Christmas in the Highlands: Anthology with 2 Stories

by Madelyn Hill

  “Whiskey?” Cam asked. Those dark eyes of his didn’t leave her and even with his injuries, he didn’t bank the desire in his gaze.

  How? Even after their discussion on the crag, how could he still want her?

  She longed to take the time to thank him for everything he’d done for her. Breakfast, the new arisaid, his profession of love. To tell him—tell him her heart wasn’t Mal’s any longer.

  Despite her bravado, she ducked her gaze and silently chastised her body for warming beneath his gaze. He was just a man, she warned. Albeit a strong, devilishly handsome man with dimples, and—

  And those eyes of his. ‘Twas as if he kens all when he gazes at you. And he’ll keep your secrets, but you’re not certain because of the way his mouth curls up on one side.

  After Fiona brought another dram of whiskey, she paced outside his chamber. Brae refused her request to help. Secretly she was glad, for the stench of blood curdled her stomach.

  But as minutes passed by, fear filled her and she nearly reentered the chamber. She had to see if he fared well.

  She reached for the door latch, then let her hand fall.

  Brae burst through the door and nearly knocked her on her arse.

  “Brae, watch yourself.”

  “What are ye doing standing there like an eejit?” The woman shooed her aside so she could pass. “I’ve things to do.”

  Fiona squared her shoulders. “I want to see him.”

  “Lass, go and eat. You’ll do the man no good if you faint dead away from hunger.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’ve a bit of meat on my bones.”

  “Och, lass. You call that meat?” Brae grabbed her own stomach. “This is meat.”

  Fiona chuckled. “Let me see him.” She tried to push past the auld woman.

  Brae shook her head as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Nay. He’s worn through and sleeping. If you vex him, you may undo my stitches.”

  Vex him? She kenned the man was injured and she wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt him further. Fiona sighed. “Aye. But bring word at once if he asks for me.”

  Brae gestured away from the door and Fiona headed toward the main hall.

  “One would think you’re enamored with the man,” she called with a hint of humor in her voice.

  Och, of course Brae would try to vex her. ‘Twould be ridiculous for her to be enamored with another man. ‘Twas too soon to give her heart to another. Truly, what would others think? She wasn’t one of those ninny lasses whose hearts pattered for a different man each fortnight. Nay, she was steady, reliable.

  So was her heart.

  Brae’s chuckle reached her as she descended the stairs, but she wasn’t going to respond. Instead she entered the main hall and smiled.

  Serving lasses were laying out the meal. Others added more mistletoe and holly about the fireplace and any unadorned surface. Children skipped about singing and a few danced where there was enough room. Festive, joyful. Aye, ‘twas a typical Christmas at the Sutherland Keep. Mayhap even more so with the new Lady of the keep and wee Mairi.

  “Fiona,” Lady Rossalyn called. “Come and join us.”

  Mal and Lady Rossalyn sat at the dais eating their evening meal. Lady Rossalyn looked lovely in her crimson gown, her long dark hair beautifully arranged. And Mal—och, the man was truly the Laird of Sutherland Clan with his dashing good looks and wearing his tartan and blue doublet.

  Fiona brushed her hand over her serviceable skirt with a cringe. She must look a wretch.

  And how was she to sit beside them with all of the trouble she’d caused? The clan would gawp at them as a wolfhound might watch for meat scraps falling from the table.

  “Come, Fiona,” Malcolm said in a weary tone.

  She took a few steps forward and grabbed a tumbler of ale from a passing serving lass.

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  His gaze snapped to hers and flashed with a bit of concern before they cleared and his broad grin creased his face.

  “I’ve been telling Malcolm of your work with the elders,” Rossalyn commented.

  He patted Rossalyn’s hand and shared a loving glance with her. “Fiona has always had a soft spot for the elders. And we thank her for it.”

  Fiona sat at the edge of the chair and set the tumbler down. “‘Tis my pleasure,” she said, though her throat was parched as her nerves stretched. Would he just get it over with?

  “Tell her, Malcolm.”

  He frowned and Fiona’s heart clenched. Was he sending her away? Had she caused too much trouble with his new family? Sweat moistened her palms and she rubbed them over her skirt.

  Rossalyn elbowed him and he sighed.

  Malcolm turned toward her, gathering her hands in his own. “Fiona, I’m an eejit.”

  She gasped. What was he saying?

  “Truly, he is,” Rossalyn confirmed with a laugh.

  The hall became silent. Heat flushed her face as she glanced about. The entire assemblage seemed riveted, an attentive audience following the actors of a play.

  Loathe to cause more drama and trying to make amends for her past behavior, she merely shook her head. “Nay, m’laird. ‘Tis I who was a fool.” She shifted toward him. “We spoke about this in your chamber.”

  “Nay, Fiona. He’s a fool for letting you worry and fash yourself. He should have given a punishment and we’d be past it. But nay. He didn’t make a decision and you have fretted since. I can tell.”

  The laird had decided on a punishment? What if he were to send her away? Where would she go?

  A hum began in the main hall as if the clan grew bored by the actions on the dais. The children began singing once again and a piper joined them. A few men moved some tables and more of the clan musicians began playing their instruments.

  Malcolm squeezed her hand, his head dipped down. Then he lifted his gaze and his eyes were riddled with regret and sadness. “I’ve treated you badly.” He looked a bit sheepish.

  Lady Rossalyn slapped his arm. “Men,” she grumbled, though she flashed a smile.

  “It took my lady to show me the error of my ways. I am so sorry, truly sorry. You have been my dear friend for as long as I can remember.” A quirk of his mouth revealed the flash of the young lad he’d been when they raced horses. “I will not punish you too harshly.” He glanced at his wife. She smiled as if encouraging him. “You will help in the stables for the next fortnight. Then you can continue with the elders.”

  Her nerves settled and she sighed with relief. “You are being kind, m’laird.” A fortnight in the stables wasn’t harsh in the least.

  With this Rossalyn snorted, then flushed a bright red. “Sorry, m’laird.” She winked at Fiona, clearly indicating she wasn’t sorry in the least.

  The entire time Malcolm held her hands, she waited for it. The tingly feeling, that rush of heat and the desire to never let go. The pang of a heart suffering the excitement of love.

  She furrowed her brow; willed her body to respond.

  A moment passed. Still she waited.

  “Fiona?”

  She cleared her throat and returned Mal’s gaze, straightened a bit, and released a sigh. Thoughts raced through her mind. Memories of her trailing after Mal and Cam. Those times when she thought she couldn’t breathe unless she was near him. And the stab of betrayal when he told her he’d wed Rossalyn. As strange as it seemed, a sense of calm drifted over her. Peace. Comfort. And the urge to let go. Let go of it all. “Not to worry, Mal,” she said, surprised by her thoughts and even more so her words.

  He brightened and released her hands. “You forgive me?”

  Rossalyn leaned forward with an eager expression on her face.

  Fiona laughed at his shock. “Aye. But you’ve done nothing for which I have to
forgive.”

  Meeting Rossalyn’s eyes, Fiona couldn’t help but think how the gentle woman had changed Mal—for the better, certainly. He’d always been kind to the people of the clan, but a happiness surrounded him, softened him.

  He stood and pulled her into an embrace.

  “You are a gracious woman.” He kissed her brow. “You will find love, Fiona. I ken you will,” he whispered in her ear.

  Rossalyn came beside them and pushed her way into their embrace. “I am so happy you have settled your differences.”

  Malcolm roared with laughter. “As if you’d let me do otherwise, wife.”

  She gave a graceful lift of her shoulders and a knowing smile curled her lips. “And now Fiona can focus on securing herself a husband.”

  “Lady Rossalyn!” Heat flooded Fiona from neck to hairline. “I do not need a husband.”

  Again Lady Rossalyn and Laird Malcolm shared a look. One of those smug asides that told her they completely disagreed with what she said. Och, they vexed her.

  Malcolm’s expression grew serious and his eyes darkened. “How is Cam? When I checked on him, Brae was sewing his side.”

  “She wouldn’t let me see him.” Fiona tried to keep the pout out of her tone.

  Again the happy couple shared a knowing glance.

  “I’ll check on him and let you ken how he is fairing. He led the men with strength and sent all of those injured back with no regard to himself.”

  She’d heard the stories of his bravery. How he’d taken on several men and had been hurt in the process. Kevin had told the story with great flourish and even re-enacted the fight showing Cam as the victor.

  Och, why did he risk himself? She shook her head. She kenned the answer. As Sargent-at-Arms, he led the men by example. He’d never expect another clansman to risk all without doing so himself. He was braw, truth be told.

  A braw man, indeed.

  A serving lass arrived and whispered in Rossalyn’s ear as she kept her eyes on Fiona. What the devil?

  Worry flashed over Rossalyn’s face, then she frowned. “I’ll see to him right away.”

  Mal stood and moved to her side. He set his hand upon her shoulder. “What is the matter, my love?”

  In her gut she kenned, without Lady Rossalyn saying a word.

  Regardless, Lady Rossalyn murmured, “‘Tis Cam.”

  Fiona stood and her chair tumbled backward. “What?”

  “He’s fevered.”

  She clutched her chest and started toward his chamber, striding quickly, then broke out into a run. She threw the door open and froze in place.

  Brae mopped his brow with a cloth, tsking as she did so.

  “I’ll sit with him.”

  The older woman offered a kind smile as she rose. “Aye, lass.” Brae slowly straightened and moved away from the bed. Fiona swallowed and accepted the cloth the woman handed her.

  “I’ll see fresh water and some tea is brought to you.”

  “Thank you,” she said without taking her gaze from Cam.

  He began to thrash about the bed, twisting the blankets between his legs. Fiona straightened the blanket, tucking them back under his chin.

  “Och, the blasted mule. He’ll tear the stitches.” Brae hurried to Cam’s side. “Come, lass. Talk to him, try to settle him.”

  With shaking hands Fiona touched his forearm. She jerked her hand away at the heat of his skin. The man was burning hot.

  “Lass!”

  “Aye.” She leaned down close to Cam’s ear. “I ken you let me win. I kenned it at the time, but didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.” With a smile, Fiona remembered their races, be it on horse, foot, or in the loch. “‘Twas sweet of you. A true gentleman, Auld David said.”

  She sat upon the edge of his bed and took the cloth from Brae. She dipped it in the bucket of cool water and wrung it out. “The way you protect the clan,” she continued as she wiped his brow, “makes us feel so safe. Truly safe. You are a braw warrior, Cam.”

  Tears seeped into her voice as he stopped thrashing. “Please, Cam. Please fight this fever. For the clan.”

  For me.

  “Keep talking to him, lass. He needs to hear your sweet voice.”

  Fiona had never been told she had a sweet voice. Shrewish? Aye. Loud? Aye. Never sweet.

  She re-wet the cloth and patted down Cam’s brow and face. Tight lines rimmed his eyes, bracketed his mouth. His pale skin was so gray, she feared he was near death. Sweat drenched his chest and soaked the sheets. ‘Twould need to be changed, but she worried moving him would cause him pain and start him bleeding once again.

  Her stomach clenched and her heart pounded against her chest. “Cam,” she said softly. “Do you remember when we ate all of Cook’s pies right before Timothy was to wed? Och, she was so filled with ire.” She chuckled. “‘I’ll whip yer arses,’ she’d yelled at us. Then we ran so fast she couldn’t keep up.” The memory was so dear and so reminiscent of their youth together. One day they worked alongside each other in harmony, the other they were causing mischief and pointing the finger of fault at each other.

  Mostly, they helped each other grow and survive their losses and troubles, but celebrate joyful events as well.

  “I remember your mother made you pay,” Brae said.

  Aye, that she did. Fiona couldn’t sit for three days and she had to fetch whatever Cook wanted for a fortnight. Still, ‘twas fun while they were stuffing their faces with apple and berry pies. Although, Cam had lost his stomach most of the night.

  “I loved when we escaped to the glen and sat beneath the afternoon sun, jesting with each other.” At those moments they shared their secrets and fears, and more importantly their greatest hopes.

  Fiona had never voiced it, but her greatest hope was to be lady of the keep. ‘Twas what drove her, drove her to follow Malcolm and try to get him to notice her enough to fall in love with her.

  And now, here she sat with Cam and Malcolm was with his wife.

  Strange how the hopes of one so young changed when life threw an obstacle in the way.

  She slipped her hand in his and squeezed. “Cam, what you said in the forest? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that.” How she regretted her harsh response to him. Worse, it wasn’t how she felt. He’d frightened her with his vehemence, the bold honesty behind his words.

  His hand, bronzed from the sun, engulfed hers. She felt every callus, a bump on the finger he broke during his first sparring event. Fiona placed her other hand over his and prayed.

  When she opened her eyes, Brae was gone and ‘twas just her and Cam.

  For hours she wiped his brow and softly recounted all of their antics from as far back as she could remember. People came and went, brought fresh water and food, words of concern.

  Brae begged her to rest, but Fiona pushed her away.

  “How is he?”

  She turned toward the door and saw Malcolm and Rossalyn standing there. She scraped her hair from her face and shook her head. “Still fevered.”

  “You need to rest,” Mal said as he moved to Cam’s bedside, touched his forehead. “Bollocks. Burning hot.”

  Tears shimmered in Rossalyn eyes. “We’ll pray for him, Fiona.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she kept her gaze on Cam. Rest could wait.

  “Aye. We will,” Malcolm said. His eyes met hers and fear lingered in their depths. The same fear spiked her heart with dread. Their dear friend was injured, suffering, and there was little they could do. Mal straightened and his jaw flexed. “I’ll send more food for you and fresh water for Cam.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Rossalyn grabbed his hand and dragged him from the room. “Let’s go to the kirk first.”

  A small smile
played on Fiona’s mouth, thankful for the laird and his wife and their offer of prayer. She continued to speak to Cam, wipe his brow.

  Beyond exhausted, she slipped into the bed, lay next to him, setting her hand atop his chest just to feel the intake of his breath. Her fears nearly consumed her, but she needed to have strength for both of them, since Cam had used his strength to help the clan in their time of need.

  Her last memory was of curling closer and falling asleep.

  Cam jerked awake and moved to get up. His muscles groaned.

  “Damn,” he muttered. His flesh pulled tight against Brae’s stitches as he tried to rise once again. Sweat drenched his forehead and ran down his back. He fell back onto the bed and with a panting breath, swore.

  He’d kill for water.

  But he remained still, then drifted into a fitful sleep.

  Flashes of memories came to him. A soft voice, a feminine touch, and then warm curves pressed against his side.

  Who? When? Why?

  As his eyelids lifted to blurry slits, Brae bustled in with a few serving lasses.

  “Set the water over there, lass. Quiet, we don’t want to bother Cam.”

  “Too late,” he muttered.

  Brae squealed. “Och, Cam.” She rushed to his side and touched his brow. Her wide grin greeted him like the blaring sun on a summer day. “Your fever has broken.”

  “Water.”

  “You heard the man, water it is.”

  He winced at her booming voice.

  She shrugged. “Sorry, Cam.”

  The serving lass brought him a ladle of cold water. He took a gulp.

  “Sip it,” Brae warned him. After three ladles his thirst was finally quenched.

  “‘Tis many who’ve been worried about you, lad.” She nodded toward his back. “Let me have a look at the stitches.”

  Cam rolled onto his side, hissing as he did so.

  “Gather my cloths, lass.” One by one, Brae cleaned his wounds as he winced each time he had to move.