Once Upon A Highland Christmas

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  Chapter Six

  “Mercy me!” Breena’s breath caught as she and Grim rode past a frozen loch, its icy surface half hidden beneath a drift of snow. A huge fire lit the evening sky ahead of them, the sight filling her with wonder. The blaze stretched toward the heavens from the top of a low, humpbacked ridge, painting the clouds and mist with streaks of red and orange. “So that is a Yule beacon.”

  “Aye, it is.” Grim sounded pleased by her delight. “That’ll be Greer MacGregor’s beacon, true enough. His tower house is around thon bend.”

  “I believe I can hear the flame’s roar.” Breena lifted a hand to her brow, tipping back her head to better see the spectacle. “I never dreamed it’d be so large, or so colorful.”

  “Such a blaze must be huge where the glens are so vast and empty, the hills even more daunting,” Grim reminded her. “ ’Tis a wondrous time of year, Christmastide. The lairds and chieftains will be wanting to guide all friends and kin to their door, to celebrate.

  “The Yule beacons are tradition.” His voice deepened, his love of his Highland home evident. “They’re a fine way to greet visitors, assuring even lonely wayfarers of a hearty holiday welcome.”

  Breena glanced at Grim, her heart doing a little flip when he flashed his crooked smile.

  He rode close beside her, as he’d done since they’d left the Munzie farm so early that morning. Their hosts had sent them off with much fanfare after Grim revealed their stay had inspired them to exchange vows in the wee hours, following the honored tradition of their Celtic ancestors.

  Grim hadn’t stopped smiling since. He’d even told her he didn’t know how he’d master his tasks at Duncreag now because she occupied his heart and mind so completely little room remained for anything else. His pleasure at their union, and in her, filled her with so much joy, she was sure no other woman could be more fortunate.

  Even now, he kept glancing at her in a bold, appreciative way that sent rivers of awareness flowing all through her.

  Not wanting to arrive at the MacGregor’s in a swoon, she returned her attention to the Yule beacon. “I didn’t expect the fire to be so beautiful.”

  “Some say such a balefire can make the devil envious.” Grim turned his own gaze back to the frost-hardened path they were following along the lochside. “That is so because the poor devil has only the flames of hell to ponder while a Highland chieftain’s Yule beacon blazes across the most stunning country this side of heaven.

  “Indeed”—his tone held pride—“to a Highlander, our hills and glens are heaven. I vow even Valhalla would pale by comparison.”

  “No doubt.” Breena agreed entirely.

  She, too, could lose her heart to the Highlands. She’d dreamed of someday going back to Ireland. Her heart still squeezed, her soul yearning, when she thought of Inishowen. The approach of Christmas, always such a joyous time in her village, had sharpened the longing. But she trusted her homesickness would lessen, especially now that she and Grim had wed.

  At the reminder, her pulse quickened and she felt the sweetest warmth curl low by her thighs, tingly anticipation of another night spent in Grim’s arms.

  She didn’t think she’d ever tire of his touching her, or of caressing him. Even now, she could feel her passion for him building, her heart swelling with love.

  “Do you think we’ll reach MacGregor Tower soon?” She glanced about as they rode away from the loch and entered the deep trough of a long and narrow glen.

  The Yule beacon lit the way, but it was now deepening twilight, the hour of gloaming. For the last few miles, the snow-blanketed hills and woodlands had been sinking into darkness, and frosty mist blew across their path. Breena was sure her ears were frozen, and the brittle air burned her lungs. The wind was also picking up, each new gust howling like a banshee as it tore through the glen, shrieking and ice-edged, so cold that her eyes stung.

  But the balefire’s leaping flames were reward enough for any discomfort.

  In truth, she found the wintry Highlands wild, glorious, and awe inspiring.

  The Yule beacon finally loomed near, a towering pile of wood with its huge red plumes coloring the night sky. It could’ve been ripped from a bard’s fantastical song about the myths and legends of old.

  “No’ at all like the pinprick of light we saw through the pines at Fergus Munzie’s farm, is it?” Grim edged his horse nearer to hers. He reached over, adjusting the great wolfskin cloak he’d again insisted she wear. “Thon flames can be seen for miles.” He nodded toward the fire, so high atop its rock-strewn ridge. “Like as no’, we’ll be seen as well. The MacGregor will have lookouts posted. Men set to watch who is attracted by his balefire.

  “We’ll be met at his door, you’ll see.” Grim kneed his horse, also clucking to Breena’s, encouraging the mare to keep pace. “There’ll be a welcoming hearth fire, ale and uisge beatha, and a good, warm meal. Like as no’ pipers will be strutting about in number, playing their hearts out to herald in the festive days. If we’re lucky, there’ll be plenty of sugared almonds and other sweetmeats. The MacGregor is said to be fond of the like.”

  “I have only one wish for this night.” Breena kept her chin raised and met Grim’s eye when he glanced her way. “I’d enjoy more of your kisses.”

  “Is that so?” He angled his head, his silver beard rings glinting red in the light of the Yule beacon. “And I thought there might be more you’d be wanting? A bit of careful stroking here and there, some fine neck nuzzles that inch ever lower until—”

  “I am eager for all that and more,” Breena admitted, warmth blooming on her cheeks even as the most rousing heat pooled between her legs.

  “You shall have your desires, my lady.” Grim leaned close and kissed her cheek, nipping her ear before he pulled away. “Every last one of them, especially your most secret and lascivious wishes.”

  “Oh!” Breena pressed a hand to her belly, the stirring wickedness of his words almost sending her over that glittery edge of bliss that had brought her such carnal delight the night before.

  She truly was a wanton!

  And—she blinked—they were fast approaching a sea of warmth and light. Not the Yule beacon that now raged almost directly above them, but the torch-lit gatehouse and forecourt of MacGregor Tower, a great black bulk of a square, four-storied tower house topped by a notched parapet walk, every window and arrow slit brightly lit. Torches also blazed at the arched entrance to the gatehouse.

  It was there that a tall, heavily built man stood, a plaid slung proudly across one shoulder. A great sword hung at his hip and he had a wild mane of russet hair. An even bushier beard of the same color added to his savage appearance, while a scar cut a curving swath across his left cheek. Most startling of all was his large, bulbous nose.

  He was Greer MacGregor.

  And he looked exactly like Duncreag’s Old Christmas Wife after Archie’s angry adjustments to the sacred Yule Log.

  Breena shot a look at Grim as they clattered into the courtyard. “Praise be you undid the damage to the Cailleach Nollaigh. There’d be much grief if the MacGregor saw Archie’s handiwork.”

  “Now you see why I took my dirk to the log.” Grim spoke low, for they were already near the tower steps. “I’ve left orders to have Archie watched in our absence. He’ll no’ pull such a trick again.”

  “Grim, I greet you!” The MacGregor started forward, a hand raised in salute. “You and your lady wife are welcome if you’ve come to share holiday cheer.” He stopped before them, waiting as Grim dismounted and then lifted Breena down from her horse’s back. “You can leave now if your visit has aught to do with Archie MacNab.”

  “You know it does.” Grim took Breena’s arm, drawing her to his side. “I’m thinking you know even more if you’re aware Lady Breena is no longer my betrothed but now my bride. We only said our vows last night.”

  “Aye, well.” Greer MacGregor hooked his thumbs in his sword belt and rocked back on his heels. “Could be I’m the wisest man in the
Highlands, eh?”

  Grim chuckled. “Could also be that Flora Munzie put out word faster than I expected.”

  “She couldn’t have.” Breena looked from Grim to the MacGregor chieftain and then back to Grim. “She was at the farm when we left.”

  “So she was.” Grim appeared to consider. “Now that I think on it, how many of her four sons were at the table when we broke our fast this morn?”

  Breena remembered. “Three.”

  “Indeed.” Grim nodded once.

  Greer MacGregor started to laugh, a great and noisy rumble that came from deep in his gut and erupted to fill the torch-lit courtyard with its merriment. “Can a man ne’er outfox you, you wily bastard?”

  “No’ if I can help it.” Grim glanced at Breena, winking. “I told you Flora has ways to spread news faster than a fly can blink.”

  “Then, good sir,” Breena started, opting for courtesy as Greer led them up the stone steps to his keep, “you know we’ve come to beg a favor for—”

  “Archie MacNab. Aye, that I ken!” Greer paused before his hall door, planted his fists on his hips. “A trickier rascal ne’er strode the heather. I’m no’ of mind to leave the comforts of my own hearth now, in the deep of winter, just so he isn’t alone at Yule.

  “That old stoat made his bed and should wallow in it, I say!” he scolded, the twinkle in his eye at odds with his grousing.

  When he winked at Breena behind Grim’s back, her spirits soared, for she saw through his bluster to the goodness of his heart.

  Greer MacGregor knew their business and had something planned to help, she was sure.

  She just didn’t know what it was.

  Until he threw her another wink and flung open his hall door, ushering them inside.

  They stepped into a forest of pine boughs, swags and swags of red-ribboned holly and ivy, and towering piles of mistletoe. The entire hall was festooned with evergreen, the smoke-hazed air filled with the piney scent. Men lined the long rows of trestle tables, eating their evening meal. Their booming voices and the clatter of ale cups and knives warred with the barks of dogs and the roar of the log fire in the hall’s huge soot-blackened hearth.

  As Grim had predicted, every table boasted festively carved bowls piled high with sugared almonds. Breena also noted plentiful trays of custard pasties, her mouth watering to see such scrumptious holiday fare.

  Grim was also right in guessing that the MacGregor pipers would be playing with gusto. Three of them marched back and forth before the hearth, kilts swinging merrily and their cheeks red from their exertions. Several more equally enthusiastic pipers strode up and down between the long tables, their tunes lively.

  The din was tremendous. Jollity and goodwill shone on every face.

  “We’re in fine fettle, as you see.” Greer threw out an arm, taking in the bustling scene. “No man here is for traipsing off now. No’ at Yuletide.”

  “You’ll be joining us at Duncreag all the same.” Grim set a hand on Greer’s shoulder. “I’ve no’ wish to remind you of an old favor, but I will if—”

  “There be no need for that, laddie.” Greer’s jaw jutted, his bushy red beard glinting in the torchlight. “Could be I feel the spirit of the season coming upon me, persuading me to—”

  “You’re a crazed loon, MacGregor.” Grim smiled, lowered his hand from the older man’s shoulder. “Are you with us or nae?”

  Breena scarce heard them, her brow furrowing as she looked about the hall.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Although the walls, ceiling rafters, and every table appeared draped in holiday finery, the most of the greenery and mistletoe was spread about in great piles and mounds on the floor.

  With the great hall already so gaily decorated, there was no room to display the extra trappings. Yet there was so much stashed everywhere that traversing the hall’s aisles could prove hazardous.

  Either Clan MacGregor was prepared to celebrate Yule in grand style or the additional holiday goods were meant for somewhere else.

  “You’re taking the season to Duncreag, aren’t you?” Breena touched the MacGregor’s arm, her smile tremulous, for she was so sure of his intent that her throat swelled with emotion. “The extra greenery and mistletoe is for Archie’s hall, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, well…” The MacGregor pulled a hand down over his chin, looking embarrassed. “I lost my own wife some years back, see you? No man should suffer what MacNab’s been put through, old enemy or nae.”

  “Why did you no’ say so right away?” Grim shook his head, looking about as if he had only now noticed the mountains of decorations.

  “Could be I wanted to see if you’d be lout enough to remind me of that old favor!” Greer thrust a finger in Grim’s chest, once more cantankerous. “I ken well that you helped a few of my drovers when they were set upon by cattle thieves a few years back. That doesnae mean you ought to sally up here and expect me to do your bidding.”

  “I ne’er dreamed it.” Grim accepted the ale cup a passing serving lass offered him, took a long sip. “As Archie’s man, I had to come. I’m glad to hear you’re willing to put the past behind you and—”

  “I’ll ne’er forget he’s a ring-tailed, fork-tongued weasel, even if I do feel sorry for the bastard. No’ that I should.” Greer swelled his chest. “He’s aye been a pest. Once, he stole a lassie out from under my nose. That was years ago, back when we were lads sprouting our first beards. In those days, he was right bonnie, if you’d believe it. He had a silver tongue, which he used to woo the ladies. Most of us didn’t like him at all, I say you!”

  Greer nudged a pile of holly and ivy with his toe. “If you’d hear the truth, my real reason for helping is Flora Munzie. She’s a MacKenzie.” He glanced left and right, lowering his voice. “Devorgilla of Doon, the most far-famed cailleach in the Highlands serves that clan. I’ll no’ be going against Flora’s wishes and risk waking up one fine morn to find I’ve been turned into a newt.

  “Or worse!” He shuddered. “That Devorgilla has been known to stir much mischief.”

  “So men say.” Grim nodded.

  “As soon as Flora’s son rode off, I sent three of my own lads to rally the Gregorach and our friends.” Greer straightened, looking proud. “We’ll be there in number. If we cannae bring Archie to join in the season’s good cheer, then he’s hopeless indeed.”

  “He’ll come round.” Grim slipped his arm about Breena’s waist, pulling her against him. “I’m thinking you’ve done the same, leastways in forgiving your erstwhile enemies. I ken something about that myself.”

  “So I heard.” Greer glanced over his shoulder toward the dais end of the hall where serving lasses were just setting platters of roasted meat and other victuals on the high table. “Word was Malcolm MacDonald was at the Munzie farm. Guid kens you were at odds with that clan for years.

  “Times change, they do.” He shrugged, smoothed down his plaid. “Come dine with me now. “We’ll speak of battles, bards, and lovely ladies.”

  He took Grim and Breena by the arm, leading them around the piles of greenery, toward his high table. “I’d hear about Malcolm’s new bride. Flora’s son was in too great a hurry to share much news.”

  And so it came that Breena and Grim spent much of the night regaling Greer and his MacGregors with all the tidings they felt able to share.

  A certain long-standing debt concerning cattle thieves was agreed forgotten.

  Promises were made and assurances given that all would be done to cheer Archie at Yuletide and to keep the peace throughout the New Year and onward.

  If their clans would never be true friends, it was decided they’d at least be good neighbors.

  Greer insisted Grim and Breena spend the night enjoying the luxury of his finest guest chamber: a lavishly appointed room with rich wall hangings, silver candlesticks, and even a floor of waxed and polished oak, warmed by a scattering of furred rugs rather than the usual rushes. Best of all, so Greer, the chamber held a massive fo
ur-poster bed with tasseled damask curtains and red velvet dressings, sumptuous and inviting.

  “He has a good heart.” Breena carefully turned down the coverlets, smoothed the silken bed sheets. “Did you see all the scribing goods he’s taking to Duncreag as a gift?” She plumped the pillows, her lips curving. “He’s gathered rolls of parchment, three horn flasks of ink, and a full score of goose-feather quills.

  “He told me he hopes such goods will inspire some of the younger MacNab lads to compose poems and songs as Archie once did.” She stepped back from the bed, dusted her hands. “He wouldn’t do all that if his only reason was fear of being turned into a newt. He was jesting you. I knew it as soon as we arrived.”

  “And I’d hoped you were thinking of my kisses.” Grim moved to stand behind her, his hands warm on her shoulders as he lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. “I’ll own I’ve thought of nothing else. Except that I wish to place them somewhere else this night.”

  “Oh?” Breena turned in his arms, looking up into his face. The heat in his eyes melted her. His words made her heart start thumping hard and slow. “I’m sure I don’t understand.” She hedged, not quite bold enough to voice her suspicion. “Perhaps you should tell me where you mean?”

  “I’d rather show you.” Scooping her into his arms, he settled her on the edge of the bed and eased her back against the cushions. “You’ll remember how I stroked you last night?” he reminded her, somehow lifting her skirts and bunching them up around her hips before she realized he’d done so.

  He even parted her knees as he knelt beside the bed, his hands sliding up the inside of her thighs, opening and exposing her.

  “Oh, dear.” Breena stilled, aware of the cold air rushing over hot, damp places.

  She didn’t close her knees.

  She couldn’t possibly, because Grim’s wondrous, bliss-spending hands had reached her intimate flesh. His warm, questing fingers lit over her again and again, bringing her such pleasure she couldn’t bear it if he stopped.

  “That’s a good lass.” He breathed the praise against her knee and then touched a finger to that oh-so-magical spot that brought such intense sensation. He rubbed that place, circling and circling as he’d done before. He seduced and gentled her until she closed her eyes and rocked her hips, lost in the sweetness of his caress.