Once Upon A Highland Christmas

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  If so, it was too late.

  Grim wouldn’t let her go, not under any circumstances. And he knew she’d never leave him. So he pushed the thought from his mind.

  Unfortunately, another replaced it. A notion equally troubling. Breena might stay with him, but it could sadden her to know that while her uncle lived, he was in distant Ireland, far from her reach.

  Homesickness might break her heart.

  And seeing her unhappy would pierce his, her sorrow perhaps even dampening her love for him.

  It was a terrible prospect. Especially now, at the beginning of their marriage.

  Chapter Eight

  “Breena, lass, I am so relieved to see you, and looking so well.” Dermot O’Doherty, a huge, bearlike man with rust-gray hair and light blue eyes, pushed away from the rampart wall and opened his arms to Breena. “There were times I feared ne’er to gaze on you again.”

  “I thought you were gone to me forever.” Breena leaned into him, a lump rising in her throat, her heart beating fast. Her eyes stung, tears welling so swiftly she knew they were about to spill over. “You, Aunt Mell, my parents, everyone I ever loved. For weeks, I cried rivers. Then I just tried to forget, putting the images from my mind because thinking of them was too painful.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” She clung to him, dug her fingers into his great shoulders. “I have missed you so, every day since—”

  “No more than I missed you, lassie.” He held her close, then set her from him and just looked at her. “Praise the saints, no worse ill has befallen you than what I’ve heard.”

  “That is over and done. I am well.” Breena didn’t tell him she was also married.

  Not yet.

  But she would, and soon.

  For now, she reached to touch her beloved uncle’s face, brushed the falling snow from his gray-streaked hair, off the broad shoulders that had carried her so often as a child. “I wish the hall wasn’t so crowded. We’d have been warm and comfortable there. But it is Yule and so many people have come to celebrate.”

  “I’d not thought to find guests here.” Uncle Dermot looked out into the night, not seeing much, for the clouds had lowered to hide the mountains, and whirling mist blurred what glimpses of them might remain.

  It was dark and bitter cold on the battlements, the wind carrying fine, spitting snow. But the ramparts were the only place they could talk, with all the feasting and dancing in the hall. Along with their pipers, the Gregorach had even brought a troupe of tumblers, and a clansman with a pack of small trick-performing terriers. Strains of the music and revelry could be heard even here, the din carrying on the wind.

  Duncreag’s great hall wasn’t the place for a reunion with a long-lost uncle.

  “I’ve been searching for you ever since the raid, looking everywhere.” Her uncle turned back to her, his face solemn. “I even journeyed to Dublin and London. When I learned you were here, I heard the tales of Archibald’s travails, the tragedies that have befallen this house. I am sorry.”

  “And you were dead, uncle. Everyone was.” Breena blinked and dashed at her cheek, for she couldn’t seem to stop the tears. “No one was left. I was there, I remember.”

  “Aye, well…” Her uncle ran a hand through his hair, looking shamed for the first time she could remember. “That wasn’t quite the way of it.”

  “Then tell me how it was.” Breena slipped her arms around him again and rested her head against his shoulder. Whatever had happened, she knew he’d done nothing wrong. “You said Aunt Mell also survived. That she’s well and back in Ireland? Did you build a new house at Inishowen?

  “I know yours was burnt.” She tried not to remember too vividly. “I saw the flames.”

  Uncle Dermot broke away from her, looking even more uncomfortable. “Your Aunt Mell isn’t at Inishowen. Few folk are, for so little remained. I left your aunt at the O’Doherty Keep in Buncrana. That’s where I’ve been staying as well, lass. Leastways before I set off for these wild parts to find you.”

  “But why there?” Breena frowned, puzzled. “The Keep at Buncrana is the home of the Lords of Inishowen.”

  “So it is, aye.” Her uncle went back to the rampart wall, braced his hands on a merlon as he stared out into the swirling clouds and mist. “I am the Lord’s captain of guards, Breena.”

  He turned around, his face both sad and proud. “That, I have e’er been. Buncrana has aye been my true home.”

  “What?” Breena blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “You can’t be the Lord of Inishowen’s captain.” She shook her head, a strange rushing in her ears. “You’re my uncle, the village smith.”

  “Ach, lass, I wish it’d ne’er have come to this, though I knew it would someday.” His words rang true, his regret real enough to send chills all through her, breaking her heart. “I’m no’ even your uncle, my wife not your aunt. Though I swear to you on my immortal soul and that of my mother’s that we love you as much as if you were our niece in truth.

  “More than that.” He tipped his head back to stare up at the heavens, releasing a long exhalation. “My wife and I love you like a daughter. Surely you know that?”

  Breena did, but just now she felt only pain.

  She staggered backward, placed cold hands to her cheeks. “I don’t understand. Please help me do so.”

  It was then she saw Grim and Archie step from the shadows of the stair tower, both men coming to stand beside her. Grim looked fierce, a warrior ready to ride into battle. And Archie, bless him, just looked confused.

  “Who are you to my wife?” Grim slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close against him. He used the edge of his wolfskin cloak to shield her from the sleet and snow. “Breena and I are wed. I’ll no’ have you distressing her, no’ matter who you are and what you are to her.”

  “Your wife?” The Irishman looked at Breena, then Grim and Archie. Shock visibly swept through him, his eyes rounding. But then he frowned, looking indeed like a mighty lord’s captain of the guards. “That cannot be.”

  “I say you it is.” Grim tightened his arm around her, his voice hard. “We wed in the old way, just days ago. As an Irishman, you’ll ken such a ceremony is binding, our vows set in stone.”

  “Aye, he has the rights of it.” Archie clutched his cloak about him, his thin hair flying in the wind. “They’re wed, they are. And”—he spluttered, his agitation clear—“Duncreag is her home now. If you’ve come to fetch her, you can hie yourself back to Donegal. It’s here she stays and nowhere else.

  “With her husband, mind.” He folded his arms, nodded once to Breena and Grim.

  Uncle Dermot, for Breena would always think of him that way, looked more unhappy than ever. “I regret I did come to retrieve her,” he admitted. “On my liege lord’s orders. But”—his gaze went from one of them to the other—“I would’ve made the journey anyway, to find her. I’ve aye wanted the best for her. I still do, even if she doubts me.”

  “Just who are you then?” Grim’s tone was firm, his face still hard.

  “He is the Lord of Inishowen’s captain of the guards.” Breena glanced at Grim. “Until this moment, I believed he was my uncle, the village blacksmith.”

  Grim nodded. “Aye, we spoke of him. He’s the man who treated you better than your own father.”

  “That man wasn’t her father.” Dermot O’Doherty’s gaze locked on Breena’s. “The Lord of Inishowen is Breena’s sire.”

  “My father?” Breena’s jaw slipped, disbelief slamming into her. She stared at her “uncle,” the misery on his face telling her he spoke true. “The O’Doherty of Buncrana?”

  “Him and no other, lass. Your blood is royal.” Dermot O’Doherty nodded, glancing at Grim and Archie. “We’re a land of warring and rival kings and kinglets, lords and many lesser chieftains who’d crawl and fight their way through the devil’s own belly to gain more land and wealth and titles. The O’Doherty of Buncrana”—he looked again at Breena—“lost many wives and children through
intrigues and treachery. When Breena, his youngest, was born, he vowed to spare her such a fate. She was given to a trusted village family in Inishowen. They were paid well to raise her as their own, far from Buncrana and its threats to her safety.

  “My wife and I were sent along to keep an eye on her, protecting her from afar.” He pulled a hand down over his face, his voice gruff. “We came to love her as if she were indeed our niece. In truth, we love her more than that. She is as a child to us, the one we never had.”

  “So my lady wife is a lord’s daughter.” Grim didn’t sound surprised.

  Breena glanced at him, sure she’d seen his lips twitch.

  But when she looked again, his face was as solemn as Dermot O’Doherty’s.

  “She is more than a lord’s daughter, sir.” Her Uncle Dermot drew himself up, respectfully. “Lady Breena is a princess.”

  “Mercy!” Breena’s eyes flew wide. She swayed, her knees almost buckling. In truth, she should have realized this was coming.

  She knew of the Buncrana lords, their wealth and lofty status. The strings of titles and privilege that stretched back into the darkest mists of time. The O’Dohertys of that line were a proud and noble race.

  “So I have always suspected.” Grim was smiling, his lips definitely twitching now.

  “She is a special lass. Anyone can see it.” Archie’s chest swelled and he held his head so high Breena feared he’d drown on the falling snow.

  “I feel faint.” Breena did, gladly leaning into Grim’s side, needing his strength and warmth. She could only stare at Dermot O’Doherty, wondering how all this could be. “I don’t understand how you survived the raid. It was terrible.”

  “So it was, aye.” He held her gaze, the memory clearly grieving him. “You know I’d ne’er let aught happen to you, no’ if I could help it. I even grabbed a coracle and rowed after you. But I couldn’t overtake the galley bearing you away. Back ashore, I stayed as long as I could and I cut down as many of the jackals as my sword would kill. When nothing remained for me to do, I rode with your aunt to Buncrana. She was injured and needed tending. I also had to inform my liege, your true father, of the attack.

  “I saw the men who took you and knew I could track them, bringing you home.” He paused, drew a long breath. “It took longer than I’d have hoped to find you. And”—he glanced at Grim—“I regret I have disturbing tidings.”

  “My aunt is ill?” Breena felt her heart clutch. She would always think of Aunt Mell as family.

  If the older woman was dying, she’d ask Grim to accompany her to Ireland.

  “It has naught to do with Mell.” Again, Uncle Dermot appeared uncomfortable. “Your father has arranged a marriage for you. He’s promised you to an O’Carroll chief’s son. They’re a powerful family with vast lands and strong holdings in Offaly, far to the south of Inishowen, where your father believes you’ll be safe and prosper.”

  He took another deep breath and finished, “I am to deliver you to O’Carroll at once.”

  Breena bristled.

  A chill colder than the swirling snow seeped into her bones, closing her heart to the sire she’d never known. “My father has no wish to see me? He doesn’t care to set eyes on me before he marries me for land and allies?” She slipped her hand into Grim’s, lacing their fingers, not needing his strength, but giving him hers.

  From the corner of her eye, she’d seen the smile slip from his face, watched the color drain from his features, his expression turn to stone.

  He feared to lose her.

  That such a worry struck him so powerfully only made her love him more. So she tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to feel her devotion. Just as she’d taken such comfort in their joined hands, as he’d lain so close beside her, sleeping, when they’d spent the night in the sumptuous bedchamber at MacGregor Tower.

  They’d enjoy every night of their lives together.

  She’d make sure they always held hands as they fell asleep.

  Just now, Dermot O’Doherty was standing before her, twisting his big, work-scarred hands. “I am going nowhere, uncle.” Breena lifted her chin, almost feeling the steel running through her backbone. She spoke clear and firm. “I am already wed, and even if that could be undone, I’d not allow it.”

  Beside her, Grim relaxed. She could sense the relief pouring through him. Even so, he exchanged a terse glance with Archie.

  He was still worried.

  “That won’t do, Breena.” Her uncle looked unhappy, but his voice was strong, unbending. “A lord’s command cannot be disobeyed, especially one he makes of his daughter.”

  “A daughter he doesn’t even wish to meet? A daughter he hasn’t acknowledged until now? I think not.” Breena shook her head. “My decision is mine and you’ve heard it.”

  “Your father’s word is law.” Her uncle went to the rampart wall where he’d stood earlier, once again placing his hands on a merlon. “No one will care if you were wed here for a day or so. Not once you’re returned to Ireland, your days here forgotten.”

  “I will never forget my husband.” Breena’s heart thundered. She lifted her voice above the wind. “I’ll not leave him. Nothing under the heavens can make me.”

  “An army could take you, Breena.” Dermot O’Doherty kept his gaze on the night, as if he didn’t trust himself to face her as he spoke such damning words. “Your father will send one, you can be sure.”

  “And perhaps he won’t.” Archie marched over to him, poked him in the back with end of his crummock. “If you tell him you couldn’t find her he’ll no’ be knowing the difference now, will he?”

  Dermot O’Doherty said nothing.

  Grim glanced at Breena, leaning down to speak low in her ear. “Dinnae you worry, sweet, I will talk to him. If he cares for you as you’ve told me he does, he’ll want the best for you.”

  Breena wasn’t so sure.

  Grim might make it worse.

  Her uncle was a stubborn man. And just now he appeared more uncompromising than ever. He stood staring out across the dark, night-bound hills. His entire body was rigid, his jaw hard-set. He didn’t seem to notice the swirling snow, the bone-biting cold. He looked unbending, as if he were carved of stone.

  “He isn’t the man I thought he was.” Breena’s heart broke to say the words. But the truth was as real, and devastating, as if he’d sprouted horns and a tail. “He serves a great lord, a man who wields much power. He’s oath-bound to do as he’s been ordered.”

  Grim lifted a hand, brushing the snow off her cheek. “Sometimes, lass, our hearts tell us to do otherwise. A good man heeds such urgings.” He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “I shall challenge him, reminding him of his debt to you. The lass he claims to have loved as a daughter. If he is disagreeable”—Grim stepped back, patted his sword hilt—“there are other ways of persuasion.”

  “I wouldn’t see him hurt.” Breena’s voice caught, the thought paining her. She did love him, despite everything.

  “Devil take him.” Grim frowned. “I’ll no’ have anyone try to spirit you away.”

  Breena flashed a look to where Archie still groused at her uncle. The old chieftain was using his walking stick to jab the air on each word. “Archie isn’t helping. My uncle is just ignoring him.”

  “Archie means nothing to him.” Grim glanced toward the two older men, then back at her. “You do.”

  “So I always believed.” Breena’s pulse quickened, a plan beginning to form in her heart. “If anyone can change his mind, it would be me.”

  Grim slowly shook his head. “I will speak man to man with him. That is best.”

  “Grim.” Breena reached out, gripping his arm to stop him when he started to cross the battlements. He clearly intended to confront her uncle alone. “I am going with you.”

  “Nae, you shall wait here.” Grim slipped his arm from her grasp.

  “Indeed?” Breena lifted up on her toes, whispered in his ear what he wouldn’t be allowed to do if he tried to stop her.r />
  “That’s no’ fair, lass.” He frowned.

  “I say it is.” She beamed back at him, her confidence waxing.

  When he blew out a breath and shoved a hand through his hair, his gaze dipping to a certain place currently hidden beneath her skirts, she knew she’d won.

  He did seem to love kissing her there.

  “Well?” She lifted a brow and tapped his chest. “Shall we speak with him now? Together?”

  “You give a man little choice.” Grim offered her his arm.

  Breena took it, gladly. “I am trusting in the goodness of my uncle’s heart, the power of love, and”—she stretched to kiss Grim’s cheek—“the magic of Christmas.”

  “I hope you aren’t disappointed.” Grim didn’t sound convinced.

  But when they reached her uncle and Archie at the wall, Grim cleared his throat loudly, lifting his voice before she could say a word.

  “Good sir,” he began, sliding an arm around Breena, holding her close. “I would remind you that it is Yule. If e’er you loved Breena, truly cared for her as she has told me, then you’d be giving her the greatest gift of Christmas by going away and leaving her in peace.”

  “I cannae do that.” Dermot O’Doherty glanced at her.

  His eyes were suspiciously bright.

  “I gave my sworn oath to my liege lord,” he added, his voice rough. “I am duty-bound. Surely you, as a man of war, will understand?”

  “What of your heart, uncle?” Breena left Grim’s side and went to stand directly before the man she’d always loved as a father. “Does it not speak to you as well?” She glanced over her shoulder at Grim, her own heart fluttering when he nodded approval. “Are there not times when a man, even a great warrior, must be ruled by love rather than orders?

  “Or”—she stood straighter, lifting her chin—“do you not love me as much as I grew up believing?”