by Alexa Aston
“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 wor
d, 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 her 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.”
Liam eyed Quinn’s ill-concealed smirk. “Need I remind ye, that ye havena taken a turn either?”
True. They were on the same side and on the opposite team, only Berget and Marjorie Kennedy had yet to demonstrate their acting skills.
“We’re to have mulled cider when we’re done.” Skye swept her gaze around the room. “And wassail as well.”
The old light had returned to her mesmerizing blue eyes and the healthy glow to her cheeks. This distraction was precisely what she’d needed.
“I am so glad you suggested this gathering,” Marjorie Kennedy said. “I’ve missed celebrating Christmas.”
“Let’s have at it then.” Liam turned another undiscernible glance on Quinn.
He’d done that often of late, and Quinn had begun to consider he might’ve overstayed his welcome. Would he be asked to leave when the festivities ended?
By thunder, he’d not be leaving without his beloved Skye.
Liam cleared his throat, brushing his hand through his hair. He swiftly perused the slip of paper then wadded it into a tight little ball and tossed it in the fire.
Emeline gave him an encouraging little nudge and directed what could only be called a secretive smile toward Skye.
Quinn looked between Liam and his wife.
What were they about?
His discussion with Liam this afternoon had gone better than expected. He hadn’t committed to allowing Quinn to marry Skye. However, this time, he hadn’t said no outright, either.
“I’m considerin’ yer request,” Liam had said with his usual severity. Clapping a hand on his nape, he cleared his throat again.
He raised four fingers.
“Four words,” Broden said.
Liam nodded and held up one finger.
“First word,” Dowager Baroness Penderhaven said, a rather surprising competitive gleam in her eyes, so like her son’s and daughter’s. She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Quinn’s grandmother who leaned forward a bit in anticipation.
He pointed to his eye.
“Eye. I?” Bethea Glanville cried, glancing around for approval.
Nodding again, Liam displayed two fingers.
“Second word,” Grandmother announced, unnecessarily.
A combination of chagrin and concentration lining his face, he made a pushing motion.
“Shove.”
“Push.”
“Thrust.”
“Heave?”
At the wild guesses, he harrumphed and pretended to shape a square box and offer it to Quinn.
“We have to remember the clues are all Christmas themed,” Skye reminded them.
“Och, well I dinna much like havin’ to portray the arse Mary sat upon,” Graeme Kennedy grumbled.
Everyone burst out laughing.
Liam emphasized the shape of a square package again.
“Present?” Berget suggested.
Marjorie Kennedy said, “Gift. That’s Christmas themed.”
“Offering?” Quinn’s grandmother put in.
Liam rolled his eyes ceilingward, a muscle in his jaw beginning to tic. He motioned emphatically from his chest to Quinn several times.
“Bosoms?” Boden dared drolly, earning him a blistering glower from Kendra.
Confused frowns and shrugs met Liam’s evermore terse gestures.
“Oh, I think I know.” Skye waved her hand. “Give?”
A grin split Liam’s face, and a flush of pleasure skimmed her face at her cleverness.
“All right, we have I give so far,” Coburn Wallace murmured.
Holding up three fingers, Liam pointed at Quinn.
“What in the world?” The dowager baroness appeared completely lost. “I give Quinn? Does it sound like Quinn?”
The others all began talking at once.
“Fin?”
“Sin?”
“Twin?”
“Spin?”
Liam gesticulated harder.
“Thin?”
“Tin?”
“Kin?”
“Shin?”
“Gin?”
“Grin?”
“Chin?”
Releasing a loud, frustrated snort, Liam pointed at himself as he vigorously shook his head back and forth. He pointed his finger at Quinn and then everyone else and nodded like a lunatic or a drunkard.
“Liam, my friend, ye’re dismal at this game.” Logan chuckled and received a thunderous scowl in return.
I give…give what?
Quinn flexed his eyes the merest bit, trying to pay attention, but he couldn’t keep his gaze off of Skye’s radiant face. She was having such a splendid time.
Ye.
All at once Quinn knew.
I give ye…permission.
He jerked his head up and met Liam’s gray gaze, a question in his own. He cut Skye a sideways glance then flicked his attention back to Liam.
Liam gave the merest flex of his eyes and dip of his chin.
“I give ye permission,” Quinn said softly, reverently. Almost unable to believe the truth of the words. He had permission to marry his cherished Skye.
“Oohh,” Grandmother breathed, unfurling her ostrich feather fan and waving it furiously before her face as she blinked just as rapidly.
“Aye.” Liam slapped him on the shoulder.
“Badly done.” Kendra objected, giving Quinn a gimlet glare. “Quinn, ye solved it for them. How does that work for the scorekeepin’? And
what in the world does that have to do with Christmastide?” She wrinkled her nose. “Logan is correct. Ye’re absolutely horrid at charades, Liam.”
“Shh, my dear. I dinna believe the game’s up quite yet,” her mother said, smiling from ear to ear.
The room gradually grew silent; quite a feat considering how many people were present. But it was as if everyone at once became aware that something more monumental than a nonsensical charade had taken place.
Quinn pulled his coat straight and took the five short steps to where Skye sat.
She cut her puzzled gaze behind him to Liam and then back to Quinn.
Dropping to one knee, he gathered her hand in his.
Her mouth parted into a startled “O”.
Understanding swept over her face. Joy lit her eyes and a smile so luminous curved her face, the sun might’ve entered the room in all its incandescent glory.
A collective gasp went up by the ladies, and the men made approving sounds in their throats.
“Skye, my love. Will ye marry this humble man so unworthy of ye, but who loves ye more than mortal words can say?”
Bobbing her head excitedly, the feathers in her wig threatening to take flight, Grandmother pointed her fan at Skye. “Yes. Yes. Oh, do say yes, my dear.”
“Yes, yes.” Tears glistened in Skye’s azure eyes. She nodded so enthusiastically, two silky blonde curls escaped their pins and bounced to her nape. “I shall marry you.”
As everyone applauded, he pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. “Thank ye, my love.”
“I do believe that’s quite the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” The dowager baroness dabbed daintily at her eyes.
“Liam, I amend my earlier comment about how horrid ye are at charades,” Logan said. “That was brilliant.”
“This calls for a toast,” Graeme Kennedy announced. “Didna I hear somethin’ about mulled cider and wassail earlier?”
“Indeed, ye did.” Emeline swept to the bell pull.
Quinn stood, gently drawing Skye to her feet.
She still appeared half-dazed.
