Christmas in the Highlands: Anthology with 2 Stories

by Madelyn Hill

  “A sweet lass,” Cam said with a shrug. “Despite the bastard of a father.”

  Malcolm dragged his fingers through his hair. The clan depended on him to ensure not only their safety, but their well-being. They needed a lady who’d care for them, keep them strong, and keep him in line. And he’d promised himself a Christmas bride.

  Nowhere in the prospect of finding a bride did he think there’d be a mutual attraction and respect; a growing emotion. Not to mention my aching cock. But his former betrothed had forsaken him and run away, thus affecting the security of his own decisions. ‘Twas excellent Cam could see the goodness in Lady Rossalyn as well. Malcolm trusted the man with his life and that of the clan. To hear him say the words eased some of his uncertainty.

  But he had to keep a clear mind, not one befuddled with a comely lass, despite the fact she was his wife.

  Malcolm steeled himself as he paced toward the camp, a demand for his heart and mind not to be captivated by his wife.

  His clan and sanity depended on it.

  Chapter 5

  The wagon rolled and pitched as they climbed higher into the Highlands. Would they ever reach their destination? ‘Twas getting harder and harder to keep Mairi hidden. Each night they’d sneak out to find fresh water or stretch their legs. If there were no riders behind the wagon, she’d let Mairi stand and move about. But, ‘twas not often the wagon wasn’t surrounded by her husband’s men.

  Surprisingly, her father had chosen the Sutherland clan wisely. The men were well trained and serious in their duty to their laird. Loyalty was obvious as was their affection for her husband. Many a time she heard their discussions as they traveled. When the clansmen spoke of him reverently, pride straightened their spines and broadened their shoulders.

  Such a change from the Gordon men, who were more likely to fight each other than support the clan.

  Laird Sutherland continued to seek her company, but he’d appeared more aloof. Reserved. She searched her mind wondering if she’d offended him, but she could think of nothing. Mayhap it was better this way, maintaining a distance from her husband and keeping her secret a little longer. At least until they reached Sutherland Keep and she could explain why her father had deceived him, and her own complicity in not coming forward with the truth.

  Since a persistent drizzle had kept her to the protection of the wagon, she’d become nearly as restless as Mairi. Sutherland’s men brought her food, allowed her a few moments of privacy, but quickly secured her back in the wagon before moving northward.

  “When shall we arrive at the keep?”

  She smiled at her daughter. “Soon, I wager. And then,” she said as she kissed Mairi’s sweet nose, “you shall enjoy yourself every single day, my love.”

  A twinkle flashed in Mairi’s eyes. “Then I shall have sweets to break my fast and a pony to ride.”

  Rossalyn laughed. Och, she’d promised too much!

  “Tell me a story,” Mairi begged. Rossalyn nearly refused, but the lass had been so good, she deserved whatever she asked for.

  “What type of story?”

  Mairi scrunched her nose as she thought. Och, she looked so much like Daniel. “Tell me about Christmas.”

  The poor lass hadn’t celebrated Christmas, but had heard Rossalyn speak of past celebrations. Her curiosity was never sated, no matter how many times Rossalyn told the stories.

  “Hmmm. My first Christmas with your father was so lovely. He’d been hunting and brought home a large buck. Cook made every dish imaginable and the sweets—so delicious. Och, the tree was lit with so many candles I was nearly blinded. But ‘twas much more special because of you.”

  Her daughter’s brow quirked. “Me?”

  “Aye,” Rossalyn said as she tweaked her nose. “I kenned you were growing in my belly.” She patted her stomach. “We were so happy.”

  Daniel had shouted throughout the entire keep when she told him. Many a toast was raised that evening, their first Christmas and a bairn. Her mother and father were so pleased. They’d smiled and laughed, even danced a bit. Aye, ‘twas a wonderful memory and a wonderful time of year filled with dancing and merriment, the love of a good man and a bairn on the way. ‘Twas special, but those special moments were gone too soon.

  That evening, her mother had gone to sleep and never woke. Tragic and devastating was their loss.

  Both Rossalyn and her father were never the same—but her father—och, he’d become the devil. Full of drink and belligerence. More often than not, he’d strike against anyone for a look or misspoken word. The keep went to ruin and the people were either too frightened or too quarrelsome to protest or take matters into their own hands.

  Aye, and a few months after Mairi was born, her father had raged against her for the spoiled ale. Daniel had come to her defense. Rossalyn often wondered why she’d caught the blame when the steward was the only one allowed in the buttery and oversaw the ale.

  Then had come the dawning. He couldn’t stand her happiness. His wife was dead. And Rossalyn didn’t have the right to be happily wed. Every smile and hoot of laughter was like a stab in his eye. ‘Twas why he provoked the argument because he kenned Daniel would fight him, especially when her father tried to raise his hand to her.

  If only she could have foreseen his plan, sensed his temper that eve. Then Daniel would be alive and well. They’d still be a family.

  She brushed away the sadness, and tucked Mairi against the back of the wagon, pulling a blanket tight about her chin. “Now sleep, my love.”

  “M’lady?”

  Her heart sank to her stomach as she furtively glanced between her daughter and the edge of the wagon covering, where Malcolm stood. “Aye,” she said as she turned and held her finger to her lips, scooting Mairi further beneath the blanket.

  “Remember our game, my love.” She winked at her daughter and left the wagon.

  “We’ll arrive before nightfall,” he stated.

  Startled, she glanced toward the mountain before her and saw traces of smoke far in the distance, the stone walls of a keep.

  Their new home. Sutherland Keep.

  “When we arrive, I will introduce you.” He followed her gaze, though a deep furrow pinched his brow. “I expect you to care for my people.”

  Her eyes widened. Did he think she didn’t ken what it meant to be lady of the keep? “Aye, m’laird.” She thought a moment. Of course he’d question her capabilities after he’d seen her home and its state.

  “And,” he said with a low growl, “we’ll celebrate Christmas.”

  If possible her heart beat faster against her chest. Hope surged and she could barely catch her breath.

  Christmas.

  Tears blurred her vision. How excited Mairi would be.

  She quickly envisioned a keep filled with mistletoe, pine, and food. Och, the meals they’d enjoy—and dancing, ‘twould be merry dancing for all. She’d ensure a special time for the clan as their new lady and most especially for her wee daughter.

  He tipped up her chin and she couldn’t tell if his scowl was because he was vexed or confused. “I do not mean to make you sad.”

  She shook her head and covered his hands with her own. “Nay, m’laird. I am so pleased.”

  His scowl deepened. “Pleased?”

  “Aye.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. She lingered, enthralled with his generosity and the scent of leather and male. He placed his hand at the small of her back, bracing her against him.

  A rider approached, spewing up dirt and rocks as the horse barreled down the pathway. The closer the rider came, Rossalyn realized ‘twas a woman. Her hair flew behind her with abandon and her arisaid waved in the wind like a flapping sail.

  Her husband grinned, then pulled away and walked toward the woman.

  “Malcolm,” the wo
man called as she quickly dismounted. “We’ve been waiting for ages. Did you secure the needed supplies?”

  Malcolm turned to the woman and threw his head back, laughing. Rossalyn gripped her chest at the sound coming from him. Why, ‘twas merry, jovial, and incredibly attractive. She found herself smiling along with him.

  “I see you couldn’t wait for us, impatient lass.”

  The lovely woman ran to Malcolm and jumped into his arms. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  There was something in her tone that alerted Rossalyn to move forward and gain the woman’s attention.

  “And who is this? Some woman you found wandering the Highlands in need of rescue?” There was nothing friendly in her tone; nay, a direct warning laced her words.

  “Fiona.” Malcolm removed her arms from around his neck. “I did secure the goods we needed and will continue to need.”

  He’d obviously kept the details of the alliance from his clan.

  The woman pouted and Rossalyn wanted to slap her. Mostly because this Fiona was truly one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Long red hair curled over her shoulders and down her back. And Fiona possessed a figure Rossalyn knew men lusted after—full breasts, impossibly small waist.

  Piercing green eyes directed hatred in Rossalyn’s direction. She smoothed a hand over her skirt, knowing she looked like a wretch.

  “Who is she, Malcolm?” Fiona paced toward her and looked down her nose. “She could do with a bath.”

  Rossalyn squared her shoulders. How dare the woman talk to her with such disrespect?

  “Fiona,” Malcolm growled. “You will not speak to my lady in such a manner.”

  An ugly sneer contorted the woman’s face. Rossalyn straightened and attempted a haughty mien, despite the chill racing up her spine.

  “Your what?”

  Malcolm came to Rossalyn’s side and pulled her to him. “Lady Rossalyn and I were wed before I left Gordon Keep.” His arm steadied her and she was thankful for his support.

  “How could you?” Fiona screeched as she lunged for him. “We were to wed. We were promised.”

  “Enough,” Cam yelled as he paced toward them. “Haud yer wheesh.” He gripped Fiona’s arm and dragged her away, forcing her to mount her horse. When he returned, he bowed to Rossalyn. “Please forgive her, m’lady. She knows not what she says.”

  She offered a smile and nodded. “Please do not worry, Cam.”

  He played the rogue and winked at her. “Thank you, m’lady.” Then he was off, presumably to ensure the lass did as she was told.

  “That was very gracious of you.” Malcolm turned her toward him, his brows pinched and his gaze intense. “What to make of you? One moment I want to ravish you and the next, I want to send you back to your bastard of a father.”

  “I prefer the first, rather than the latter.” She offered a hesitant smile, then realized what she had said. “M’laird, I did not mean—”

  He held up a hand as a quick grin lifted his mouth. He brushed the hair from his brow. “Fiona—” he started.

  “Aye, I believe she is enamored with you.” Rossalyn tried to keep the mood light, for she liked the smile playing on his mouth and the softness of his gaze. And his touch left her a bit breathless.

  “She believes a childhood pledge between a lad and a lass.” With a rueful frown, he shook his head. “Any other time, such a pledge might be honored, but the promise of a boy of only nine summers cannot be taken seriously. We’ve never been able to convince her otherwise.”

  “No matter.” She released a held breath and dared to look into his eyes. His brows had lowered as if he were warring with himself. Then slowly, torturously, he moved toward her until he plundered her lips in a kiss.

  Dear God Almighty, would she ever get used to the hot surge of desire racing through her body at his touch?

  Malcolm teased and nipped, tasted and licked. Heat pooled deep within her womb and she ached for him. ‘Twas a wonderful and frightening feeling, the power this man held over her with just a kiss.

  She moaned as he kissed along her jaw, nuzzled at the sensitive spot just below her ear. His hot breath fanned along her skin, tantalizing. So . . . so . . . incredible. She gripped his shoulders, gaining purchase in his broad muscles, lest she weaken and fall.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered along his trail of kisses. “So lovely.”

  She smiled, loving his mouth along her skin.

  “Mother?”

  Chapter 6

  Malcolm tore himself from Rossalyn and turned toward the soft voice of a child.

  “Mairi, no,” his wife wailed.

  The lass is hers?

  The child ran toward Rossalyn, burying her face against her bosom. Tears raced down Rossalyn’s cheeks as her mouth contorted as if in pain. “Please,” she begged, “you must understand.”

  Anger unfurled, slowly, but potently.

  He was fooled. Again.

  “She is yours, no?” he ground out.

  More tears fell and her chin trembled.

  He didn’t give a damn.

  “She is yours?”

  She nodded and gripped her daughter closer. The lass looked at him with fear in her big eyes as she clung to her mother.

  “And her father?”

  Were they even legally wed?

  She glanced up at him. “He’s dead.”

  At least she hadn’t completely humiliated him with this deception. “Cam!” he bellowed. “We return to the Gordon Keep.”

  “Nay,” Rossalyn cried. She gently moved her daughter behind her. “Nay!”

  He rested his fists on his hips and glared at her. “You dare tell me nay?” The woman was daft. “You have lied to me.”

  She gripped his shirt. “Please do not make us go,” she pleaded.

  He pushed her away. “I was promised a chaste wife.” His gaze cut to the lass. “And you are not. Who kens what else you have lied about?” Deceit plagued him—tore at his soul. First with the woman he was going to marry and now with the woman he had wed.

  She fell into a heap before him, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

  Cam arrived and took in the scene before him. “M’laird?” His man’s discomfort was obvious as he tried not to look at Rossalyn and Mairi, but his gaze shifted between them in confusion.

  “We will return to Gordon Keep.”

  He sputtered. “M’laird, the men are weary—the horses need to rest.” Cam leaned closer. “Your wife needs the comfort of the keep.”

  Malcolm didn’t give a damn what his wife needed. He would be rid of her.

  She had deceived him.

  Cam gripped his shoulder. Malcolm glared at his Sargent-at-Arms, a man he trusted.

  “Think of the lass, Malcolm.” He removed his hand when Malcolm growled. “She’s a wee thing and would surely perish if we do not allow her to rest.”

  Malcolm sighed and looked to the heavens for guidance. As if God were listening, snow began to fall; slowly, but ‘twas snow. He spared the lass a glance and she stared at him with those wide eyes of hers. Pools of tears settled within them and one slipped over her lashes.

  Bollocks.

  “Proceed to the keep,” he said in a low growl. Then he’d deal with his wife and her child. Even if it meant resting before heading back to Gordon on the morrow.

  “M’laird.” Rossalyn swiped at the tears treading down her face. “Thank you.”

  He looked down his nose at her. He’d been swayed by her beauty. Anger clenched his muscles. “Your fate is yet to be determined, m’lady.”

  She faltered as she tried to lead her daughter back to the wagon. The lass kept her gaze pinned on him and damned if he didn’t feel as if he were a monster. Malcolm swept his hand through his ha
ir and released a rough sigh.

  He didn’t deal in untruths. He would never trick someone into a marriage under false pretense. How had he managed to choose two women who’d deceived him?

  “Don’t let her leave the wagon,” he ordered Cam.

  Cam nodded, but Malcolm felt his censure. No matter. He was laird of the Sutherlands. Not Cam, not his wife. He would make the decisions and mete out the punishments.

  Cam came toward him. “Do not judge her too harshly, m’laird.”

  “They both lied,” he growled.

  His man sighed and watched Rossalyn gently guide Mairi toward the wagon. “You saw Gordon, his men—the keep. A gentlewoman should never have to live amongst that filth.”

  “No matter.” Malcolm cut his hand through the air. “The laird and priest swore she was chaste.”

  Cam cursed beneath his breath. “Did you ask her why? Perhaps she didn’t lie at all.”

  He snapped his gaze to Cam. “Come on, man. Why would she hide the lass if she didn’t ken what Gordon had promised?”

  “She is not Trina, Malcolm.”

  “How dare you judge me? She lied, the same as Trina.”

  And as soon as he could, he’d rid himself of his wife, to be sure.

  “Don’t cry, Mother.”

  Rossalyn pulled her daughter close and snuggled against her soft, curly hair. Och, Mairi was her heart. If they returned to Gordon Keep, her father would bring his wrath upon them. She cared not for herself, but Mairi . . .

  “Do not worry for me, my love.” She kissed Mairi’s brow and pulled a blanket over them. Soon they’d arrive at the Sutherland Keep and their fate would await them.

  Surely the people would shun her if her husband shared her deceit. Would he? Of course he would. He’d said he was going to return her to Gordon land. If Cam hadn’t stepped in, they’d be on their way back to hell. Time would only tell how her husband was going to punish her.