A Laird for Christmas

by Gerri Russell

  “Milady,” he greeted her with a bow of his head.

  She allowed her gaze to travel to his hands. In them, he held a mass of pink—it was the very same fabric from the gown she had worn yesterday eve at the banquet.

  “I know the challenge was to make something that might represent Christmastide, but I could not come up with an idea.” Colin held up his offering. “This is what came to mind. Because there were no flowers in the garden when we went there, I decided to create one for you today.”

  It was a flower. Jane accepted the unruly tangle of fabric and thread. After a long moment of study, she said, “You have captured the chaos of a rosebud before it is about to bloom into a beautiful flower.”

  His brows drew together for a heartbeat before he smiled. “Ah, yes, that was my intent.”

  She brought the bud to her nose and closed her eyes. “I can imagine the first scent of spring upon the petals.”

  She opened her eyes at the touch of his fingers upon hers. “You are nothing if not kind, Lady Jane,” he said, offering her that gorgeous smile of his.

  She placed Colin’s creation on the table with the others and moved to her final suitor.

  Lord Galloway’s pose was casual as he leaned one shoulder against the wall, his gaze fixed on both the woman beside him and the woman who approached at the same time. Something was different about Lord Galloway this morning. He still offered Jane his usual seductive grin and he had arranged his body so that it was difficult to ignore all his male perfection—perfection that no one with functioning eyes would rate as less than phenomenal. His manliness was guaranteed to distract any living, breathing woman.

  Jane shifted her gaze to her aunt. And distract her aunt he did. He took Jane’s hand and pressed a light kiss to the back. Margaret’s gaze fixed on each movement, followed his every breath. Jane blinked. Never had she seen her aunt so enthralled.

  Lady Margaret was smitten with the man.

  Jane pulled her hand away and stepped back, suddenly uneasy with the thought of this man vying for both her and her aunt’s attention. Her nerves tightened. “Lord Galloway, what do you have to show for your efforts with needle and thread?” Jane asked, praying the article would be something much worse than Colin’s attempt at a flower.

  “For you,” he said as he slowly unfurled the golden mass in his hand. The fabric rippled with the movement, then settled to reveal a triangle of gold fabric trimmed in a narrow band of delicate lace.

  Groans of disgust sounded behind her as she stared in awe at his creation. “You made this? In two hours?”

  He picked up the edges and settled the garment about her shoulders.

  The light, airy shawl molded to her. Jane brought her fingers up to feel the smooth edges of the lace. “How in heaven’s name did you create lace?”

  He gave her a devilish smile. “I was raised in a house of women. I know a great many things that are more of the feminine persuasion.”

  Jane fixed her gaze on her aunt’s face. Margaret greeted her with a sad half smile. “The winner of this competition could not be more obvious.”

  The weight of the shawl suddenly became oppressive. Jane slipped it from her shoulders. How could she possibly declare any of the other men the winner after such a display of craft? She found it difficult to comprehend what had transpired with her aunt in the matter of a few days with regard to Lord Galloway. Did the man notice the way her aunt looked at him? Could he get out of the way of his own magnificence to even see her at all?

  “Lord Galloway, I agree with my aunt. You are the obvious winner here.”

  He beamed.

  Lady Margaret turned away.

  Jane’s heart fell, but some small part of her mind persisted in churning through ideas. There had to be a way…

  “I have already determined how we will spend our time alone,” he said in a low, raspy tone. He placed the shawl he had created over her arm. “You can wear this tonight for our intimate supper… alone,” he said, looking over her shoulder with a satisfied grin. The look was no doubt aimed at his competition. “We will not be leaving the castle, so there is no need for chaperones. Give me a few hours to arrange things, then I will send someone for you.”

  She nodded absently as Lord Galloway took both her hands and kissed them. “Until later, my dear.”

  Dinner alone.

  At his words, an idea formed that had nothing to do with the two of them being alone. Deep in thought, she leaned against the wall and sighed.

  “He has that effect on me as well,” Margaret said, turning back to watch Lord Galloway leave the chamber.

  Jane pushed away from the wall. Eagerness filled her. The man might have a dinner to prepare for, but she had a few plans of her own.

  “Margaret,” she said, grasping her aunt by the hand and hauling her past the men who remained in the chamber. “Come with me. There are things to be done.”

  “I am pleased that you are finally getting into the spirit of this competition, but my dear, I have no heart to help you prepare for this occasion.”

  Jane smiled and cast a look back at her aunt’s puzzled expression. “You will. Trust me. By the end of the night, I hope your heart, along with other parts of you, are truly engaged.”

  Jane’s heart began to pound in expectation as she followed Egan up the staircase to the west tower. He hesitated at the doorway before opening it to the outside.

  “His lordship asked that you put this on before joining him,” Egan said, handing her an oiled fur cloak.

  “Do you remember your instructions?” Jane asked.

  The young servant nodded. “As soon as I deliver you, I am to go find Lady Margaret and tell her you are unwell and that you need her assistance,” he repeated for the third time in the past hour.

  She smiled at his indulgence. “Thank you, Egan.”

  A stain of pink came to his cheeks as he threw the door open and announced her presence.

  She steeled herself for the night she had planned. Her aunt had no notion of what she intended. Margaret had simply moved through the steps of Jane’s preparations for her time alone with Lord Galloway with a sad look in her soft blue eyes. When Jane had set her aunt in the chair before the dressing table, she had asked what Jane’s intentions for such a thing were. Jane merely stated she was trying a new style on her aunt in preparation for the wedding.

  Margaret had gone along with the scenario when Jane had demanded she try on her best gown, and then proceeded to lace the dress a bit tighter than was her norm, molding the gown to her aunt’s trim form. Then she had had to endure one last heartbreaking glance from her aunt when Egan had come to collect her. Margaret had wished Jane well and turned quickly around, no doubt in an effort to hide her pain.

  The memory faded as the chill evening air registered against Jane’s cheeks. She looked about the tower as a funny little ache centered in her chest. Lord Galloway had converted the tower from its militaristic purpose to a romantic alcove.

  He had gone to a lot of trouble on her behalf. On her left, illuminated by ten torches all around the circular tower, were a small table and two chairs. He had covered the table in a cream linen cloth, then set two places with pewter plates. In the center of the table a candle was lit and a bottle of wine stood ready to pour. Beside the wine rested a tureen of what smelled like roasted meat stew.

  Lord Galloway stood on her right, unaware of her presence. His dark head was slightly bent as he gazed at a cheery little fire he had set atop a stone slab. He stood with one booted foot propped up on the slab. One hand rested on his knee, the other at his side. He wore no cloak, only a soft black jacket, a soft linen shirt, and dark breeches. Despite what she had planned, Jane could not help but notice the sheer male beauty of his wide, masculine shoulders, his broad back and narrow hips.

  There was something in the sober way he was staring into the fire that touched her heart. Then, as if sensing her presence, he suddenly straightened and turned to her. A smile came to his lips that did not q
uite reach his eyes. Could it be that his thoughts were on someone other than her?

  “Come over by the fire,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Jane accepted it and allowed him to pull her toward the flames. A cocoon of warmth encompassed them. Despite the heat, she shivered. It was time to put on the performance of her life.

  Jane swayed on her feet and groaned.

  Lord Galloway’s grip on her hand tightened. His brows came together. “Are you well?”

  “I am dizzy.”

  He led her away from the fire to the chairs and set her into one. “How long has it been since you have eaten? Perhaps you need food?”

  Jane wrapped her arms about her middle, doubled over, and moaned. “Merciful heavens, I think I am going to be sick.”

  The door to the tower opened and Margaret raced toward her. “What has happened now?” her aunt asked, her ashen face wreathed with concern. She kneeled at Jane’s side.

  At the pained expression on her aunt’s face, Jane truly felt gore rising in her throat. When she had devised the plan to get her aunt to trade places with her for the night, she had not considered Margaret’s worry.

  “It is merely a momentary thing,” she assured her aunt, trying to straighten, then doubled over again. “I suddenly feel a little ill. I can attempt to go through with tonight’s events. Surely the nausea will pass.”

  Jane stood. “Perhaps I need a little air.” She staggered over to the crenellated wall and forced herself to draw an overly dramatic breath.

  Lady Margaret stood, then stiffened as though suddenly realizing Lord Galloway’s presence. “Lord Galloway,” she breathed, her gaze pinned to his.

  From her vantage point, Jane watched as Lord Galloway stood perfectly still. His gaze lit on Margaret’s face a moment before shifting to her aunt’s long curls, which Jane had artfully coiled with a strand of pearls. He skimmed over the long line of Margaret’s neck, across the square neckline that exposed the tops of her full breasts. He swallowed thickly as he continued down her thin waist, over the curves of her hips and down to her feet, then back up again.

  His look was personal, and possessive.

  Jane hid a smile as she doubled over again, issuing another heartfelt groan. The sooner she was out of the way, the sooner her aunt and Lord Galloway could continue with the evening.

  Margaret twisted toward Jane. “My dear, let me take you inside.”

  “No, I cannot leave Lord Galloway alone after all the trouble he went to on my behalf.”

  “You cannot stay. Not in your condition,” Margaret said. “You need a warm fire and a cold compress to the forehead.”

  Jane shifted her gaze to Egan, who waited at the door. “I could see to those things, milady.” He came forward and took Jane’s arm as she had instructed him, helping her forward.

  “But what about Lord Galloway?” Jane screwed her face into a look of heartbreak solely for her aunt’s benefit.

  “I suppose I could stay with him, if he would welcome my company in place of yours?” Her gaze filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

  The somber expression that had been in Lord Galloway’s eyes since Jane first arrived suddenly vanished. A look of utter contentment came over him as he took Lady Margaret’s hands in his own and led her to the table. “I would be honored to have you as my guest.”

  Jane leaned on Egan to complete the deception as they headed out the doorway and down the stairs. Out of sight, she straightened, thanked Egan once again for his role, and headed for her bedchamber feeling better than she had in a very long time.

  Margaret’s breath stuttered in her chest when she realized the sensual look in Lord Galloway’s dark brown eyes was all for her. “I am scared to death to be here with you.”

  “Most women are terrified to be alone with me,” he teased with a lazy, devastating smile. He watched her as if he never wanted to stop.

  “Not because of your reputation,” Margaret said.

  “So you know of my many exploits.”

  She felt a small thrill of satisfaction. “Of course I do. I know everything about you. I had to before I allowed you access to my niece.”

  She watched in wary alarm as he leaned toward her, his face closer to hers than it had ever been. She hurriedly took a sip of her wine, then another, trying to settle her nerves. When she ran out of excuses not to look at him, she returned her gaze to his probing stare.

  “I have done some investigating of you as well, my love,” he said. “And I am not displeased with your past.” The husky sincerity of his voice snatched her breath away again.

  “My past?”

  “Your husband. His demise.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “He died in my arms.”

  “I can think of no better way to die.” He lifted his hand and grazed her cheek, then took the wine from her hands and set it on the table. His gaze turned warm and sensual.

  “You must be mad,” she said, her voice quavering. Sensation rippled up and down her spine. The heat of his touch scorched her.

  “Mad about you.” He drew her closer, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting her gaze to his. “And the challenge you pose. How exciting to be the one who survives your passion.”

  “You are meant to be Jane’s suitor.” Margaret’s voice squeaked.

  “There are five other men who would welcome my withdrawal from this competition.”

  Margaret’s entire body started to tremble at his intimate touch. That alarming heat was doing strange things to her head. Her vision blurred.

  He brought his lips to hers and savored her slowly before leaving her lips to kiss the line of her jaw. Her heart raced. Sounds muted. The world stopped.

  Delicious sensation danced over her flesh as his lips brushed back and forth across her ear, then his tongue touched the lobe and began delicately tracing each curve, slowly probing. She shivered as waves of tension shot through her.

  Her vision doubled, then cleared. At her trembling response he tightened his arms around her, supporting her. His lips traced scorching kisses down her neck. His warm breath stirred her hair and warmed the pearls that hung there against her neck. “How did I not see your loveliness the moment I entered Bellhaven Castle?” he whispered, his voice achingly gentle as his mouth retraced the path it had come.

  Margaret clung to him as her head suddenly throbbed. Her vision blurred again. She shook her head. A grave mistake, she realized, as her stomach roiled in agony. She gasped and pulled back, gazing with desperation into his face.

  “Margaret?” he asked with a frown.

  Her mouth went dry. “Awwa abbaww.” She struggled to swallow. Her tongue thickened. Her chest constricted.

  “My love, what is it?” Lord Galloway gazed at her with concern.

  An acid taste lingered on her tongue. Her stomach twisted. Her lungs burned. On a groan, she pitched forward, collapsing into his arms.

  “Margaret!”

  Poison. Lord Galloway’s face was grim as he sat at the edge of Margaret’s bed. “Someone poisoned the wine with hemlock,” he told Jane with barely contained anger.

  That wine had been meant for her. Blood roared in Jane’s ears. She could not breathe. She balled her hands into fists and felt her nails biting into her flesh as she fought for composure. She welcomed the pain—it gave her something to focus on rather than her guilt.

  The doctor had been to see Margaret. He had given her something that had forced her to heave up the contents of her stomach. Doing so had saved her life.

  Jane felt tears deep inside her, building, gathering force until they nearly choked her. Yet she refused to let them fall. The only thing that mattered at present was her aunt.

  “Should I have the healer look at you while he is here?” Lord Galloway asked, concern deepening his voice. “Your stomach?”

  Her lies threaded through her pain and weighed her down. “I am recovered.” Tears scalded her eyes.

  Lord Galloway studied her. “Do not blame yourself
for any of this.”

  Jane swallowed roughly. She could not lose another person she loved. There had been so much loss already. “If only I had stayed.…”

  “Then I never would have confronted my feelings about your aunt.” He offered her a calm, serene smile. “If not for you, my heart might not feel so full it might burst.”

  At his words, the grief she had been holding at bay welled inside her, spilling onto her cheeks in hot, wet tears. “Why would someone do this?” she asked in a broken voice.

  “Someone wants you out of the way. Obviously they are going to great lengths to see that happens.”

  “That they were able to poison the wine means they are in this castle.”

  “We will find them,” he assured, “before they succeed.”

  Jane brushed the hair from her face with a shaking hand. “I will not give them a chance to harm Margaret again.” She met Lord Galloway’s gaze. “Will you take her away from here? Away from me? On her own, she will be safe.”

  “Not… going,” Margaret rasped. Her eyes fluttered open and she drew a labored breath.

  “Margaret.” Lord Galloway’s eyes glittered brightly.

  Margaret’s gaze found his, as she noticed he was in the room. “You stayed… with me?”

  “Always.” The passionate force of his voice almost convinced Jane he could hold back death if he choose to. He stroked Margaret’s cheek softly.

  “Jane.” He turned to her. “There is something I need to tell you.” He lifted Margaret’s hand and placed a kiss upon the back of it with tender care. “I am withdrawing from the competition.” He set Margaret’s hand down and reached up to brush a lock of her hair off her forehead. “My heart is here, with your aunt.”

  Only an hour before she had thought herself incapable of feeling ever again, but to her surprise stirrings of hope blossomed. “I could not be happier for you both,” Jane said with a smile.

  Margaret blushed at her newfound love. “Let us hope… your heart… survives our first night… together.”