Christmas in the Highlands: Anthology with 2 Stories

by Madelyn Hill

  All because Cam had taken liberties.

  “Tell me the truth of it,” Brae insisted.

  She flushed and glanced at the woman. “He’d done something I didn’t care for.” Her voice shook. Truth be told, she’d enjoyed it, which frightened her. All these years she’d yearned for Malcolm’s love . . . and Cam’s kisses had her forgetting Mal was alive. Was her heart truly so fickle?

  “You were vexed because he sent you food to break your fast?”

  “What?”

  “Aye,” Brae confirmed. “The lad bade me to send food to your chamber this morn.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Och.” Brae tossed up her hands. “Think, lass.”

  Fiona did, then frowned and shrugged. “Nay, I ken not.”

  Impossible that Cam cared for her, kiss be damned. Caught up in the moment of saving her from her fall, he’d become overly romantic. Aye, ‘twas naught else. She brushed her hands on her skirt and began cleaning up her baking mess. ‘Twas worth the effort to bring Cam his favorite tart.

  Thoughts swirled in her head. Cam, feeling responsible? Was that why he followed her throughout the day?

  Brae moved around the table with a speed that belied her age and girth. She gripped Fiona’s hands within her own. “Lass, don’t be a ninny. The lad is enamored with you.”

  Her heart pounded as she thought of Brae’s words and Cam’s kiss. A kiss contradicting all she held dear. She was so confused. Could she have forgotten the man she’d loved since she was a lass? And for the first man she kissed?

  “Did you hear me, lass?” Brae pushed. “He’s smitten.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Brae, Cam was only helping me.”

  “Then why are you making the lad pastry? Everyone kens he loves sweets.”

  Fiona edged away, but Brae gripped her arm. “Answer me, lass.”

  Pulling from Brae’s grasp, she crossed to the fire and checked on the pastry. ‘Twas done. “I have to bring this to Cam.”

  “Aye. Do that, lass. And see you don’t slap the lad again.”

  Chapter 4

  She strolled toward him. Fiona.

  Then she stopped, and started again. Carrying a platter and looking a wee bit contrite. ‘Twasn’t a common look for her. Bold, curious, aye. But never contrite or timid.

  Cam waited.

  As she glanced at him, those brilliant, green eyes filled with a shimmer of tears. His breath hitched. God, she is beautiful.

  “I made this for you,” she said briskly as she shoved the platter toward him.

  He glanced down and saw a tart. Apple, apparently. Scorched around the edges; doughy and raw in the middle.

  “I’m sorry, Cam.”

  He peered into her eyes and fell into those bottomless green depths. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he wanted naught more than to gather her in his arms and suckle on her plump lower lip. A grin lifted his mouth. She’d made him a tart. Apple was his favorite, to be sure. He eyed the treat in her hands. If it was apple, ‘twas hard to discern.

  He gazed at her again. The sunlight kissed her hair with a golden glow. It took all of his strength not to run his fingers through the thick tresses. Her bottom lip was set in a frown. He so wanted to skim his thumb over it, then lean in and suckle there.

  The last time he had such thoughts and acted upon them, she slapped him.

  Aye, slapped him.

  He still felt the heat of her hand against his cheek. As a man—nay, a Highlander—he couldn’t allow such an affront, no matter how he felt about her.

  Not even if she tried to make amends.

  Some of his father’s words emerged from Cam’s few memories of the man. Always treat a lass as if she were the most precious thing God made. For she is.

  At this moment, it was hard to think such thoughts about Fiona.

  But the memory had him holding out his hand to accept the tart. “Thank you.”

  Her pulse beat at the apex of her neck, fluttering beneath her pale skin as she stood before him. Despite his anger over the way she treated him, he longed to kiss the spot, touch the soft flesh he kenned would taste like flour and honey, judging by the amount of both tangled within her hair.

  Instead of succumbing to his desires, he held firm.

  “Please, forgive me.” Her earnest tone had him taking a step forward. She palmed his forearm, her hand warm.

  Blood rushed to his cods. If only she kenned how her touch affected him.

  He shifted the tart and wrapped his free arm around her.

  “Nay.” She held up a staying hand. “Not again.” Panic widened her gaze; her chest heaved.

  “Fiona. Calm yourself.”

  “Don’t Fiona me, Cam. Do not kiss me again.”

  Cam chuckled. “You may deny, but your eyes, lass, they say you want my kiss as much as I want to kiss you.”

  A soft sigh slipped past her lips, leaving them slightly open and damn, so tempting.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. She lowered her gaze, her lashes fanned upon her flushed cheek.

  He swallowed a groan.

  Without another word spoken, Fiona pulled away, turned, and ran.

  As Cam gazed at her, regret filled him. He was in love with a woman who clearly didn’t love him.

  And while he pledged she’d be his by Christmas, serious doubts filled his mind.

  Fiona gripped her skirt to stop her hands from trembling. God help her, she’d wanted to kiss him. Aye, wanted to feel his strong arms around her as she snuggled against him.

  How could her eye be turned by another man when Mal owned her heart from years ago as a wee lass, tagging along with the lads? Even when she’d forgotten her hoydenish ways, her devotion still belonged to the lad she’d wed in the glen behind the keep. And now it seemed disloyal, even though he was taken by another.

  Och, what was she to do?

  She moved to look over her shoulder then stopped herself. There could be no more interaction between them. ‘Twouldn’t be fair.

  His gaze followed her; she felt it as she paced across the bailey. She had to get away from him, away from his scrutiny. So she entered the keep and headed toward the main hall.

  “Fiona, lass,” Brae called.

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. “Aye?”

  “Come and enjoy a wee bit of tea.”

  Not certain if she could refuse without hurting the poor woman’s feelings, Fiona sat by the fire and accepted the tea.

  “Drink up, lass.” Brae offered a biscuit. “Did you finish looking in on the elders?”

  “Nay. I’ve a few more to visit.” Fiona dunked the biscuit into the tea and bit into the soggy, delicious mess. After she’d spoken to David and then made the tart, time had slipped by. “What do you really want to ken, Brae?”

  The woman chuckled and jiggled her tea so it slipped over the rim of the cup. She hastily wiped at her apron. “I’m wondering how our Cam enjoyed the tart.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes heavenward. “He thanked me graciously, of course.”

  Brae hooted with laughter. “And after he took a bite?”

  Ire flash as her face heated. “I don’t ken.”

  “Ah, lass. I’m sure he appreciated your effort.” She patted Fiona’s hand.

  Brae continued to nibble her tea-soaked biscuit as she glanced toward the front of the main hall. Her eyes wrinkled with concern. “You best get on with it or else ‘twill be dark.”

  Fiona lifted her brow. “Can I finish my tea first?” Och, the woman was contrary.

  At the flick of Brae’s eyes, her attention on the main entrance, then back at her, Fiona swallowed a groan. For Lady Rossalyn strolled through the hall with Mairi skipping by
her side.

  When the lady spied her, she grinned and changed her direction so she was heading straight toward Fiona.

  “Be civil, lass. ‘Tis the laird’s wife,” Brae warned.

  Och, as if she’d forgotten. The lovely woman had stolen her Mal, had taken up position at his side that should have been Fiona’s. I’d have been a fine lady of the keep.

  But, nay. Mal had brought a stranger into their clan. A woman and her child, and didn’t every clansmen stop and bid the lady good day and tousle wee Mairi’s dark hair. The lady herself offered gracious smiles and spoke as if she’d kenned the clan forever.

  When Lady Rossalyn stood before her, Fiona glanced up briefly, then darted her gaze about to see if all were watching, catching several gapers. The nosey ones swiftly stared elsewhere.

  Brae nudged her and Fiona sheepishly stood.

  “Aye, m’lady?”

  Lady Rossalyn reached out and grabbed her hands. “I just spent time with Auld David. Och, Fiona, the man sang your praises! Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

  She frowned. “Aye, ‘tis my duty.” No one had ever thanked her before. ‘Twas a strange feeling.

  The lady angled her head back and laughed. Even her laughter was graceful, blast her. “‘Tis more than that. You care for them.”

  Of course she did. They were her family.

  She lifted a brow at the laird’s new wife. Suspicion flared and she took a stop back. Why was Lady Rossalyn being so nice? Hadn’t Fiona tried to rid the keep of her?

  Brae prodded her forward with her hand. “Lass,” she warned with a low voice.

  Fiona swallowed a sigh. “‘Tis my pleasure, m’lady.”

  Mairi came over and clutched at her hand. Those little fingers, soft and warm, humbled her, and Fiona gave a squeeze as she looked down at the wee lass. Charming and a bit like the fairies, Mairi tilted up her chin and smiled. Pudgy cheeked and just as beautiful as her mother, the lass would have many a suiter when she was of age.

  “I rode my pony.”

  “Ah. And did you have a grand time?” ‘Twas hard to be sour with such an adorable lass.

  “She’s forever talking about her pony,” Lady Rossalyn said with a chuckle as she slipped her arm through Fiona’s.

  Try as she might, Fiona couldn’t pull her arm free, as the lady held tight and directed her out of the main hall, chatting the entire way. “I want you to ken, I do not blame you for what happened.”

  Panicked, Fiona opened her mouth to speak, but failed to find the words to apologize or even explain her actions. ‘Twas a wretched thing she’d done. If her mother and father were alive to see her actions, they’d be so ashamed. Mayhap, if her mother had still been here, she’d have offered guidance with Mal, and Fiona would not have acted so rashly.

  Nay, she was answerable for her own actions. And duty-bound to amend for the shame she’d brought to her family and clan.

  The lady patted her hand, then kept on chattering about the upcoming holiday. “I love this time of year. Don’t you, Fiona?”

  She nodded, as Lady Rossalyn was already opening her mouth to speak more.

  “My father wouldn’t allow us to celebrate after we lost my mother. Och, ‘twas a wretched time.” She squeezed Fiona’s arm. “And now Mairi will be old enough to enjoy the festivities.”

  “Aye, Mother.” The lass looked to Fiona, a wide grin curling her mouth. “I’m going to eat cakes.”

  Fiona chuckled despite herself. The bairn was lovely, her cheeks rosy from skipping alongside, her curls rioting around her head as she bounced up and down. She’d a lot of spirit for such a wee lass.

  Lady Rossalyn steered them out of the keep and into the bailey. The brisk air stung when she inhaled. Lady Rossalyn still held tight and Mairi trotted behind them, chiming in when there was talk of Christmas and the upcoming feast. The lass seemed to have an affection for sweets but even more so the promise of a present on the eve of Christmas.

  Some clansmen gawked as they passed, others stood openmouthed. Fiona rolled her eyes. They’d be spreading the gossip as soon as Lady Rossalyn was out of sight. The clan did love to talk and here she was, giving them prime fodder to discuss with their neighbor. ‘Twas their right, she reckoned, especially since her behavior had warranted their attention. She could only imagine what was on their minds as they observed the lady of the keep and her enemy—the woman Mal jilted—stroll through the bailey.

  Lady Rossalyn leaned in close. “I’m certain we’ll become dear friends.” The girlish tremor of her voice, the soft tone and somewhat forlorn manner, told Fiona the lady hadn’t many friends at Gordon keep. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, warring with the instinct to actually like Lady Rossalyn, when she’d vowed the woman was her staunch adversary.

  The lady stiffened. “Oh, ‘tis sorry I am to have bothered you.” Lady Rossalyn released her and turned toward the keep.

  “Wait, m’lady.” Och, what had she done? Fiona reached for her, slipped her arm through hers. Held on tight when Lady Rossalyn made to pull away. She clasped Mairi’s hand and brought the wee lass close.

  Fiona gulped and tamped down the urge to flee. “I meant no offense. I just don’t understand why you want me to be your friend after how I’ve treated you.”

  Realization must have dawned. Lady Rossalyn tilted her chin toward the men training near the stables. “Look at them. The lads don’t ken the sensitive nature of a woman’s heart. They play with us and expect our adoration.”

  Mal was putting the men through their paces and Cam was setting up another area to train. Grunts and curses filled the air. Some men landed on the ground.

  Mal clapped when one man heaved another over his shoulder and the poor lad tumbled on his arse.

  Cam called some of the younger lads over. Fiona gasped when he removed his shirt, then tossed it aside. ‘Twasn’t the first time she’d seen him without his shirt, but for some reason, reasons she didn’t want to contemplate, he seemed bigger, stronger, and oh, so handsome. His body was finely hewn, as if God selected the largest oak and hand carved Cam Himself.

  Each movement highlighted the bulk of his muscles. Sinew, flesh, bone. He lifted a log and hefted it upon his shoulder as if it were a sack of wheat. The sun eased over his sweat-slicked torso as he paced off an area and then tossed the log.

  She tried to ignore him as he spoke to the men, pointing and demonstrating what they should do. The men signaled they understood and moved through the paces again and again. Cam guided them, cajoled them, and praised when needed. A braw leader, but he spoke with kindness and the men respected him.

  “They think they can snap their fingers and we’ll do their bidding.” Lady Rossalyn laughed. “Little do they ken we are the ones in charge.”

  Fiona chuckled, but kept her eyes on the men as they began to grapple. Cam’s brawn gave him the advantage. He felled one man, and then a lad came forward. Och, foolish lad. Did he ken who he was fighting? Cam was the Sargent-at-Arms because of his fighting skills. And now, as he approached the young man, each move, lunge, and parry revealed how his muscles bunched and strained. Sweat glistened in the late afternoon sun, tiny rivulets sliding down his chest. She swallowed as he bumped one of the lads on the shoulder with a fist.

  “Close your mouth, Fiona.”

  She glanced at Lady Rossalyn and they broke into laughter.

  The noised distracted the men. Cam’s gaze caught hers. She grinned as the lad looked from her to Cam and sensed opportunity. With one move, Cam landed in a heap.

  She laughed harder and Mairi joined in as she skipped before them.

  Cam shook off the men and stood. When he spied them, he slapped his hands on his hips and glared.

  “Tea, m’lady?” Fiona gestured broadly.

  “‘Twould be lovely, Fiona.”

>   Chapter 5

  Mal trotted over to where Cam stood, as he trained an eye on Fiona and Lady Rossalyn, making their way back to the keep. Their heads leaned close and Mairi tagged along as if she were one of the ladies and not just a wee lassie. Laughter rang through the bailey, a lovely sound, to be sure, but also unsettling.

  “This doesn’t bode well.”

  “Aye,” Mal agreed.

  “Just a few days ago Fiona wanted her gone.” She’d put her in danger; that much, he left unspoken. Put her interest above the safety of the lady of the keep and her daughter.

  Mal cocked his brow and shook his head. “Fiona is as flighty as an untamed mare.”

  Cam threw his head back and laughed. The description was apt, and how his fiery Fiona would balk at Mal’s words. “And if she heard your assessment, you’d find yourself on your arse.”

  The laird slapped him on his shoulder. “She can try, lad. She can try.”

  Cam frowned. “You need to speak to her.”

  His laird dragged his fingers through his hair. “Aye. Each time I go to her chamber, I remember . . . remember the look on her face when I told her I’d married Rossalyn.”

  Cam remembered as well. A flash of horror, then betrayal. Her hurt had nearly killed him and he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and profess his love right there. Tell her she didn’t need Mal, because she had him. Och, he was lovesick. A lovesick cow. But she had to ken that someone loved her, would care for her, would never betray her.

  “You left the keep in order to secure food stores. And you came back with a wife.” He turned toward his friend, looking him directly in the eye. “‘Tis no wonder she was shocked.”

  Mal scrubbed his hand along his jaw and stepped aside when a few grappling men nearly knocked him down. “I ken.”