickly over when she hit the start button. With the only chore complete, Freya was biting at her lip.

  "Want to watch TV?" she said vaguely.

  Awkward she was with him now, thinking how else she could entertain him outside of a bed.

  "No, I don't, Freya. Let's get something out the way. The woman I've been seeing is a doctor. My tests are clean."

  Her chin came up defiantly. "More of your chivalry? Okay, I see what you're asking. It's on every bride and groom's ticklist nowadays, isn't it? Shop for wedding rings and visit the clinic – a real romantic day out that was last Monday. And I'm on the pill too. Can't be too careful about the pregnancy bit."

  "Your man's idea." He didn't say it as a question and she didn't argue.

  "The rest of this week we've been in different countries and met at the airport on Friday to come up to Scotland... and we haven't... I just couldn't at the castle. Tell me why that is, Callum! From the minute I met you in tha
t Banqueting Hall my whole life has been torn up the middle. It's more than the portrait, isn't it? More than recognizing you from god knows where! Why am I doing this..."

  He pulled her into his arms to soothe her but it only reignited the spark and they were kissing again. He had to find some distraction.

  "Tomorrow, lass. Show me the Harper landscapes now, if that's alright when Isla's out."

  That calmed her. "It's fine. She'll expect me to show them to you before she gets home. They're in the parlor. Some of them, anyway. Auntie will know where the rest are."

  She led him through to a land of faded chintz and a different cat lying on a hearth rug, ignoring them. The Celtic patterning was in here again, this time all round the ceiling coving. Nice molding, that. Along the mantelpiece was the Cailleach in a row of nine, as Freya had said, and the other gods and goddesses on every available surface. A homely place for a MacKrannan, had Isla known it, which he was damned sure she would by now.

  "These are the ones he painted at home in Orkney. I don't know anything about them. This one's really a seascape and takes in his own home near Stromness. So Auntie told me. I've never been. We've no family left there."

  It was clearly the same artist as the portrait and he watched a tremor run through Freya now that she knew what else her ancestor had painted that she hadn't known about. He moved behind her and slid his hands round her trim wee waist.

  "I've never been either. Want to go?"

  She took a minute to think about it, knowing he meant it as far more than a sightseeing trip. He'd been right to keep her downstairs for now. This fair lass was unready for more than a slaking of lust born of physical attraction and fired up by the portrait's nearness. He could hardly believe he was passing up the chance of that.

  Once her mind was made up she was all practicalities. "Alright, but this is my research – I'm paying."

  "No' in me to let you do that. And the minstrel's portrait belongs to the MacKrannans." He gave her a tickle. She squirmed round and they were kissing again.