by Alexa Aston
He well knew the feeling.
“You didn’t tell me he gave his permission,” she said quietly, her words muffled in all the well wishes and good cheer.
He leaned closer, speaking into her dainty ear. “He didna. He only said he wouldna say nae. I kent nothin’ about this.” He circled his hand in the air.
In short order, everyone had a beverage of choice in hand, and Liam raised his glass. “To Quinn and Skye. May their happiness and joy be as vast as the ocean, and their troubles and sorrows as light as thistle down.”
Tucking Skye to his side, Quinn drew her away from the others until they stood near the relative privacy of the window nook. Holding her hand, he took a swallow of the mulled wine. “Och, that’s a fine brew.” He lifted the cup, taking a deep breath of the aromatic mixtures. “I could well become accustomed to this.”
“It does warm one through and through.” She took a dainty sip.
“When do ye want to exchange vows, my love?” Pray God she didn’t want a long betrothal.
“Would tomorrow be too soon?” she quipped.
“No’ for me.”
She sobered, considering him from beneath her lashes.
“If you’ve no objections, I’d truly like to wed Christmas morning. I know it’s not entirely proper, considering I’m in mourning. But I feel in my heart, it’s right. I know my parents wouldn’t have objected if they were alive.” She gave his forearm an excited little squeeze. “We can begin our new life together as our friends are celebrating new-to-them Twelfth Night traditions, and we also commemorate Christ’s birth. What could be more perfect?”
“Nothin’, my heart.” Clearing his throat, he glanced around the room. “May I have yer attention?”
Once more, the drawing room settled into respectful silence.
He gathered Skye’s hand in his, smiling into her shining face. “Ye came to celebrate the Christmas holiday, but Skye and I would be honored if ye’d also attend our weddin’ Christmas morn.”
Epilogue
Snow had fallen overnight, cloaking the frozen Highlands in a shimmering, pristine blanket.
Utterly perfect for Christmas.
Even more perfect for Skye’s wedding day. Her tummy tumbled over itself as Kendra finished arranging her hair. She tucked in a sprig of holly and ivy before standing back and admiring her handiwork.
“Beautiful,” Kendra pronounced. “Never has there been a more stunnin’ Christmas bride.”
Her eyes misty with emotion, Skye stood and hugged her cousin.
“Yer mother and father would be so proud, Skye.” Aunt Louisa blinked rapidly, a watery smile bending her mouth. “And so verra pleased to see ye this happy.”
“I am happy.” Blissfully so.
Only a few short weeks ago, she’d wondered if she’d ever know contentment again, and now she knew a joy far beyond anything she might’ve conjured in her imagination. Because Quinn loved her.
How appropriate during this season when the Christians around the world acknowledged the love and sacrifice of their Savior, she should find her way back from the darkness that had threatened to engulf her. Because of the gift of love Quinn had given her.
Never would she underestimate the power of love again. Never.
She kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. “Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”
“’Tis been a pleasure, my dear.”
Shaking out the folds of her gown, Skye brushed a slightly trembling hand over her elaborately embroidered stomacher as the crimson fabric settled around her feet. Her silk square-toed, ruby-colored shoes peaked from beneath the hem of the same gown she’d been wearing when Quinn proposed.
The finest frock she owned, other than her ballgowns, it seemed most fitting to wed the man she adored above all else in the whole of the entire world in the gown she’d accepted his proposal in. She wore the same ruby jewels she’d worn the other night, as well as a magnificent diamond, pearl, and ruby Luckenbooth brooch.
Her betrothal and Christmas gift from Quinn.
He couldn’t wait until later when the others opened their gifts to present it to her. He’d wanted her to wear the token of his affection during the ceremony.
Naturally, she readily complied.
She could deny him nothing.
Twenty minutes later, she stood outside the drawing room, her previous nerves having abated. Instead, a surreal calmness enveloped her at the rightness of what she was about to do. She and Quinn were destined to be together. She’d known that since he strode into the drawing room that fateful day and his spirit had touched hers across the space.
Liam, looking ever so dashing in a cobalt velvet suit, waited to escort her inside.
Emeline and Kendra acting as her attendants, each with a bouquet of holiday greenery, were positioned near the three-sided window nook.
Broden McGregor stood beside Quinn, but his gaze flicked to Kendra every so often. An enigmatic expression would flit across his rugged features, only to vanish a second later, giving Skye reason to ponder if he was truly as off put by her as he proclaimed.
Quinn smiled at Skye, and her blood sang with happiness.
Her pulse quickened as she took in his somber black suit, his golden-brown hair neatly brushed, and presenting quite the most wonderful sight for a young bride. He would be her husband soon, joy of joys.
She examined the festive room, now filled with smiling houseguests.
Wearing an a la Grecque styled wig, Mrs. Dunwoodie sat beside Aunt Louisa.
Skye sincerely hoped Emeline and Liam considered making the Christmas gathering an annual event.
Would she be minutes away from becoming Quinn’s wife if she hadn’t dared to ask for a Christmas celebration? Had the holiday worked its magic on Liam and persuaded him to allow the match. Or had other, more powerful forces been at work?
She had no way of knowing, of course, and it didn’t matter. In a few minutes, she’d be Mrs. Quinn Catherwood. Skye Catherwood, the happiest woman on earth.
Liam approached and gave her a gentle smile. “Ye have nae doubts, lass? If ye do, I can call the weddin’ off with a single word.”
She placed her palm on his forearm and clasped her other hand more firmly around the ribbon-wrapped stems of her bouquet. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The string quartet struck their first chords and, taking a deep breath, she allowed her cousin to guide her to her groom.
Liam took his position beside Broden, and the cleric cleared his throat.
She couldn’t drag her attention from the wonderment and adoration on Quinn’s face. She must’ve answered the questions put to her, but the ceremony passed in a fog.
I’m marrying Quinn
Christmas wishes do come true.
Then, Quinn was smiling, his eyes suspiciously moist, and applause resounded behind her. She blinked, coming out of her daze as he bent to brush his mouth over hers. “I love ye, leannan.”
He started to lift his head, but Skye clasped his nape, giving him a naughty smile. “Oh, I think you can do better than that, Quinn.”
A delighted matronly chuckle echoed behind her. “She’ll keep my grandson on his toes, to be sure.”
Bedevilment glittered in his pale green eyes, and he scooped her against him. “Does my lady bride wish a Christmas kiss from her Highland groom?”
“Oh, she does. She does.”
And to her delight, and no doubt the astonishment of those looking on, he proceeded to kiss her most ardently and thoroughly.
“Happy Christmas, darlin,” he whispered.
Laughing, Skye cupped his cheek. “Happy life, my love.”
The End
Heart of a Scot Series
To Love a Highland Laird
To Redeem a Highland Rogue
To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel
To Woo a Highland Warrior
To Enchant a Highland Earl
To Defy a Highl
and Duke
To Marry a Highland Marauder
To Bargain with a Highland Buccaneer
A Christmas Kiss for the Highlander
Author’s Note
As always when researching for my stories, I learned several fun facts pertaining to Christmas in Scotland and England during the early 18th century that I wanted to share with you. As I mentioned in A CHRISTMAS KISS FOR THE HIGHLANDER, Christmas and Yule weren’t openly celebrated in Scotland.
Late in the 16th century, St. Mungo’s Cathedral wished to abolish the pagan rituals associated with Yule (originally the Viking festival jól) and the Kirk threatened excommunication for anyone caught participating in Yule. In 1640, an Act of Parliament made Yule illegal, and the intolerance was taken a step further when an ordinance passed (supported by Oliver Cromwell) that banned the feast of Christmas as well. Several sources record that during that same time period, he also forbade the eating of pie.
Those are fighting words! I adore pie.
Though the ordinances and laws were repealed a few years later, the Church still frowned upon the celebration of Yule and Christmas. Hence, most Scots didn’t openly celebrate the holiday until 1958. Another interesting tidbit I uncovered was that Christmas was outlawed in Boston, Massachusetts from 1659 to 1681.
My research regarding clove oranges also proved quite fascinating. Pomander balls date back to as early as the mid-thirteenth century. However, the clove orange gained popularity in the 17th and 18th centuries. I used to make them myself as a child.
To stay within the bounds of historical accuracy as much as possible, I researched the origins of sugar plums and gingerbread. First mentioned in literature in the 16th century, sugar plums are not sugar-coated plums but comfits. A comfit is a sort of sweet with a sugar shell around a center, often an almond.
I was delighted with what I learned about gingerbread. The very first recipe for gingerbread is attributed to the Greeks over two thousand years before the birth of Christ. A European version was developed by the late Middle Ages. However, lavish decorated gingerbread is attributed to Queen Elizabeth I. These cookies were decorated with gold leaf.
Finally, in order to embellish Eytone Hall with holiday greenery and to allow the ladies to make kissing boughs, I needed to snoop around a bit to see precisely what types of greenery grew in the Highlands or Midlands in 1720. I was delighted to discover holly was a native plant to Scotland, and although mistletoe isn’t common, it can be found. Other greens such as pine boughs, rosemary, and ivy were all easily accessible to decorate with as well.
I had so much fun researching and writing A CHRISTMAS KISS FOR THE HIGHLANDER and hope you enjoyed reading Quinn and Skye’s romance. If so, please consider leaving a review. I’d appreciate it very much!
Hugs,
Collette
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historical romance novels featuring dashing rogues, rakes, and scoundrels and the strong heroines who reform them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life. Although she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you’ll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
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Warming Winter’s Heart
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.”
—William Blake
Dedication
To the real Al and Patti Camp, who have saved more lives than even they know about.
Chapter One
November 30, 1806
London
Gar-bloody-denia.
The cloying scent distilled from the waxy, white flower filled the carriage and made him want to gag.
Julian Winter pulled back the leather blind to look out at the view.
It was a pretense.
Late autumn days drew to a close quickly. There was no view to be had. The sun had left the sky one change of horses back.
He felt the chill through the glass and imagined the air was fresh beyond it, but knew that was unlikely to be true. They had now entered the paved streets of London, venturing closer to the heart of the city and its river, with its damp and smoke and garbage.
Braziers dotting the streets produced as much smoke as light. Still, it drew those who had no home of their own to gather around their warmth.
How he envied them right now.
A none-too-subtle clearing of the throat from within the carriage stalled his musings. Julian dropped the blind and cast a sidelong glance at Aunt Harriet who sat on the bench beside him. He wondered what she made of her daughter’s friend dousing herself in more scent than the boldest courtesan would ever dare to wear.
He imagined the older woman might later have words with both her daughter and her friend, Miss Lydia Stonely, about the proper way to conduct themselves while in London.
At least, that’s what he hoped.
Cousin Margaret might listen, but he was certain Lydia would merely pay lip service to advice given her, no matter how well-intended.
Julian absently rubbed a hand over his knee. The injury, although healed, ached like the blazes from time to time, especially as the colder weather had been setting in. Worse had been the injury done to his pride.
The women who sat in the carriage were aware of his ill-temper and had been for some months.
But how surprised would they be if they were truly aware of its cause?
They believed it to be the result of a broken heart – a rejection by the beautiful Alexandra Gedding, newly wed to his business partner, David Manston, who recently reclaimed his title of Viscount Carmarthan.
In truth, Julian’s heart had been untouched. From the first moment he saw Allie and David together – over a year ago now – he knew they belonged to each other, even if it had taken David some time to acknowledge it.
No, what gnawed at him was the fact that he owed Allie a debt he could not repay.
She had literally saved his life in an act of immense courage and prepossession, and yet he was under orders to never speak to another soul about the events that had taken place in the little mining village of Stannum, Cornwall, nearly six months prior.
There had been a reward for his silence, however. It was an invitation to a winter ball which the Prince of Wales would attend. It would be at the Mayfair home of the new Viscount and Viscountess Carmarthan and jointly hosted by Sir Daniel and Lady Abigail Ridgeway, personal friends of the prince.
That news, he couldn’t keep to himself, nor was he expected to. The gilt-trimmed and embossed invitation had arrived at his Somerset home shortly after Allie and David’s wedding. Aunt Harriet had been quick to attach Margaret to it.
After all, it was a golden opportunity to cast a glittering net wider than Bath in the search for more eligible marriage prospects for her daughter.
Julian would never begrudge his cousin such an opportunity. But where Margaret went, Lydia was never far behind.
And that was his problem.
For the past two years, Lydia had determined he was the catch she wanted to land. And despite the unsuitability that was obvious to him at their very first meeting, the girl would not be dissuaded. Unfortunately, neither would his aunt, the only member of his family with whom he had any cordial relations. She actively encouraged Lydia’s pursuit of him in the mistaken belief he was attracted to her but was too diffident to advance the situation.
Julian himself had erroneously thought that his
work as a geologist, digging in the dirt, would serve to put Lydia off her interest. After a year, it was clear his occupation did not matter as long as his income was good.
Conspiring with Allie to create a fake attachment worked for nearly six whole months. Then nursing a “broken heart” when she had become engaged to David had given him another three months’ reprieve.
Now, however, it would appear Lydia had decided his mourning should come to an end.
Hence the abundance of gardenia scent.
Despite being born in Yorkshire, Julian was raised a gentleman in London, and would never injure a lady in either word or deed. But what was one to do when a lady would not take “no” for an answer?
He reluctantly drew his attention to the two young women on the carriage seat before him.
Margaret sat opposite his aunt. She shared their family’s features – light brown hair, gray eyes and a not-unattractive face. Margaret was also quite an agreeable girl and ought to have a very successful Season, if only she did not allow herself to be led by Lydia Stonely.
As for her, there was no doubt that Lydia was an attractive young woman – her blonde hair, blue eyes, and trim figure made heads turn wherever she went. The problem was she knew it and was aware of the power her feminine charms could wield. This made her manipulative, and she often treated Margaret – her best friend – as carelessly as some of the calf-eyed swains who attempted to win favor.
Worse still was noting the way Lydia would brighten her smile and amplify her charms to any gent who first showed interest in Margaret.
If he, a mere man, had noticed such blatant behavior, then why hadn’t Aunt Harriet? Surely it was a mother’s job to educate her daughter in such matters.
Ah, if only Aunt Harriet had an inkling as to why he had not made a fuss over chaperoning two young ladies in their first Season in London.
