A Laird for Christmas

by Gerri Russell

Jane smiled. “I suppose that is what you all must do. Look for opportunities to make your claim.”

  Colin gave her a devastating smile. “I am making a claim.” Jane shivered with anticipation or fear. No one was ever as honest with her as Colin. With him, she knew exactly where she stood.

  She forced her thoughts back to the dance as she went up on her toes, then turned and resumed a promenade. Dancing with only the beat of her heart to guide her was far more difficult than she expected. Or was it dancing with Colin that was the challenge?

  Before she could consider the idea further, Bryce was before her. He slipped his hand in hers, leaving Colin standing alone. Bryce offered her a smile. “You look enchanting tonight. Aphrodite’s equal wrapped in pink.” No menace hung in his words.

  Colin backed away from their dance with a frown as Bryce twirled her farther down the room.

  “If you all must dance with me before the meal, I am afraid I will be too exhausted when the musicians truly begin.”

  “You have far more stamina than that, Jane,” Bryce said, his smile increasing.

  Relief filled her at the sight of his smile, the second one in as many moments. Perhaps he had figured out that his usual sourness would not advance his position with her in this competition. He pointed his toe and led her forward with faultless grace.

  “Bryce,” she asked, hesitating for a step. “Will you promise me something?”

  He frowned. “That depends on what you ask.”

  “Promise you will never attack Jules the way you did today.”

  His hand flexed in hers. “He is not well. I wanted him to stop pretending that he is.”

  “As his bruises can attest, you made your point.”

  An amused gleam softened his features, and she caught a glimpse of that boyish charm she remembered. “I give you my word. I will not attack him again.”

  “Thank you, Bryce,” she said with a touch of relief. Jules would hate that she had made Bryce make such a promise. But never again would she witness her friend being abused like that while she did nothing to stop it.

  Bryce led them across the floor again. She followed his well-practiced lead and returned her thoughts to the evening ahead. Tonight she wanted to be happy and pretend she had nothing to worry about other than dancing and laughing. The realities of her daily life would return soon enough. In the meanwhile she had handsome men to promenade with about her hall.

  When the servants came into the hall with a roast boar garnished with apples and holly, a dozen pheasant decorated with their own feathers, and a tower of pastries piled into a likeness of Bellhaven Castle, her guests met the display with applause and cheers. While the kitchen staff took the meat to the carving table to strip the dishes of their culinary magnificence and carve them to be served, Bryce led her back to her seat at the long table on the dais.

  “It pains me to seat you here,” he said as he glanced at his rivals, “but I will not protest, as I am sure you all expect,” Bryce said, releasing her hand and taking a seat at the far end of the table.

  Slightly bewildered by Bryce’s sudden change in behavior, Jane took her place. Nicholas sat on one side of her. David on the other. Jane’s heart hammered as she greeted them both. She had a true affection for both of these men. Jane groaned inside. Who was she kidding? Affection was putting it mildly. David had been sweet and gentle with her last night. His touch had made her heart race and her body quiver, while one look from Nicholas made her melt.

  She cast a glance about her table. Colin and Jules greeted her with a nod. Bryce met her glance with a bland smile for a heartbeat before he looked away. A part of her sighed. His transformation was not as thorough as she had hoped. Aunt Margaret and Lord Galloway were engaged in an animated conversation. Her aunt’s cheeks glowed.

  Jane smiled. Even her aunt was not immune to her suitor’s charm. She drew a steadying breath. Put it out of your mind. For tonight just enjoy and be grateful.

  The tension of the moment was broken when Egan approached each guest with a basin of rosewater. A second servant followed with a fresh white linen towel.

  Jules stood somewhat awkwardly from his place at the table, no doubt from the pain of his wound. He raised his cup. “Slàinte mhath,” he said, toasting the others. The Gaelic words for good health were greeted with the customary response of “slàinte mhor.” Great health.

  Nicholas and David said nothing as they narrowed their gazes, sizing each other up. The tension between them thickened to the point of being unbearable until Marthe, the cook who worked as a footman tonight because of the banquet, set plates of meat, vegetables, fruit, and bread before Jane and her guests.

  “You look like a vision of your mother tonight,” David said, smiling softly.

  Jane returned his compliment with a smile. “I cannot always recall what she looked like,” she said honestly. That fact used to bother her. How could she forget her own mother? But over the years Jane had accepted the reality. She remembered all the important things about her mother, if not her face.

  David brought his hand to rest gently on Jane’s arm. “You are her twin with your hair curled that way.”

  “Thank you, David, for saying so.”

  He leaned closer. “After supper may I walk with you in the moonlight?”

  Nicholas frowned. “May I dance with you when the musicians start up?”

  David and Nicholas locked gazes, their faces devoid of all humor. Jane felt her cheeks flame as she answered neither. Her own gaze moved down the table to where Margaret sat. Her aunt offered Jane a knowing smile. Margaret had assigned the seats for tonight, no doubt in an attempt to pit David and Nicholas against one another.

  A long moment later, both men shifted their attention from her to their meal. With the intensity of their gazes off her, Jane finally felt her blush begin to fade until David spoke once more.

  “You must visit Hathaway Hall sometime soon,” he said, chewing contentedly on a braised turnip.

  “If touring our estates is part of your ‘selection plan,’ then Westfield Abbey is at your disposal.” Nicholas frowned and swallowed.

  David dragged a hand through his hair. “I never meant to suggest that my estate might aid in your decision of me as your husband.”

  “Did you not?” Nicholas reached for his wine and gulped it down.

  Jane ignored them both and sliced her meat into tiny pieces, tasting none. She stared down at her plate to see a disorderly pile of shredded meat as her earlier happiness faded. Despite the fact they were not engaged in a competition at present, the men were still competing.

  When David finished his meal, he excused himself from the table, saying he wished to join his men and prepare for another round of training in the morning.

  “Are you not hungry?” Nicholas asked Jane when they were alone.

  She sat back in her chair. “I find I have no appetite this evening.”

  “Perhaps you do not know yet what you hunger for?” He smiled at her.

  The innuendo in his words brought warmth back to her cheeks.

  He reached for a spiced, dried fig and pressed it to her lips. “You must keep up your strength for dancing and other pleasures, Jane.”

  Cinnamon-flavored sweetness flooded her mouth and the heat between them thickened in intensity. She looked away from his compelling gaze as the word “pleasures” resonated in her thoughts. He had no idea the pleasure he brought her with a simple touch or a glance.

  She shifted in her chair, suddenly uneasy with the intimacy of their seating. She looked down at the table and realized her mistake. His large and capable hands held another fig, and memories suddenly assaulted her of those broad, powerful fingers splaying against her back, holding her close earlier today.

  “Your cheeks are flushed,” Nicholas said softly. “Are you too warm?”

  Not warm. Melting. At his closeness, she felt as though her blood was running molten just beneath the surface of her flesh. She quickly picked up her goblet and drank deeply. />
  “Another fig?” he asked.

  She set her goblet down. “No, thank you.” Her goblet was immediately refilled. “Is it not time for the dancing to start?”

  His hand released the fig onto his plate and dropped casually to her knee. “There is plenty here to amuse us,” he said, reaching beneath the table and sliding his hand up her leg.

  She went rigid, her gaze flying to his face. He was looking straight ahead, but a whisper of a grin tugged at his lips. He knew what he was doing to her. “Nicholas.”

  He turned to her. A flush mantled his cheeks. “You still respond to my touch,” he whispered.

  The warmth of his palm burned through the layers of her dress and undergarments, and her limbs began to tremble. Her hand was unsteady as she reached for her goblet again.

  His hand moved higher, tightened with warmth, hunger, demand.

  A demand she must not answer. She made the mistake of closing her eyes and sensation flooded her. She snapped her eyes open and staggered to her feet. “It is time to dance.”

  Her announcement was met with cheers and laughter from the men at her table as well as their armsmen.

  “Who will we all dance with? There are only two ladies here,” Colin asked.

  Jane’s gaze connected with Marthe’s as she cleared the head table. Marthe nodded to her unspoken question. In response, she signaled her staff to set down their loads. Clearing the meal could wait. “There are twenty maids available as partners. Since there are no other options, perhaps this once we could break societal rules and allow the armsmen to dance with the servants.”

  Jane motioned to the musicians who had set up in the gallery. Immediately, the lilting strains of music filled the hall. The tables were moved back and all the females came forward, accepting her guests as partners.

  Lord Galloway made a bow to her aunt Margaret, then pulled the woman to her feet and into the dance. On a trill of laughter, Margaret swirled away, her color high, her eyes sparkling.

  Jane could not help but smile. Her aunt looked happy, truly happy in Lord Galloway’s arms, as the hall resounded with the merry sounds of music and laughter.

  “Shall we join them?” Nicholas slipped his hand in hers and guided her to the dancers. Caught up in the music, Jane soon found herself laughing out loud, pulled into the excitement. All the dancers joined hands and circled faster and faster about the hall before they broke and whirled away. Laughter bubbled up in her throat and she felt almost too breathless to release it. They changed partners and Jane stepped back, needing a moment of rest. The dancers beside her were only streaks of crimson, blue, green, and gold.

  “Jane,” a voice called, breaking into her reverie. She stilled. A hand reached out and pulled her from the whirling throng and behind a pillar.

  She gazed up to see Nicholas’s face before her. His raw penetrating gaze sent her blood pounding through her veins. The fabric of her gown that had once been so soft suddenly became heavy and abrasive against her skin.

  “We must join the others.” The candles in the hall blurred into blue-orange flames and the beat of the music echoed deep in her body.

  “No one will even notice we are gone.”

  Before she knew what he was doing, he cupped her head with one hand, brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, and bent his head to capture her lips.

  Jane could not move, could not think as his warm lips parted hers. The scent of cinnamon and bay leaves invaded her senses. Never in her life had she felt anything like his mouth on hers. This kiss pulled her back into all she remembered, yet it was different as well. This kiss was fierce and hot and startling.

  Every nerve in her body fired. She moaned low in her throat, though the sound was claimed by the music that pulsed around them. She had forgotten how devastating his kisses were. The warmth and strength of him pressed against her, numbed her to all else. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting desperately to taste more.

  He pinned her to the pillar. His chest pressed against hers, making her even more aware of his lean, hard muscles. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as her head swam. Her knees weakened and she sank deeper into him.

  “By the heavens,” he breathed, his voice a caress.

  The music ended. Jane pulled back, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

  “Not yet,” he growled, holding her close.

  A minute ticked by. She dropped her hands from his neck and took a step sideways. Her cheeks burned. What had she done? One look from him and she became everything his rumors had claimed her to be—a passionate seductress.

  “Jane, do not retreat from me. Not again.”

  She took another step away from him, bringing her fingers to her still-throbbing lips. She gave him a wistful look. “I should never have allowed that to happen.”

  “Do not fight what is between us.”

  She tensed, fighting the warmth that flared at his words. “There can be nothing between us, Nicholas, but this competition. A competition between you and five other men.”

  “There does not have to be.” He took a step toward her.

  “Nicholas, please?” She held up her hand, praying he would stop. If he touched her again she would shatter. The pain of longing mixed with the reality of the past. “I have forgiven you, but the wounds are still too raw.”

  Nicholas dragged in a breath. He ran his hands through his hair. His chest tightened as he looked into her face and saw the truth of her words, all those she held back, and those she had held in for so long. He saw for the first time what he had sensed since his return to her life. She had built a wall between them.

  He did not know how to breech it.

  He only knew he had to.

  She lowered her gaze and drew in a breath. She took another step back, drawing away literally and emotionally, reinforcing that wall. “Please let me go.”

  He held her gaze, forced himself to. “I understand your fear.”

  “How could you when I do not even understand it myself?” Her face paled. “With you I am in danger.” She shivered. “A danger I do not even understand.”

  But he did understand. She was afraid to go back there with him again, back to the void where only sensation and passion existed, where they both lost themselves in an attempt to be whole. “I can say a million times that I will never leave you, or do anything to harm you, but my actions will eventually speak louder than words.”

  She drew a careful breath, turned away, but did not leave.

  He took the few steps that separated them, halted behind her.

  She said nothing, but also did not move away.

  Gently, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. He pressed his head against her hair and waited until she relaxed. “I am here when you are ready.”

  She leaned back against him. He tightened his hold and swore on his heart that never again would he let her go, no matter what stood in their way. He pressed a kiss to her head. He knew enough about her not to coax her into more. She had to come back to him willingly and in her own time.

  He could wait, at least until Christmas Eve. He had to make her remember all they had shared. He had until Christmas Eve to make things right, to give her some reason to believe in him again.

  The next morning Jane rose early, before the first light of dawn appeared. She had not slept well, and her mind was even more restless than her body, still filled with foreboding about the competition today. Nicholas’s kisses still lingered on her lips.

  She found herself pacing her chamber, trying to remember all the reasons she should never allow herself to fall for the charming laird again. When she was with him, it was as if those years did not matter. Every moment and every touch took them back to the place they had been before. No, that was not true—their encounters were even more intense than they had been before.

  Too restless to stay in her chamber, Jane grabbed a cloak and headed down the long hall toward the stair that led to the wall walk. Outside, fing
ers of pink-orange light forced back the night. Dawn would soon be upon them.

  Jane drew a deep breath of the chill morning air as she strolled the long walkway, heading toward her favorite spot near the field where the men practiced. By the time she reached her usual nook in the crenellated stone, she realized two things.

  Nicholas could take her back to the moment before he had left if she would only let him. But did she want him to?

  Secondly, she was not the only one up at this hour. Peering over the edge of the castle wall, she studied the dark figure alone in the lists. The glow of a torch illuminated a small area where the man stood as still as a statue. His head was bowed, but she knew without seeing his face that it was Jules. He held a sword in his right hand.

  He was dressed only in a lightweight shirt, breeches, and boots despite the chill of the morning air. The warmth of his breath coiled with the silence of the morn. Slowly he straightened, then bowed as though to an imaginary adversary. His movements were slow and methodical at first. He kept his body loose, relaxed. His stance was balanced, his back straight, his chest and torso forward. He slid his feet across the ground, reducing the chance of losing his balance. To win a fight meant staying in control. And it looked as if Jules was in control of both his mind and body this morning.

  Jules maintained his weapon from the middle of his body to the top of his head as he met and blocked blows from his imaginary opponent, before proceeding with several strikes of his own. With his elbows bent and his sword close to his body he moved up and down the open space. His agile body was poised and confident as he flowed through the steps of the battle again and again until sweat soaked his linen shirt and curled the ends of his blond hair. His steps were light, his stroke sure, honing muscle he had lost during his incarceration. Only a slight hitch in his step gave away the fact that he was still recovering from his wound.

  Jane watched in fascinated wonder as Jules’s steps grew stronger, more certain. She knew without a doubt, it was Bryce’s abuse that had prompted this early-morning practice. Jules would never show his physical weakness again.

  She watched him in silence until dawn gave way to early morning. When he had finally tortured himself enough, he headed inside, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She leaned her head against the cold stone of Bellhaven and closed her eyes.