Once Upon A Highland Christmas

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  The dogs’ snores warmed Grim’s heart.

  Unfortunately, the noise swelled in volume each time Breena said something to Flora and Moira. And no matter how hard, and inconspicuously, Grim strained his ears, he couldn’t catch a word.

  A large basket of mistletoe sat on the floor beside them and they busied themselves tying glossy gold and silver ribbons to the round, white-berried clusters. The task seemed to occupy them well enough, but Grim doubted mightily that the making of holiday decorations was the reason for their babble and certainly not for their occasional knowing nods, tsk-tsking, and oh-so-secretive smiles.

  He was sure Breena spoke of him.

  And he burned to know what she said.

  Frowning, he tore his gaze from her and looked down at his fingers, wrapped loosely about his ale tankard. Large, war-scarred, and callused, his hands were far from bonnie. He couldn’t imagine placing them on Breena’s smooth, creamy skin. Especially her naked, intimate flesh: the full roundness of her breasts and the temptation of her sweetly curved hips, her bared belly and the dark, womanly delights that waited below, so unbearably alluring.

  In truth, putting hands such as his on beauty like hers was almost a sacrilege.

  Yet how could he not?

  He ached to touch her. So badly, he feared he’d go mad if he didn’t.

  He also wanted to taste her. But he shoved that desire from his mind as soon as it appeared. Ravenous as he was for her, he might devour her whole, frightening her so roundly she’d fall into a faint.

  Still…

  He wasn’t a man to deceive himself about his looks or charm, both qualities he knew weren’t his strong points. Yet he had the most powerful sense she desired him. That she might be hoping to seduce him. Unlikely as the notion was, he couldn’t get the possibility from his head and it affected his entire body. Indeed, he’d been stone-hard for hours.

  Praise the gods, his mail tunic and his plaid hid the aching result of his mind’s wanderings.

  “A siller for your thoughts, my friend.” Fergus leaned across the table, knocking his tankard against Grim’s.

  Malcolm glanced at Breena, nodding sagely. “I’d no’ need a coin to ken his mind,” he vowed, lifting his own ale for a long, slow sip. “I spend enough hours being miserable myself when my Moira must leave my side, even briefly. She’s the air I breathe, that woman.

  “I need her aye in sight, better yet in my arms.” He set down his tankard and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. “I could live a thousand years and ne’er have enough of her. And I’m proud to say it.

  “You, lad”—he fixed Grim with a piercing gaze—“are blessed to have your lady now, the whole of your lives stretching before you.”

  “That I know.” Grim spoke true, his respect for the older man demanding honesty.

  His honor required it, too. Never before had he claimed to be something he wasn’t and he found doing so didn’t sit well with him at all.

  Indeed, it bothered him so greatly that his other annoyance began to lessen, the fierce throbbing dampened by his distaste for deception. He did desire Breena, so much that he could scarce keep himself from leaping up from the table, crossing the room in two great strides, and pulling her into his arms, now and for all time coming.

  Instead, he took another long sip of ale and prayed to the gods for guidance.

  Surely they’d speak to him at Yule.

  Wasn’t this a time of miracles? Days and nights when magic was said to happen?

  Hoping it was so, he drew a deep breath, willing in his heart that Breena would want him as much as he wanted her. He prayed for a wonder, angling his head to listen, wishing for a sign.

  He peered hard at the golden flames of Flora’s fine beeswax candles, even the glistening holly berries, hoping for divine inspiration.

  But the only voice he heard was Fergus’s. He’d missed his host’s words, catching only the deep rumble of the older man’s query.

  “Sorry, Fergus, I didnae hear you.” Grim set down his tankard and turned his full attention on the farmer, not wanting to add rudeness to his fast-growing list of sins. “What did you say?”

  “Och, I asked only how you met Lady Breena.” Fergus glanced at the women, his interested gaze lighting on Breena before he looked back to Grim. “She’s Irish, so I wondered.”

  “Aye, she is, from Inishowen in Donegal.” Grim was glad to speak true. “Her village was raided and ransacked, burnt to the ground. The brigands stole her away, taking her with them across the sea to Scotland. When they attacked Archie’s Duncreag, she was still their captive. You already ken how my liege lord, Kendrew Mackintosh, and his Nought men rode to help Archie fight off the raiders.

  “When Duncreag was restored to Archie, Breena remained in his household.” Grim tamped down the rage that always rose in him when he remembered what Breena had been through. “She had no one to return to in Ireland. Her family and even her home were no more.”

  Grim paused, his own words tasting like ash on his tongue. He couldn’t shake the ill ease that always ripped through him whenever he thought of her home, the possibility she might someday return there. He knew she missed Ireland sorely. What if that ache was greater than any feelings she might have for him?

  Not wanting to allow such a possibility, he glanced at the window. Through the slant of the shutter latches, he could see snow was falling. Moonlight illuminated the yard and one of Fergus’s hounds was just rounding the well, the dog’s breath frosting the air.

  Grim turned back to the table, hoped the other men wouldn’t sense his frustration. “Breena is a fine woman,” he said, knowing he’d never spoken truer words.

  “And now she’s yours.” Malcolm nodded. His tone was sympathetic. “The gods work in mysterious ways. Have you been betrothed long?”

  Something inside Grim twisted sharply, paining him more severely than any battle wound he’d ever suffered. He took a long breath, braced himself for another lie.

  It wouldn’t come.

  The untruth lodged in his throat, sitting fast as if the gods had clamped an admonishing fist about his neck, forcing him to be honest.

  Something he wanted and needed as well.

  He drew another deep breath, struggling to clear his throat, the unpleasant tightness in his chest. Fergus and Malcolm were watching him oddly, their tankards forgotten as they looked at him, waiting expectantly for his answer about his betrothal to Breena.

  Grim flattened both hands on the table and sat straighter, everything in him demanding he be forthright. “I have wanted Breena since I first set eyes upon her,” he admitted, the truth putting wings to his heart, freeing his soul. “Ne’er have I loved a woman more. Indeed, I ne’er even believed in love. Leastways, no’ for me.”

  He didn’t answer Fergus’s question about their betrothal.

  “I could’ve said the same when I met my Flora.” Fergus, as great a romantic as his wife, was grinning at the answer Grim had given him.

  “The very hills held their breath the day Moira crossed my path. For sure, my world changed in an eye-blink. I spent most of my life aching for her. Now I’m whole again.” Malcolm looked across the room as he spoke, his voice solemn, his gaze on his lovely lady wife.

  Risking a glance that way, Grim’s heart lurched to see that Breena was gone. His pulse leapt in dread and he almost jumped from his seat before he remembered their hosts’ promising her a bath. Indeed, not too long ago, he’d noted Fergus’s two older sons carrying a wooden tub and buckets of steaming water up the farmhouse’s dimly lit stair. There, too, garlands of holly and ivy announced the season. Broad red ribbons decorated the greenery, leading the eye upward, to the shadowy landing at the top of the steps.

  Breena would be in the guest room now, bathing.

  Grim frowned, a certain most-male irritation returning with a vengeance.

  Breena wet and naked, her bare skin glistening with soap bubbles, was an image he daren’t dwell upon. To be sure, he shouldn’t thin
k how she’d look after her bath, her sweet womanly curves smooth and gleaming with scented oils. Such torment was beyond endurance.

  So he did what he could do and thumped the table with his fist. “You’re good men, the both of you!” he declared, changing the subject. “I knew you’d agree to ride to Duncreag, arriving as if you expected Archie to host Yuletide festivities, as he did in olden times.

  “But I ne’er would’ve pressed you to bear gifts.” Grim glanced to a large wicker basket Flora had set on the table earlier. It contained a few jugs of her own special blackberry wine, linen-wrapped smoked herring, a delicacy in these hill-girded parts of the Highlands, so distant from the sea. She’d also added plenty of her far-famed oatcakes.

  As a nod to Christmas, there were two gaily wrapped packages of her fragrant spice cakes.

  “Och, such is the least we could do.” Fergus made light of the gesture. “The MacNab is a fine man. He’d do the like for us, no doubt in my mind.”

  “I agree.” Malcolm drew in a breath, clearly reminiscing. “I met him years ago, at court in Stirling. He was a bonnie, carefree lad in those days, his tongue so silvered all the ladies swooned if he just glanced at them. I grieve to hear he’s had such a hard time of it. He sounds less than a shadow of his old self. To be sure, he’ll need cheering. Moira and I will greet him gladly, and with a Yule token.” He patted a leather-wrapped package beside his ale tankard.

  Malcolm’s offering was an intricately carved mead horn, edged in finest silver. He claimed he had two such horns with him, and he wouldn’t miss the one. Grim knew better than to embarrass Malcolm by showing he knew that wasn’t so. The truth was, beneath the old warrior’s dignity beat a heart as soft as Grim’s own.

  Grim was grateful.

  He wanted Archie’s Yuletide surprise to be splendid beyond his wildest dreams. That Archie secretly yearned for such a joyous celebration stood without question. Grim knew the old laird well.

  He also knew that he couldn’t remain at the table a moment longer.

  Not with Breena in the room above, splashing about in steaming, scented water while the night’s wintry chill slipped in through the window shutters to flush her cheeks and pucker her nipples. As for the rest of her, the tantalizing curls at the vee of her thighs…

  Before he could imagine further, Grim shoved back from table, standing.

  “I’m away, men. My lady and I have a long ride ahead of us come the morn.” He didn’t dare glance down, hoped to Thor his mail and the folds of his plaid still hid what Breena did to him. “Fergus”—he turned to his host—“I thank you for your hospitality.

  “Malcolm, I rejoice we met this day.” He clapped a hand on the old warrior’s shoulder, squeezed once. “Your happiness lifts my heart. I am happy for you and Lady Moira.”

  “No more gladdened than we are for you.” Malcolm nodded, reached to set his hand briefly over Grim’s. “Now,” he added, smiling, “dinnae let us keep you.”

  “Och, nae!” Fergus grinned, even winked at him. “Away with you, right enough. Make haste!”

  Fergus and Malcolm exchanged knowing glances, their lips twitching as if with some unspoken secret.

  What a shame Grim knew what it was.

  They thought he was going abovestairs to make love to Breena.

  And wasn’t he a great flat-footed arse for not correcting them?

  He turned away before he did. Such a denial would be yet another lie. He’d already filled his belly with more than enough falsehoods. There wasn’t room for any more, and he was weary of them, besides.

  The gods of Yule had spoken to him.

  And as he climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the Munzie guest room, passing garlands of holly and ivy, every bright, red-ribboned bow seeming to wink at him, he knew that as a mere mortal man, he didn’t dare ignore their message.

  Nor did he wish to, for the gods had presented him with three irrefutable truths.

  Through Malcolm, they’d shown him he daren’t waste a moment, not when true love is at stake.

  With this journey, they’d reminded him that he couldn’t abide falsehoods and that he abhorred pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

  Above all, they’d let him realize how much he loved and needed Breena.

  So his burdens lifted as he made for Breena’s door. Before sunrise, they’d no longer be playing a part. When morning came, they’d descend the stairs as a couple, loving, true, and belonging together.

  All the world would know it, and rightly so.

  He was proud to love her.

  And he didn’t care that Fergus and Malcolm knew he meant to have her this night.

  He just hoped she’d have him.

  “Grim! I didn’t hear you come in.”

  At the sight of him, Breena almost dropped the great linen drying cloth she’d just wrapped about her nakedness. Even in the room’s dimness, she could tell something was different about him. Somehow, he looked larger than before, bolder and more fearsome, as if he were going to battle. The change stunned her into breathlessness and she took a step backward, bumping into the linen-lined bathing tub she’d soaked in until only a moment ago.

  She blinked, not sure what else to say, because rather than answer her, he was carefully undoing his plaid’s heavy silver brooch.

  His gaze remained on hers as he did so, even as he pulled off the pin and his plaid, dropping both onto a wooden chest near the door.

  How had he entered the little room so quietly, and why hadn’t she heard the door open and close? Surely such a big man couldn’t move so silently? Yet he had and he was doing so again.

  Somehow he was right before her.

  She hadn’t even blinked, she was sure.

  He looked furious, his brows lowered and his beautiful gray gaze so fierce only her pride, and the lingering soreness from their ride, kept her from nipping behind the half-barrel that was the Munzies’ bathing tub.

  She did feel her eyes widening, and her heart beat so wildly she could hardly draw breath.

  Grim lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. “The men of my clan are known to move in silence, when we must. Suchlike serves us well in times of war. Now and again I forget myself and do so when such a skill is no’ needed.

  “Mackintosh men can also be grand fools, on occasion.” He lowered his hand, trailing his fingers along the side of her neck where he touched the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat as if its rapid beats were a thing of great wonder. “And I have been the greatest lummox of all.

  “I’ve made a grave error with this journey.” He looked miserable, his face grieved, his tone somber.

  Breena’s heart split to see his unhappiness.

  He regretted bringing her with him.

  A truth that brought all her hopes and dreams, her most fervent beliefs in the wonder of Yule, crashing down around her.

  “I understand.” She did, and it was terrible, the hurt eating at her as surely as if hordes of carrion were tearing into her heart.

  Not wanting him to guess, she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with all the dignity she could muster. “Further, I have told you, I’m not a lady.

  “I am an Irish village lass and glad that is so.” She tightened her grip on the drying cloth, keenly aware of her unclothed state. Her still-damp hair tumbling about her shoulders, in total disarray. The chill bumps that surely made her so unsightly.

  All that, Grim had to see, even with only one candle flickering on the bed’s night table, and the room’s two poorly burning oil lamps.

  She looked a fright, the pads of her fingers and toes even shriveled.

  Had she truly believed she could linger in the tub until Grim strolled into the room, “surprising” her as she bathed, the sight of her bared breasts proving her a woman? More shameful still, a siren he’d pounce upon?

  Had she been so wicked?

  She had.

  She’d even stayed in the tub until the lavender-scented water turned so cold she wouldn’t have wonder
ed if ice skimmed the surface.

  All in the hope of seducing Grim.

  Now he was here. She wasn’t in the tub, but was as good as naked. And he wasn’t eyeing her in the appreciative way she’d hoped he’d do.

  He was looking at her as if he stood on a field of battle and she was his foe.

  “Perhaps you’re no’ a lady by the rights of law.” His frown was even darker now. “You heard what I think of that in Lady Rosalie’s room of stars, back in Duncreag’s Winter Tower. I’ve no’ changed my mind.”

  “Yet you’re sorry we made this journey.” Stepping around him as gracefully as her soreness allowed, Breena started for the bed. She hoped to snatch the chin-to-ankle woolen night-robe Flora had given her because the room lacked a hearth, a small coal-burning brazier its only warmth.

  “You wish I’d stayed at Duncreag.”

  “I didnae say that.” Grim moved with lightning speed, his arm shooting out to seize her wrist, his iron grip drawing her back to him. “I said I erred and I did. My mistake was no’ bringing you with me, but allowing us to pretend we’re betrothed.”

  “I see.” Breena felt heat sweep her, knew her face was flaming. “You’re embarrassed by—”

  “I’m in love with you, is what I am!” He grasped her face, kissed her roughly, a deep, hot kiss that set her senses spinning. “I dinnae want to play your intended.” He tore his mouth from hers, his eyes blazing. “I’m no’ a man for foolery and deceit and ne’er will be. Truth is I want you for my own, as my wife.”

  “You wish us to marry?” Breena could scarce believe it. She touched a shaky hand to her lips, could almost feel them tingling from his kiss. His words, his avowal of love, threatened to burst her heart. The chilly little room tilted, careening crazily around them as the floor seemed to rise and fall like the tides of the sea. Outside, the wind shrieked and the room was colder than ever. She could also hear one of the Munzie dogs barking.

  But none of that felt real, not a bit mattered.