She did miss her family.
And she knew, glancing about her, that she’d like Fergus and Flora Munzie.
But before she could see more of their farm, Grim called out a greeting, alerting the Munzies to their presence as he swung down from his horse. In two strides, he was at her side, seizing her by the waist and lifting her from the saddle. He set her on the hard-frosted ground as lightly as if she were made of feathers.
“Forgive me, lass, but you ken we’ll be telling them we’re betrothed,” he said, not yet releasing her. Far from it, he was tilting his head, lowering his mouth toward hers. “They’ll no’ believe us unless—”
“You kiss me,” Breena finished for him. She stood frozen, very aware of his big, strong body almost touching hers. Her heart beat fast and slow, and the world around them seemed to spin and veer away, leaving them alone in the frosty, snow-swept morn. Grim’s lips were almost upon hers. Already his beard grazed her cheek, its crisp-soft fullness cold and thrilling against her skin. Faith, she could scarce breathe with him so close, knowing what was about to happen. “You are going to, aren’t you? Kiss me, I mean.”
“I must, though no’ as I’d like to.” He pulled back to look down at her for a long moment, his solemn gray gaze going so deep she was sure he’d brushed her soul. Then he bent his head and kissed her lightly, his chilled lips only whispering across hers.
Before he straightened, he pressed a more firm kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, even nipping her skin. “I’ll no’ embarrass you more than necessary. You’ll see, the Munzies will have expected us to kiss, being the folk they are.”
“The folk they are?” Breena could hardly speak. Her heart was beating fast and her breath quickened. She felt as flushed, and hot, as if she’d leapt feet first into one of Grim’s blazing Yule beacons.
“Aye, just.” Grim stood back, reached to adjust the fall of his wolfskin cloak about her shoulders. “The Munzies are romantics, hopelessly so.”
“What would the world be without our like, h’mmm?” An amused female voice came from behind them. “A sad place, indeed, I’m thinking!”
“Flora, you look no’ a day older than when last I was here.” Grim turned to greet the handsome older woman, clearly the farmwife who claimed descent from the great MacKenzies of Kintail.
Tall and well made, she had striking sapphire-blue eyes, the edges only slightly creased. She wore her raven-black hair in a thick, single braid that fell to her hips, and Breena couldn’t see a single gray strand to mar the inky tresses. Even in Ireland, she’d heard of the great beauty of MacKenzie women, so she wasn’t surprised.
What impressed her more was the twinkle in Flora Munzie’s eye and her warm, generous smile.
“And you, Sir Grim”—Flora tapped his arm with a lovely but work-reddened hand—“have brought a guest! Now that’s a rare delight.
“He’s never done that before, my lady.” She turned to Breena, her kindness chasing any shame Breena might have felt at having been caught kissing in the woman’s stable yard. “You must be quite special to him.”
“So she is, and I’ve brought her to meet you.” He took Breena’s elbow, drawing her forward. “May I introduce my betrothed, Lady Breena O’Doherty of Donegal,” he said, pride and something else, something indefinable, ringing in his voice. “I’ve told her much about you and Fergus.”
“Have you now?” Flora beamed and extended her hands to Breena. “I’m pleased to hear you speak of more than warring and weapons. It is time you took a wife, Fergus and I were saying just the other night.”
She released Breena to grip them both by the arm, leading them toward the farmhouse. “Indeed, your arrival this morn is surely a good omen. Love is in the air these days, it is. Come and see who is visiting: my cousin, Moira, and her new husband, Malcolm. Never have I seen a pair more in love.”
Breena stopped, shooting a glance at Grim. “We mustn’t intrude then. In truth, we also hope to reach the MacGregor holding before nightfall, and—”
“Oh, nae, you must stay the night here.” Flora was adamant. “Moira and Malcolm are so happy, they want to share their joy with everyone.
“They were star-crossed lovers, see you?” Flora leaned in, lowering her voice. “Moira’s a MacKenzie of Kintail, as am I. In her youth, she fell in love with Malcolm, a proud MacDonald warrior. Their clans were feuding, quite fiercely, and Malcolm put family honor and duty above his heart, forsaking their love rather than cause more grief by claiming Moira for his own. As it happened”—she paused, glanced at the farmhouse’s open door—“a young MacLeod warrior kidnapped her when she was out berry picking one day, for we MacKenzies were aye at odds with that clan, too. The MacLeod lad wed her and they went on to have eight sons and a daughter, a fine family.
“Even so, Moira never forgot her youthful sweetheart, Malcolm.” Flora blinked and dashed at her eyes. “In truth, she never stopped loving him.”
“They’re together again now?” Breena felt her own heart twisting, her eyes misting.
She took a deep breath and smoothed her hand down the front of Grim’s wolfskin cloak, still draped protectively about her. She was very aware of him standing beside her, so tall and strong, and of the warmth in his gaze each time he looked at her. She knew she’d never feel for another man what she felt for him. Here, in this place, with these special people, she could also feel the magic of Christmas, the power of true love, in the cold, brittle air.
Perhaps there really was enchantment to the season?
Had it brought her and Grim here, so they’d see that everything except love was unimportant?
She could almost believe it.
She did dash at her eyes, giving Flora her best smile. “How did they find each other?”
“ ’Tis a wonder, it is.” Flora nodded, her own smile a bit shaky. “Not too long ago a MacLeod galley limped into Loch Moidart, asking to moor at the MacDonalds’ Blackshore Castle in the Glen of Many Legends. That’s Malcolm’s home and”—she flashed a look at Grim—“your glen, too. The MacLeod ship needed repairs, and the MacDonalds allowed the work to be done in their loch, even letting the MacLeods sleep in their great hall. One of Moira’s sons was a seaman aboard the damaged galley, and he happened to mention his mother at dinner one night, telling how she’d been widowed for years.
“The rest”—Flora pressed a hand to her breast and sighed, dreamily—“is the stuff of fairytales. Malcolm, who’d never married and loved Moira still, rode north even before first light, swearing he’d have his beloved at last, come the devil himself to stop him.”
“And now they’re wed?” Grim glanced toward the door, cocking his head at the rumble of voices from within. “Your MacKenzie cousin and Malcolm MacDonald of Blackshore, the MacDonald chieftain, Alasdair’s great-uncle?”
“That’s them, right enough.” Flora set her hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“By Thor, I ken the man.” Grim glanced at Breena and stepped back so she could slip past him into the warmth of the cozy farmhouse.
The delicious cooking smells of roasted goose, ginger, and cinnamon spice cakes lay heavy in the air, welcoming. Much stronger than outside, the festive scents made Breena’s mouth water.
Candles burned on a long thick-slabbed table of blackened oak, casting shadows across the main room, and a cheery peat fire glowed in the grate. But after traveling through the brightness of the snowy morning, Breena needed a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She was aware of Flora bundling her forward, the older woman’s hand poised at the small of Breena’s back, guiding her deeper into the room where a good number of people were now stepping out of the shadows and coming to greet her and Grim.
“So this is Grim’s lady, come all the way to our humble farm?” A big man with a shining pate and merry red cheeks set his hands on Breena’s shoulders as he smiled down at her, his words hinting that he must be Flora’s husband, the farmer, Fergus Munzie.
It
was also clear that if Flora enjoyed a bit more gossip than most, Fergus had ears able to catch her every revelation, however softly spoken.
“You’ve a fine farmstead, sir.” Breena bobbed a curtsy, not missing that Grim didn’t blink at the farmer’s mistake.
She was painfully aware of it.
She wasn’t Grim’s lady, no matter how convincingly he went along with the deception.
“A good place it is, aye. And right full just now!” Fergus thwacked Grim’s shoulder, sounding most pleased. “Grim, you’ll be kenning Malcolm?”
“Indeed. We’ve crossed swords in bad times and shared ale and bread in the good ones since.” Grim smiled and clasped the aged MacDonald warrior’s arms when he appeared at their side. Tall and clearly a man who’d been dashingly handsome in youth, Malcolm was still striking with his gray hair pulled back into in a long plait that fell just below his still-broad shoulders and his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed.
Above all, he appeared buoyed by an inner happiness strongly reflected by his new wife, Lady Moira, who looked so much like Flora that Breena could only tell them apart because of Moira’s shining pleasure. The glow of those deeply in love, as Breena’s Aunt Mell would’ve said.
How odd that she’d swear Grim wore it, too.
“I wish you all the world’s happiness, Malcolm,” Grim was saying, still gripping the older man’s arms. “It’s a joy to meet you here, in the company of my own soon-to-be-wife, rather than on a battlefield as in days of old.”
“I’ll no’ argue that, laddie.” Malcolm grinned, wrapping an arm around his bride as soon as Grim released him. “I just wish I’d wed my Moira when I was your age, when we would’ve had all our days before us.”
“You could have done if you’d wished.” Lady Moira lifted up on her toes to kiss Malcolm’s cheek. “If I recall, I even begged you to do so.”
“So you did.” Her husband didn’t deny it. “I was a fool, for sure.”
Breena glanced at Grim, surprised to see he’d gone to stand before the fire, frowning as he stared down into the softly glowing peats.
“Aye, well!” Fergus Munzie’s deep voice boomed. “ ’Tis a right good thing all men present ken what’s best for them, eh, laddies? We need a woman’s warmth and loving heart. Such treasures matter more than all the feuding and wars we sometimes get ourselves into, what?
“No’ to mention the other delights they give us.” Winking broadly, he reached out to pinch Flora’s generously curved hip when she walked past him bearing a tray of brimming ale tankards. “Speaking o’ which”—he glanced at Grim and Breena—“you’ll no’ be riding on this e’en. There’s a fine newly made bed in our last unoccupied room abovestairs. The two of you will sleep there tonight, after we’ve feasted and lifted our tankards to Malcolm and Moira, and Grim and Breena. I’ll no’ be accepting a refusal.”
“He’s right, lass.” Flora set her ale tray on the table, flashed a smile at Breena. “Greer MacGregor’s tower house has stood hundreds of years. It’ll not vanish in the night, disappearing before you and Grim and ride there on the morrow. I’ve a fine venison stew simmering, roasted capon, a fine, butter-basted goose, and more loaves of fresh-baked bread than twenty hungry men can put away. And”—she winked at her husband—“my cheese and gooseberry pasties are the best in the land.”
“So they are, so they are.” Fergus raised his tankard, saluting her. “As it’s Christmas, she’s even made a batch of spice cakes.”
“And we’ve brought you a pouch each of ginger, cinnamon, and almonds.” Grim looked up from the fire, his words surprising Breena, his thoughtfulness again proving his goodness. “They’re in my saddlebags. Duncreag’s Cook thought Flora might appreciate them, this time of year. There’s also a flask of Archie’s best uisge beatha.”
Flora and Fergus beamed thanks. “That wasnae necessary, but good of you.” Fergus set down his ale, looking most pleased indeed.
Breena shifted, uncomfortable. The Munzies’ gregarious welcome reminded her so much of her Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell. Worse, each time Grim spoke of them as a couple, she felt a terrible hollow ache in her heart. She hoped to use this journey to fill that emptiness, to replace it with love.
What if she failed?
She didn’t think she could bear it.
She also needed air, worried that these happy couples might have the opposite effect on Grim, reminding him of wedded bliss, of how inappropriate a wife she would make him. A village commoner without even a dowry, and him a great warring man of noble blood and so well respected.
Glancing at the door, she cleared her throat. “We should be going. The MacGregors—”
“Surely, you’d rather rest a night?” Malcolm’s wife, Moira, was suddenly beside Breena, her lovely face warm and sympathetic. “Enjoy fine company, a good meal, then a hot bath and fresh bed?
“You’ll be glad you stayed.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I’ve noticed you’re walking a bit stiffly. I’m not keen on riding either and know how you feel. Let your man see to your comfort before you journey on.”
“Indeed!” Fergus winked at her, his apparent exceptional hearing making Breena blush to the roots of her hair. “I insist you stay.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Breena didn’t know else what to say.
She did smile, doing her best to play the part she and Grim had agreed upon, to pretend that they were a happily betrothed pair, soon to be married, deeply in love.
How she wished they were.
In truth, this was her big chance.
She hadn’t even considered the possibility of sharing a bed with Grim before they’d set off on their journey.
The notion of bathing in the same room as him was even more jarring.
And—the gods help her—so tantalizingly wicked, she could hardly stand still for the delicious tingles whipping across her womanhood. Equally bad was the slow, languorous heat pooling so deep in her belly, low by her thighs. Her other worries vanished like mist before the morning sun. Such a fierce reaction surely meant she was wanton.
How shocking that she didn’t care.
She did glance at Grim.
He was leaning against the wall beside the hearth, his arms crossed and his beautiful gray eyes hooded. No, thoughtful. When he lifted his gaze and looked at her, she knew exactly what he was going to say.
“I thank you, Fergus.” He pushed away from the wall and came forward, carefully lifting his wolfskin cloak and then Breena’s own woolen mantle from her shoulders. Crossing the room, he hung them on pegs near the door. “My lady and I gladly accept your offer. We’ll appreciate your company, and a room for the night. Indeed, we have much to speak of with you. The hours at your table will serve us well.”
Breena stopped hearing him the moment he agreed for them to spend the night at the farm. Her blood was rushing too loudly in her ears to catch the rest.
There was no going back now.
Her destiny was in her hands, another Yuletide surprise, and one she’d never expected.
She just hoped she could do what she must: convince Grim to stop thinking of her as only a lady.
She was also a woman.
And she hoped, believed, that despite their difference in backgrounds, she could be more to him than a lover in his arms. She wanted to be his wife.
She wished that by the morrow’s sunrise, he’d agree.
Chapter Five
The night wind howled around the Munzie farmhouse as Grim, Fergus, and Malcolm sat at the long wooden table, enjoying their tankards of ale. Bright red holly berries glistened against the pristine white tablecloth, the sprigs of greenery joining a cluster of fine, beeswax candles to lend a festive air. A large plate of Flora’s aromatic spice cakes tempted, tasty as they were. A trace of roasted goose also lingered, the scrumptious scent almost irresistible.
Grim knew a generous portion of the goose waited unattended on a platter in Flora’s kitchen. There were even two untouched capons. He’d be welcom
e to fetch more of the succulent meat, as much as he desired.
He didn’t care.
His mind was elsewhere.
Despite the purpose of his journey and with Christmas Eve less than three nights away, his thoughts were entirely on Breena.
He was ridiculously besotted. More so than he would ever have believed possible. He couldn’t stand being in the same room with her and not touching her.
He did watch her, though he tried to do so without her knowing.
She huddled with the women, closer to the fire. A fat log had been tossed onto the peats and it blazed cheerily, giving off a lovely golden glow that limned Breena so beautifully, his heart clenched. The ladies shared a bench and a large plaid they’d draped over their knees. Grim’s brow furrowed to see that the three of them looked as if they’d been friends the whole of their lives.
But that wasn’t what bothered him.
It was how they also appeared deep in the mysteries of feminine chatter. Watching them from deliberately hooded eyes, he was sure their banter included a good dose of womanly scheming.
He’d seen Breena’s face when Fergus gave them no choice but to accept his offered lodgings.
She was up to something.
He could feel it in the air, and in his bones. He also didn’t care for her sitting so far across the room from him, however ludicrous the sentiment. The farmhouse’s main living area wasn’t even large. There was barely space for the table currently occupied by the men. The stone hearth with its great blackened cook-kettle hanging from a chain took up most of one wall, while the ladies’ bench and a second, empty trestle beneath a window provided the only other furnishings.
Pegs on the wall offered places to secure cloaks and plaids, and candles and oil lamps joined the hearth fire in adding light, such as it was.
A faint but comforting haze of peat smoke tinged the air, the aroma made even homier by the lingering scents of Flora’s excellent cooking. Always a delight to Grim’s animal-loving nose, two large and shaggy dogs, each one looking older than stone, slept on tattered plaids spread near the hearth. The aged beasts’ snow-dampened coats lent a dash of pungency to the room, and a welcome coziness.
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