Christmas in the Highlands: Anthology with 2 Stories

by Madelyn Hill

  “For years, it was just the three of us. You had to have kenned how she felt.”

  “I never thought she took our vows seriously. We were so young.” Mal shook his head. “She was like one of the lads.”

  How Cam wanted to grab Mal by the shoulders and shake some sense into the man. But he also wanted to do the same to Fiona. ‘Twas a dangerous game she played and her laird had every right to bar her from the keep and demand she never return.

  He prayed that wouldn’t be so, because if it were, he’d follow Fiona—away from Sutherland territory, out of the Highlands—even out of Scotland. He’d hate to make the choice between his laird and the woman who owned his heart, but he’d do it in a thrice.

  “I’ll talk to her this eve.”

  Cam pledged to be there in case Mal hurt her any more, or, God forbid, she challenged him into making a rash decision. Sometimes her ire ruled her tongue. He didn’t want her to say something she’d regret—or that which Mal would have to act upon.

  Malcolm headed back to the men to continue training, but Cam couldn’t take his eyes off Fiona as she entered the main keep with a swish to her hips and her tinkling laughter filling the air.

  The sound settled deep within him, touching the heart which was already hers. He longed for her. They’d kenned each other since they were bairns. She’d held his heart from the moment Mal had beat her in a horse race and nearly crushed her spirit.

  Cam had looked over his shoulder and saw the shimmer of tears in those bewitching eyes of hers when Mal had beaten her. Slowly, he had pulled up on the reins and his gelding slipped out of a gallop and into a canter. Fiona had charged past him, her body flat against her mare’s neck. He remembered her whoop of victory. And when he’d reached the line of trees which had marked their finish line, he’d grinned and congratulated her.

  Truly, ‘twas that moment, with the wind jostling her red hair and a prideful grin curving her full mouth, he kenned he loved her.

  And he’d ached for her ever since.

  “M’laird,” a rider—Kevin—yelled as he raced toward the men. “‘Tis men about, m’laird.”

  “Stop.” Cam grabbed the man as he tried to run by. “Tell me all.”

  Kevin bent over and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Cam, ‘tis several men past the loch.” He wiped the sweat from his face. “Saw them, I did. They aren’t Sutherland men.”

  A crowd gathered around them.

  “And their tartan?” Malcolm asked as he paced through the crowd. “Was it Gordon?”

  The man cursed. “Can’t tell, m’laird. They wore britches.”

  Cam cursed, “Damn. I’ll form a patrol.” With any luck, they’d ferret out the men who dared to trespass on Sutherland lands.

  “Be careful, Cam.”

  He grinned. “Always.” He shouted to some of the strongest clansmen, and bade Kevin saddle up.

  “God’s speed,” Malcolm called as they made way to leave the keep. “Send a runner if you need more help.”

  ‘Twas as always, Cam the protector and Malcolm the leader. As a team, they’d not be beat, but Gordon’s brazen behavior had put them on edge. First, he tried to enter the keep and take Lady Rossalyn back. Now, he or his men could be squatting on Sutherland land. If the bastard had left clansmen behind, it could mean they plotted to attack or to cause mischief toward the Sutherlands.

  From what Cam had gleaned from Mal, the contract between the clans didn’t exactly assure they were at peace, only that the agreement was a harsh necessity. But the likelihood of Gordon attacking the clan in which his daughter now resided was low. And he kenned Mal wouldn’t hurt Rossalyn by attacking her familial clan. So why were they still on Sutherland land?

  He needed answers, his duty to the clan and their safety his only concern.

  “Faster, men.” He applied pressure to his gelding’s sides and the animal reacted as Cam had trained him to do. They plowed through the field, rousing the fowl nesting in the long grasses.

  Their horses nickered as they pushed onward, as if they felt the excitement and urgency of the situation. Kevin rode beside him, indicating the way to the site. The landscape passed by in blur.

  Cam’s heart pounded against his chest in anticipation of the encounter. Sweat ran down his back, dampening his shirt. How he loved an invigorating fight.

  He thrived on leading, protecting his clan. ‘Twas his calling.

  “Up ahead, Cam.”

  He held up his hand to slow down the men. They dismounted and one man stayed back to secure the animals. Crouching low, staying to the tree line, they came closer, inching forward on their bellies along the ground.

  Smoke scented the air along with the musty dampness of the ground and leaves.

  As they caught sight of the camp, more smoke drifted upward in grayish tendrils.

  No men.

  “Get back to the horses.”

  As his clansmen ran to their mounts, Cam held back and searched the camp. No gear, food, or debris of any sort. He kicked at the smoking logs. ‘Twas obvious they’d just left the camp, but were they lurking in the shadows, ready to launch an attack?

  “Cam,” Kevin whispered. “No sight of them.”

  Was it that simple? Had they left to go back to Gordon territory? Cam set his hands at his waist and looked about the area. There had to be a signal, some indication of who they were and where they’d taken cover.

  “We’ll hide the horses and camp here tonight.” He looked toward the trees, trying for a sense of any danger lurking in their dark depths. “Send a rider back to the keep and let Laird Sutherland ken we’ll remain on patrol.”

  “Aye, Cam.”

  The horses were secured in a glen away from the camp. Cam instructed the men to surround the chosen area but remain hidden until they heard his telltale whistle which indicated attack.

  He found his own spot, high upon a crag. The height and distance allowed for a clear view of the camp and the surrounding areas. He leaned against the rock and ignored the rumble of his stomach. Och, in their haste they hadn’t secured provisions. And now, with their alert on high, to strike a fire could alert the strangers of their presence.

  The last thing he’d eaten was Fiona’s tart. Or what resembled a tart. ‘Twas possibly the worst thing he’d eaten, with overly sweet apples and burnt crust. But the pride shining in her eyes as she handed it to him forced him to at least try the tart, and since he kenned gossip ran swiftly through the clan, he finished it lest word otherwise might reach dear Fiona.

  Och, her gesture was kind and he kenned she wished to apologize for her earlier behavior. He would have accepted a kiss, truth be told. ‘Twould have been more appropriate considering she’d struck him. But Fiona had refused his kiss.

  If she were here now, as the sun dipped beneath the trees, he’d thank her for the tart and let her ken he forgave her. He rubbed his face where she’d hit him. Aye, it had smarted. He leaned against the craggy rock at his back. Darkness settled around him, and soon it would cloak his location. His stomach growled again and he wished Fiona’s tart had been bigger.

  “Cam.”

  Was his imagination tricking him? Had his wish to see her made her appear?

  “Cam?”

  He groaned. She’d followed them.

  Clouds shifted and the moonlight did little to hide her form as she scrambled up on the rock and handed him a cloth bag. “I brought the other men their food first.” She nodded toward the camp. “‘Tis the perfect place to hide.”

  “Really.” The single word held a heavy dose of sarcasm. “You found me.”

  She waved at him. “The men told me where you were.”

  He opened the bag and sighed with pleasure. Mutton and bread. “No tart?”

  Her chuckle drew a smile
on his own face. Och, what a sensual laugh she had. It drove desire straight to his cods.

  “‘Twas wretched, I ken.” She settled in beside him and began pulling the bread apart.

  Her presence, the heat of her body, just the fact she was the woman he loved, made his blood roar. Oh, how he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, until she was full of desire and mayhap he’d be able to complete his dreams of seduction. With a quick glance he eyed her, gauging her mood.

  The light of the moon eased over her smooth skin, haloing her like an angel. Golden streams of light slipped along her jaw, her long neck, over her chest and into the gap of her liene. How he envied the moon and the intimacy of its touch along her skin.

  “Have you seen any men?”

  “Nay,” he croaked.

  Fiona turned to him and laid her hand on his arm. Her brows quirked upward. “Are you well?”

  He jerked back from her incendiary touch. “I’m fine.”

  She immediately stiffened.

  “Fiona—”

  “I’ll be leaving.” She stood and moved to climb down the crag. She squared her shoulders and lifted up her chin. “Apparently, you do not forgive me.”

  Bollocks, he would not feel badly for worrying about her. “You should have never come. ‘Tis too dangerous.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “I ken. But I was worried about the men missing their evening meal and Lady Rossalyn suggested I bring supplies.”

  Dear God. “Lady Rossalyn? Did Mal ken what she suggested?”

  Even in the dark of the eve, he saw her flush. “We didn’t have time to speak with Mal.”

  He lifted up her chin. “Fiona, ‘twas foolish to travel on your own when you ken we are looking for strange men.”

  She moved out of his reach. “I am not an eejit. I rode with Kevin. He had to report to Mal and I traveled back with him.” She laced her arms before her chest. “And he appreciated my efforts.”

  He was going to kill the man. Truly kill him. Cam’s blood chilled at the thought of Fiona riding through dangerous territory. Kevin be damned. He was only one man and the size of the camp indicated several more than that. “You shouldn’t be here and if Mal kenned, you’d feel his fury.”

  “Ha,” she retorted with a nervous laugh. “I’ve handled the both of you since we were bairns.”

  What was he to do with this spirited woman? “Truly?” Handled them? Ire spiked and he was close to leaving her here and heading back to the keep.

  She squared her shoulders. “Aye. You ken I can take care of myself. I’ve bested you many a time. Don’t you remember, or does your manly arrogance force you to forget?”

  “Indeed,” he drawled.

  She had the audacity to laugh. “Do you not remember all of those times I sped past you? Or when I caught more fish than you?”

  He’d had enough of her smugness. “I let you win,” he growled as he inched forward, so close her hot breath moistened his skin. “And I didn’t bait my hook.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened, then she jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Frustrated, he clenched a fist in his hair. Och, why had he spoken what he and Mal pledged not to? His thoughts warred with his heart that had ached with desire for so long. It had nearly torn him apart witnessing her tag after Malcolm.

  Month after month. Year after year. She’d follow their laird. For such a feisty woman, she turned into a simpering fool around Mal. She’d coo, pout, or hang on to his every word. ‘Twas a wretched display of lovesickness.

  “Why, Cam?” she repeated, jarring him out of his memories.

  She’d never leave him alone if he didn’t tell her, he knew that about her. After a sigh, he said, “Because . . . because I love you. Always have.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Then anger sparked in her eyes. She punched his arm. “Don’t be daft. You don’t love me.”

  He raised her chin, rubbed his thumb along her plump, lower lip. “I do, Fiona. I love your spirit. The way your nose scrunches when you are thinking.” He smoothed the hair from her face. “I love you.”

  “You can’t. You don’t.” Panic widened her eyes. She pulled from him. “I—I have to go.”

  His fingers slipped against the material of her liene as he reached for her. “Wait.” He’d been too bold. He should have waited for a better time. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled harshly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Nay.” As her gaze met his, coldness filled them. “You do not love me.”

  He chuckled at her vehemence. “Aye, I do.”

  She shook her head. “No matter. I do not love you, Cam. I never will.”

  His world crashed around his shoulders as dread filled him; dread and regret for speaking so rashly about his feelings.

  She scrambled down with such speed, for a moment he thought he’d dreamt her presence on the crag. Yet her words were anything but a dream.

  I do not love you, Cam. I never will.

  Fiona pushed her mare as fast as she could in the evening light. Her heart lodged in her throat. Why had Cam professed his love? Tears pooled in her eyes as frustration and anger filled her. Och, she was confused.

  The keep rose before her and she rode to the palisade and hopped off her mare. After wiping her face free of tears, she entered and strode toward the stables.

  “Fiona!”

  Lady Rossalyn raced toward her. Concern creased her face. “Why have you returned?”

  “Cam said he loved me.” Once again tears brimmed her eyes. Why did he have to say he loved her? Didn’t he realize it changed everything? From this point forward, their relationship would be different. She’d have to avoid him and he, being the man he was, would be kind, but she’d always sense his longing. And feel guilty about it.

  Did he think she’d forgotten her love for Malcolm just because he’d wed? Did he think if he told her he loved her, she’d fall into his arms and return his sentiments? Aye, she’d kissed him. And enjoyed it, truth be told. But her heart couldn’t be swayed so quickly.

  Lady Rossalyn pulled her into a hug. “That wretched man. How dare he tell you something so nice.” Humor laced her voice.

  Fiona chuckled and cried at the same time. “You do not ken and I fear I can’t tell you.”

  The lady patted her on the back and said, “Fiona, you can tell me anything.”

  Strange how this woman, whom she first thought of as a foe, was slowly becoming her confidant. Still, the words wouldn’t form. For how was she to tell the laird’s gentle lady the reason she loathed Cam’s words was because her heart belonged to Mal?

  Certainly, Mal had spoken to Rossalyn of Fiona’s affection, but ‘twas a different situation for Fiona to actually say the words as well. Such a confession of her heart would surely make Lady Rossalyn hate her.

  “Come, Fiona. I’ll wet some tea and we’ll have ourselves a chat.” She gripped Fiona’s elbow and guided her toward the keep. “We’ll have privacy in my chambers.”

  She jerked to a stop. Lady Rossalyn’s chamber? In truth, ‘twas Laird and Lady Sutherland’s chamber. How could she be in the very room where Mal and Rossalyn slept?

  “Dear God Almighty, lass! Mal is with his men awaiting Cam’s return. He’ll not disturb us.” With that said, Lady Rossalyn turn on her heel and headed toward the Laird’s chamber.

  Fiona rubbed the back of her neck and stood for a moment as she contemplated which path to take. Follow the lady and enjoy a cup of tea? Or to her own chamber to wallow in her misbegotten misery? The tea won out. She’d not only quench her thirst but also continue to forge a friendship. A friendship she sorely needed.

  ‘Twasn’t often the women of the clan included her. Despite Mal’s claim ‘twas her beauty
which kept the other lasses from befriending her, Fiona kenned she was often grumpy and brisk. Who could blame the others for not liking her? But something deep down pushed her to find a friend. With her parents gone and Mal now married, and Cam . . . och, she didn’t ken how things sat with Cam.

  Fiona was running out of options. And truth be told, if she’d become familiar with Lady Rossalyn sooner, she’d never have tried to force her to leave the clan.

  The beautiful lady of the keep had surprised her in many ways. Mostly, her forgiveness of Fiona’s heinous actions spoke of her character. But she was strong and had settled into the clan as if born to it. People seemed to adore her and wee Mairi. Aye, ‘twas fitting for Rossalyn to be the lady of the keep.

  “Sit, Fiona,” Lady Rossalyn said as Fiona entered the laird’s chamber.

  ‘Twasn’t the first time she’d been in the chamber. Many a time Malcolm’s mother would summon them and give a stern reprimand for their pranks. But then it was Mal’s parents’ room, filled with their clothing, Laird Sutherland’s weapons, and the lavender scent which seemed to always linger on Mal’s mother. Fiona glanced about as if sensing the ghost of the former laird and lady. Their presence had lessened and Lady Rossalyn was making her mark on the chamber.

  Fiona sat and fiddled with a napkin, her nerves a bit rattled from the day’s events and the memories the chamber wrought.

  Despite her unease, she slowly began to relax as the warmth of the crackling fire heated her surroundings.

  “Start from the beginning.” Lady Rossalyn lifted her brow as she spoke and gave a look that brooked no room for refusal.

  With a heavy sigh, she told the sad tale. As the words left her mouth and filled the room, Fiona’s nerves tangled once again as she comprehended what a fool she was. “You see? He has changed everything.”

  “For the better, I feel.” Lady Rossalyn placed her hands over hers and squeezed. “He’s a fine man, honorable, the best of Malcolm’s men.”

  Guilt ate at her. All of what the lady said was true, indeed Cam was one of their best. But he wasn’t the man she’d spent her nights dreaming about and her days following around trying to gain his attention at all costs.