Billionaire's Holiday Bride: A Bad Boy Christmas Romance

by Serena Vale

  “My stars, fainted! The poor dear. No doubt she took one look at your face and fell dead away.” Mira cackled as she put down the bucket of soapy water she had been carrying. “Follow me, my laird.”

  Aryen stared after her for a long moment, just shaking his head. If people knew how he let his own staff treat him they would roll over laughing. More like yellow lord instead of black. He shook his head, and then did the only thing he could. Followed after her.

  “Now, ya know ye can’t be having any unmarried girls in yer chambers, even if she is to be your bride. Let me just air out the blankets and you can put the poor girl in here.” No doubt poor because she was marrying him, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

  It caught him by surprise all of a sudden, how easy it was to think of this woman as his wife. He stared down at her and felt a strange fire burning in his chest, something he’d never felt before. But rather than a conflagration, it was a comforting warmth that spread from his chest through his body in calm, soothing waves. Suddenly, he wished he knew what had brought her running to the Black Lord’s doorstep with marriage on her mind. It must be something terrible indeed, he thought with a sarcastic cynicism he couldn’t deny.

  As he laid her down gently on the mattress Mira had just prepared, his thoughts churned madly. Could he do this? Could he really go through with it? Aryen thought again of all the unmarried daughters that had been thrown in his path by well meaning mothers, and some of the mothers themselves, truth be told. They either knew the truth about him, that he wasn’t the blackguard every one thought him to be, or didn’t care and wanted the title and wealth that would come with his name.

  He couldn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to duck an unwanted advance, and some of those women would not take no for an answer. It had been a very trying year for him and he couldn’t wait for it to be over. And this would be the perfect thing to get the desperate attempts to trick him into marriage to stop. Because he already would be married.

  The idea struck a chord in him, not just because it would solve his dilemma, but as he stared down at Abigail Cecelia DuBois Castlerey, he could picture himself married to her, getting to know and care for her, having children with her. It was all there in his mind, like their story had already been written in the stars and he was just discovering it for himself.

  “What are ye doing mooning over the lass, sire. You have to let the girl rest.” Mira’s words were quickly followed with a shooing motion and he knew better than to argue with the old harridan.

  “You’ll make sure she’s alright, Mira? Check in on her and such?” He waited for her nod of assent, that was accompanied by a look that told him he was idiot for having to ask. Aryen turned towards the door to walk out, but stopped again. “And you’ll let me know? When she’s awake, I mean?”

  “Certainly, my laird. You’ll be the first person to know.” She smiled at him for a moment, before her normal harsh expression returned. “Now be gone! This is no place for a randy bachelor.”

  Randy bachelor! He fumed to himself as he fled. He was her bloody fiancé!

  Chapter 3

  “Come on, my lady. Rise and shine, you’ve a big day ahead of you.” The exuberant maid’s words were almost impossible for Abigail to make out, partly because of her thick brogue and partly because of the ringing in her ears that wouldn’t seem to stop. She put a hand to her head, rubbing at her temples and trying to ease the pounding ache and at the same time figure out just what in the world was going on. Where was she?

  Abigail hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words out loud until the woman currently bouncing around the room opening curtains and pulling out a beautiful dress for her answered.

  “Oh, ach, I heard you took quick a spill or something. You’ve been out since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh my, an entire day?” Abigail shot up in the large, comfortable bed and immediately clutched her head.

  “Here ya go, lassie. Take a big swig of this. It’s my granddad’s recipe. His secret cure, he used to call it.” Abigail looked at the offered tin cup dubiously. “Go on, take it,” The woman said again. “It’ll help, I promise.”

  Her head hurt so bad, the decision was made for her. She grabbed the cup and took a big drink without even looking at the liquid inside. Medicine was always bad, but it looked twice as worse as it tasted. She almost gagged as she choked it down. Or so she thought. She looked down into the thick, sludgy depths and retracted her previous thought. This time, it definitely tasted at least twice as bad as it looked.

  But as she swallowed the foul tasting stuff down she realized that her head really was starting to feel better. She climbed out of bed only to realize that she was still wearing the same dress from the day before.

  “Oh no, I hope it’s not ruined.” She said softly but heartfelt as she brushed at the wrinkles and snags from tossing and turning through the night.

  “Now don’t you worry about that at all. Once you change I’ll have Carrie see to it. She’s a wonder with the needle and thread, lass. You mark my words we’ll have it brand new before you know it.”

  “Change? Change into what? This is the only dress I was able to bring with me. At least the only one nice enough to wear out in public.” Abigail looked down at the rumpled dress feeling heartbroken and confused and not a little overwhelmed. “I’m sorry, what was your name, again?” She asked politely, and the woman turned with a surprised look in her bright blue eyes, set off by her equally bright red hair, even if it did have more than a little gray peeking through.

  “Ach, here I am chatterin’ away and I didn’t even have the decency to introduce myself.” The older woman turned, brushing at invisible dirt on her impeccable white apron before giving a slight curtsy. “I am Mira Tomgunney, the steward and head maid of Castle MacCalium.” She gave another small dip of her head and Abigail could sense the seriousness of the title.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mira, I’m Abigail Castlerey.” She remembered then another introduction. She had been standing on the front stairs pointing at someone’s very masculine chest when she had fainted right there and then. A wave of embarrassment flitted through her at the memory. She’d never fainted before her life, and then certainly had not been the ideal time to give it a try.

  “Oh, I know who you are, lass.” Mira said with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Now come on out of bed, and I’ll help you change.”

  “But, my dress…” Abigail’s words trailed off as Mira grinned again, full of mischief.

  “Don’t you worry, my lady. Laird MacCalium’s thought of everything he has. He figured you didn’t have much in that lil’ chest of yours, so he had everyone in a right tizzy finding the dress and getting it cleaned and ready for you.” She walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors but all she could see was a cloud of cream and ice blue fabric. “He’s taken care of your horse as well.”

  Abigail sighed in relief at that news, quickly followed by a pang of guilt that she hadn’t thought of Chestnut sooner. Well, it sounded like the black lord had taken care of everything, including her. She wondered where he was, and she couldn’t deny, what he looked like. She had heard rumors that he was the most handsome man in the Scottish Highlands, and then she’d heard other rumors that said he had a humped back and giant warts on his face.

  But rumors were just that, only rumors, Abigail reminded herself. She had the proof right in front of her that he wasn’t as bad as all that. He had shown care for her and her horse, and that went a small way in allaying some of her fears.

  “My, what a beautiful dress. It looks like a wedding dress.” Abigail gasped in admiration as Mira pulled out the long dress. It had layers of sheer cream tulle draped over the palest blue satin she’d ever seen. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.

  “Right you are miss, as it’s your wedding day.” Mira sent her a wink, as if she hadn’t just turned Abigail’s world on its end.

  “I’m sorry…what…excuse me?” She stuttered as shock wa
ves echoed through her. Wedding day. Today! That was impossible.

  “Well, there you were on the doorsteps, saying that you were here to marry Lord MacCalium. And he obliged to let you do it. Doesn’t see much point in dragging’ his feet, that man. And to be honest, I agree.”

  “You do?” She squeaked, still trying to grasp what the woman was saying.

  “Oh, aye. He was seen carrying you around the castle, very familiar like. He wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, you know. About your morals.” Mira said the last on a whisper and yet another wink, like it was a secret she was being let in on. Abigail stared at the woman for a long time. She could hear that it wasn’t quite the whole truth in the woman’s voice, but on the other hand, what she’d said struck a chord with her. She’d seen her fair share of women ruined by impropriety, and new just what a soiled reputation could do. She had seen it destroy lives.

  “Of course, of course.” Abigail said, not even aware of what she was saying. Her mind was racing madly as she fought down the panic trying to rise inside her like steam from a bellows. It was just happening all so fast, it was like she was on a carousel, spinning so quick that the world around her blurred.

  But isn’t this what she’d wanted? To demand he marry her, and do it quick before her uncle figures out her plan and comes to collect her. An unmarried woman would have no choice but to leave with her relative, despite how vile and despicable he was. But married, she would have all the weight of her husband behind her. She would be safe.

  From uncle Travis, at least. The thought popped into her head unbidden as she finally rose, determination and fear growing in equal measure. But who was going to protect her from her notorious husband?

  Chapter 4

  Aryen stood, nervous as he had ever been in his entire life, at the front of the altar. The priest stood in the middle, a huge tome opened on the pedestal in front of him, and he intoned in a Scottish brogue so thick he had trouble making out some of the words. Not that he was listening anyways. All he had thoughts about for two days was his mysterious bride. She had landed on his doorstep and turned his life upside down with a single sentence.

  He had to give her credit. No one else had ever been able to do that. Usually it was the other way around. He clenched his fists when he realized his hands were shaking, actually shaking! He was being ridiculous. This was the girl he’d always known he would marry eventually, he’d just never imagined actually happening.

  Finally, the large wooden doors swing open and his breath catches, as does everyone else standing in the great hall. Abigail Cecelia DuBois Castlerey walking towards him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. It was all he could do not to drool like an idiot, but even still he had to close his mouth with a click of his teeth when he realized his jaw was hanging open.

  His hungry gaze drank her in. From the tip of her satin slipper covered feet to the top of her glossy dark brown hair, woven into some elaborate braid that gave her a few inches of height. But even still, he noticed for the first time just how small she was, especially as she came to a stop beside him. Abigail barely reached the middle of his chest and he felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. This woman was to be his wife, his lover, his family, and she seemed so delicate standing there that he couldn’t resist the urge to hold out his hand. A shock of emotion crashed through him when she instantly slid her palm against his, as if they’d been doing it all of their lives.

  The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. He didn’t remember the words the priest spoke, or the exchange of rings, or the processional. The only thing he remembered was the feel of her small trembling hand in his. He could feel the racing beat of her pulse and the warm skin, so soft against his own calluses. It made him wonder if he was too rough and wild for someone as sweet and delicate as her. It made him aware of just how different they were. And it made him burn for her.

  Finally, it was over and as his people cheered he looked down into her eyes and saw them wide and unsure. But there it was, in the glimmering stormy grey depths. The beginnings of trust. It was more than he had expected to be honest, especially considering his less than sparkling reputation.

  He hadn’t let her hand go the entire time, and found he couldn’t as they turned to walk back down the long aisle to the wedding luncheon Mira had miraculously prepared. He was struck as they entered the main area of the castle, where long rows of tables were set and overflowing with food. Not only that, but his people were all there, cheering him, clapping and whistling and yelling. How in the bloody hell everyone had been made aware of his hurried nuptials he had no idea, although he did suspect Mira was behind it. He’d always known the old maid harbored secret romantic tendencies.

  “Come, Abigail, let’s toast to our happy future.” Aryen picked up a glass overflowing with ale, and handed a much smaller glass of wine to his new wife. Wife. The thought tickled through him.

  “A toast!” He said loudly, suddenly lighter than he could remember feeling in a long time. Something had happened to him during the ceremony, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was like he was whole now. Like he’d been incomplete before and just hadn’t known it. “A toast, to us!”

  “To the happy couple!”

  “To the laird and his lady!”

  “Here, here!”

  The cheers all followed in a cacophony of sound and raised voices and he took a long pull of his ale. He looked down to see Abigail had already drained her glass of wine and was looking around for another with the wide eyed look of a startled doe. It all came crashing down on him them. She was still afraid of him. Or of his reputation, anyways. His brow furrowed in thought.

  He couldn’t deny that he had dreamed of the wedding night, but as he thought of it a plan formed in his mind. He would show her, prove to her, that he wasn’t the monster he had been made out to be. Yes, he was the Black Lord, but he had built the rumors himself more to keep his people save from attack than anything else. The tales had grown and spread on their own, but at least the people closest to him knew the truth. And he had to make sure that Abigail did too.

  He glanced her again, smiling softly and coaxed a tiny, lopsided smile out of her as well. His grin widened devilishly as his plan continued to form. Come to think of it, he couldn’t imagine a better wedding night than spending hours wringing every ounce of pleasure from his bride. He would leave no doubt in her mind that she was a treasure he would cherish for the rest of his days.

  By the end of the wedding feast, Abigail had to admit that she was feeling much better. Maybe it was the food, or the joviality, or the third glass of wine she’d just topped off. She gave a slight hiccup as the alcohol started to move in bubbling swirls to her head. She knew what was coming. She’d learned long ago what happened between a man and woman on their wedding night, but still, she couldn’t contain the shiver that tripped down her spine and raised goose bumps on her skin.

  She was equal parts desire and trepidation, and Aryen’s thumb tracing lazy circles on the inside of her wrist wasn’t helping matters. He hadn’t let her hand go. Not since she had first met him in front of the alter and they had said their vows. At least, she thought they must have, even though she couldn’t remember a moment of it.

  Before she knew what was happening, the fourth glass of wine, already half empty, was being taken out of her free hand and Aryen was helping her to rise.

  “I think I’ve had enough food and drink, my wife. But I am still hungry. Starving, in fact.” Aryen whispered the words softly in her ear and those goose bumps were back en masse. It would be so much easier not to be affected by him if he wasn’t so all together too handsome. It really wasn’t fair. She didn’t have a chance against him.

  “Well, why don’t you eat some more, then? There’s still plenty.” Abigail said wide eyes as she gestured toward the food laden tables. Everyone around them was eating and drinking merrily, and would be for the rest of the day. It wasn’t everyday t
hat their lord got married.

  “I’m not hungry for food, sweetheart. I’m hungry for you.” He whispered the words so soft and rough against her cheek that she almost didn’t hear them, but the breath backed up in her lungs and it look a full minute for her to exhale again.

  “Oh.” Abigail said, multi syllable words completely beyond her at that point. He was invading her senses, stealing her capacity to think, to speak.

  “Let’s go to our room.” He pulled her by the hand he was still grasping and she bonelessly followed him, unaware of the cheering and winks shot their way as Ayden tried to sneak out through a back hallway.

  Before her thoughts had even caught up with her they were in the large, ornately decorated room. But it was tasteful, and refined, so much like the man she was coming to realize was so much more than his reputation made him out to be.

  That didn’t stop the flicker of all out fear that flooded through her as her eyes caught on the massive bed dominating the center of the room.

  “Abigail, come here.” His voice was as soft as a feather and she was helpless to resist as he pulled her close. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

  All she could was shake her head, staring at him with her eyes wide and full of all of the doubts and insecurities flooding her mind.

  “It should be soft, and gentle, at first. Like this.” He leaned down his head slowly, so slowly until his lips just brushed hers. He felt her sigh hit him all the way down to his soul and it was all he could do to keep things light. He had a plan. This was all about her pleasure. Building the budding trust between them. Slowly he deepened the kiss until she was melting against him, teaching her how to use her tongue to duel with his, ringing every sweet moan out of her lips until finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Abigail, sweetheart, I know this is all new for you, and the last thing I want to do is scare you anymore than you already are. For now, you can stay in the adjoining room, and when you’re ready, I’ll teach you the next step.” He grit his teeth together as he stared down at her beautiful flushed cheeked face. He just prayed that he would be strong enough to keep his distance and his promise.