A Highlander's Christmas Kiss

by Paula Quinn

  Cailean listened, looking up to smile every now and then while he ground nutmeg in a small mortar.

  “Not only did she thrive,” Gram continued, tearing away fistfuls of dough and molding the pieces in her hands, “but she grew into a spirited child. Och, she was fearless, always getting into mischief with William. Her father spoiled her rotten.”

  “And ye had nothin’ to do with that?” Cailean teased, and tossed a pinch of nutmeg on one of the rectangles she’d made.

  “Tell the truth, Gram.” Temperance’s voice at the door sounded too good to his damned ears. “You tried to be stern, but you gave in more times than Papa did.”

  “Ye still turned out all right,” Gram told her, and went back to her dough. “Most days.”

  They all laughed together. It felt good too, as did chopping herbs and crushing nuts. Cailean thought he might be ready to heal. Ready to return home to Camlochlin.

  He’d never see Temperance again.

  He put that thought away for now, and when everything was made and put away for the night’s festivities, he excused himself and left the house.

  He returned an hour later carrying bundles of fresh mountain laurel, boughs of evergreen, and boughs of holly. He would have replaced all the dried, dying decorations himself, but he met Temperance in the corridor, and when she offered him her most radiant, grateful smile, he wanted to drop everything and haul her into his arms. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, and he was sure it would lead to sorrow and heartbreak, but she sapped his strength to fight it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  What is this called again?” Temperance sat at one of the brightly decorated tables and lifted a second spoonful of her spinach tart to her mouth. She’d never tasted anything so delicious—save for Cailean Grant’s mouth. She blinked her gaze away from it and stopped herself just in time from sighing.

  “Spinach cremonese.” Cailean leaned down in his chair and said it close to her ear so she could hear him over the many conversations being had in the dining hall.

  The low cadence of his voice and the sensual way he spoke the foreign word sent thrilling little chills down Temperance’s spine.

  Since she’d found him in the kitchen with Gram, he’d seemed more receptive to her than he had last night or this morning in this same hall. She remembered how he’d kept control over himself while she tempted him. At least she’d tried to tempt him. What in blazes did she know about tempting men? She’d certainly failed with him. According to Patrick, many lasses had.

  “Patrick told me”—she tipped her head a bit to look him in the eyes. She almost regretted doing it, but on the other hand she never wanted to look away—“that you and he and two other cousins found yourselves in much trouble together while growing up. But you and Patrick were the most wicked pair of lads in all the hills. You both schemed and fought your way out of more serious situations. Lasses refused you nothing. Am I leaving anything out?”

  He lifted his gaze from hers to search out his cousin standing in the center of six smiling lasses from Linavar.

  Dangling from Patrick’s fingers was a sprig of mistletoe.

  She watched his smile deepen into laughter at something Patrick had just called out to him. He’d laughed with her and Gram earlier as well. She wouldn’t forget the sound of it, deep and robust, or how it scorched her nerve endings and made her want to spend the rest of her days making him do it more often. It was hard to believe this was the same somber man who’d woken up in her bed after being left for dead in her cabbage patch.

  He’d stopped her breath then. Now he stopped her heart, the blood flow in her veins, and logical thought.

  In fact, she could think of nothing but kissing him. His mouth drove her mad, so decadently full and inviting, with that deep dimple in his chin to accentuate his shapely lips. She liked him. She liked him more than she should.

  When he returned his attention to her, his smile washed over her and made her want to weep at its arresting beauty. “He embellishes.”

  “And according to your cousin,” she continued, emboldened by his good mood, “I am to believe you asked for nothing more than a kiss?”

  “Is it more believable if I attest to it?” he asked.

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked him softly when he tilted his ear closer to her, brushing his hair across her cheek.

  “I dinna want bairns in every glen, or a lass who only makes me feel with my flesh and no’ m’ heart. I’d always wanted m’ life to be filled with real passion.”

  She blinked into his gaze, melting like the festive candles around her. “That’s what I want for my life too.”

  “’Tis no’ too late fer ye.”

  “Or for you,” she countered, bringing her spoon back to her mouth.

  “It—”

  “Wait!” Temperance lifted her palm to her chest and closed her eyes while she tasted what was in her mouth. “Good Lord, what is this?”

  “Basil salmon pâté,” he told her, smiling at her reaction.

  “Oh, my!” She looked at him and felt like kissing him because he could cook so well. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  “Ye flatter me, lass.”

  She nodded and smiled, pulling the spoon out of her mouth. “What will it get me?”

  He watched the spoon slide through her lips. His heated gaze sent tremors down her spine. “Whatever ye like.”

  Och, she’d like many things. What exactly was he offering? Another kiss? More? He hadn’t given others more, save for Alison. He’d given himself to Alison. What if he loved Alison too much to love her?

  Could she ever be so fortunate as to win his heart? She wanted to try.

  “Will you teach me to speak French?”

  She loved the way his sulky steel-blue eyes grazed over her face, her features, as if he were trying to emblazon the look of her in his mind. Mayhap to remember later, when he left Linavar.

  “Oui, mademoiselle.”

  Had he just moved closer? Were those flecks of silver in his eyes? What were those expressive eyes telling her? Tonight they didn’t seem haunted at all. There was humor, a playfulness in him she hadn’t seen before. And desire, warm and rich. She felt it like a touch.

  He took her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “But only if ye walk with me beneath the stars later.” The slash of his grin when he looked up from his kiss set her nerves on fire.

  “Cailean.” Gram’s voice dragged Temperance from her reverie. “Come. My—” Her grandmother paused when she reached them and narrowed her eye on them… mainly on how close Temperance was sitting to him. She was practically in his lap!

  Mortified, Temperance moved away. She hadn’t even realized she’d gotten that close.

  Gram cleared her throat and began again. “Fergive me, Cailean. I’m afraid I must take ye from my granddaughter. Everyone wants to meet the man who made the salmon pâté. Come.”

  He stood and looked down at Temperance for help. She agreed with Gram on this one. His dishes were light, aromatic delights thrilling the palate. Folks wanted to thank him, and Gram wasn’t going to let him out of accepting.

  The problem, according to Patrick, was that Cailean had shut himself away from his kin, from the world he knew.

  “Be yourself,” she told him. “And they will adore you.”

  He looked uncomfortable but let Gram drag him away.

  “Is that Patrick MacGregor?”

  Temperance turned to William, who was taking Cailean’s seat, and missed Cailean’s slanting his gaze from flaxen-haired Flora Menzie to her.

  “Aye, ’tis him.” She nodded. “Where have you been for the past two days?” Before he had time to answer, she pointed to her plate. “Will, you must taste this.” She scooped up a spoonful of pâté and spread it on a diagonally cut piece of seasoned crust.

  “I have something—” he began, then stopped when she shoved the toasted bread into his mouth. He chewed. His dark eyes widened. “Delicious!”

  “I
know! Cailean made it!”

  “Hell,” William breathed, turning to find him among the faces. “He’s good.”

  Temperance nodded. “Now, what were you saying?” Her eye caught the spark of light that seemed to come from the tilt of Cailean’s lips or from the depths of his eyes, half-hidden beneath his lashes. Either possibility irked Temperance equally, since that spark was being given to Miss Jane Deware, Will’s niece.

  “I was saying that I—Temp? Are you listening?”

  Temperance blinked her gaze away from Cailean’s resplendent smile, aimed at Jane.

  “Of course,” she assured him. “But you are taking your time about it.”

  He sighed and set his gaze to where she’d been looking. “You must send him away and forget him.”

  “Why?” she challenged. There was another way! Will didn’t have to marry her! “Why must I?”

  “Because he is dangerous,” he told her. “He will shatter your heart to pieces.”

  Now she wanted answers. This went beyond Will’s being overprotective. He sounded as if he knew things he wasn’t telling her. She asked him. He denied it. “He isn’t staying, Temp. I can tell you fancy him. What will you do when he leaves?”

  She scowled, angry at him for ruining this festive night. She didn’t want to think about Cailean’s leaving. But he hadn’t spoken to anyone about making Linavar his home.

  “He lied,” he said, slowly returning his gaze to her. “He lied about Marion. I rode to Perth to find her for myself. But she wasn’t there. I met Grant’s brother, the Earl of Huntley. He didn’t know who she was.”

  He’d ridden to Perth? He’d met Cailean’s brother?

  “What is the earl like?”

  “He’s a bit terrifying. Like he’s killed more people than I care to know.”

  And William had gone to him alone? “You truly love Marion, don’t you?”

  He nodded, looking ill.

  “And you think I would marry you when you love another so much?” She smiled at him and rested her hand on his cheek. “I cannot, dearest friend.”

  “But your father wanted you to be safe.”

  “My father wanted me to be happy too. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you that when you spoke to him just hours after I did.”

  He looked away. “We didn’t speak of you overlong.”

  “I thought you had. What did you speak of, then?” she asked curiously.

  But he didn’t answer her query.

  “You won’t find happiness with him.” He turned again to look at Cailean, now sharing smiles with Maryanne Menzie. “He has secrets.”

  “It seems you do as well,” she countered. “I’m sorry Marion wasn’t in Perth, but that doesn’t mean Cailean deceived us. Did the gel from Lyon’s Ridge lie too? Perhaps Marion—”

  Will shook his head, trying to stop her. “’Tis not just—”

  “Cease this!” she cut him off. She didn’t want to hear any more. “Let there be no more talk of marriage between us. He will find Marion and you will wed her. That is what I want.”

  She got up and left the table. She wasn’t angry with William. He hadn’t done anything besides try to keep his promises and remain what he’d always been—her protector.

  But she’d never take him as her husband. She wanted someone else.

  She didn’t see Cailean turning away from the beautiful Louise Wallace to watch her hurry out of the hall.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cailean stepped out of the house and swept his gaze over the moonlit braes and fields beyond. She was out here. He’d watched her leave the hall. Hell, he’d been just behind her. Where had she gone and why had she left the house alone? TamLin meowed at his ankles. “Where is she?” he asked the feline. “Where’s yer mistress?” TamLin answered by rubbing her side against his calf. Cailean shook his head at her. “If ye were a dog ye’d know.”

  “Are you insulting my cat?” Temperance appeared beside him, a wintry dream come to life.

  He smiled, looking at her with moonlight spilling down her hair and starlight in her eyes.

  He remembered to breathe. Hell.

  “What are ye doin’ oot here alone?”

  The slant of her mouth tempted him to lean down and kiss her. “Are you afraid someone might snatch me away?”

  “Nae, lass.” He moved closer and slipped his arm around her waist. “I’d just snatch ye right back.”

  Giving in to the pull she had over him, he bent to kiss her as the wind tore at her breath. She spun out of his one-armed embrace and walked off, swinging her arms and calling over her shoulder, “Was it difficult tearing yourself away from your many admirers?”

  He grinned, following her. “Nae, and I left one of them while she was still speakin’.”

  Temperance laughed, sending music into the air. “What was she saying?”

  “I dinna know.”

  “What was her name?”

  He caught up with her and shrugged, brushing her arm with his. “I dinna know that either.” He reached for her hand, since he was so close to it, and twined his fingers through hers.

  She didn’t pull away but tightened her grip. Who was she? he wondered, walking with her beneath the stars. What were the things that brought her happiness, the things that used to make her hum and smile at the sun? His desire to know her and everything about her was irritating because it frightened him—and strong enough to make him forget that it did.

  He smiled at the way she swung his hand between them. “I understand ye like to ramble through the heather.”

  She cut her gaze up to him. “You’ve been speaking with William.”

  “Aye.” He had to lean down to see her gaze when she lowered it. “Does that displease ye, lass?”

  “He doesn’t like you. That displeases me.”

  Cailean knew her friend had a good enough reason. But he didn’t want to think on that reason now.

  She stopped walking and let their arms hang still at their sides. “He went to Perth, Cailean. Marion wasn’t there.”

  “She had better be there. I paid Maeve silver to bring her. Deware didn’t look in the right place.”

  “He met your brother.”

  Cailean smiled. “That couldna have been pleasant.”

  “He thinks you have secrets.”

  Cailean wanted to tell them to her. But not tonight. “Everyone has somethin’ they keep close and dinna share with anyone else. Includin’ Maeve ’twould appear.”

  “Do you?”

  His heart thumped madly. He was one of the men she wanted to kill. “I miss m’ kin. I havena missed them in a long time.”

  When she shivered he untied his plaid and wrapped her in it.

  “You cannot wait to get home and see them again, then?”

  His smile on her warmed. He knew what she wanted to hear. “I can wait.”

  Her sigh of relief was loud enough to make her blush. “Are they celebrating Christmas Eve tonight?” she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder as they picked up their steps again.

  “Aye, they’re outlaws, remember. They dinna care aboot the kirk’s ban on Christmas.”

  “Neither did my father,” she told him. “My mother fell in love with him on Christmas Eve, on a night much like this one, under these same stars. He told me the story of it every year. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Aye.” He did, mostly because she wanted to tell it. He put away his guilt and the burden of not telling her the truth because she needed to speak of the man she loved in order to heal from the loss of him.

  “Sarah Cameron lived by the banks of Loch Eil. Her father, Alistair Cameron, was as mean as a wet cat.” She paused to lift her head and look at him. “Try giving TamLin a bath and you will appreciate my father’s resolve to court Alistair’s daughter.”

  “I already do. Why d’ye think I had a dog?”

  Her laughter warmed his cockles and he pulled her closer when they reached the fields.

  “Alistair didn’t think my fat
her was good enough for Sarah. So my father set about to prove him wrong. He worked Alistair’s fields for two full harvests, pulling in more crops than the Camerons had seen in years. More importantly, though, every morning he left a sprig of heather on my mother’s windowsill. ’Twas her favorite flower.”

  Cailean listened, understanding now why she thought her father had sent him to Linavar—to her—when Cailean had picked heather for her.

  “My father had done everything he could to court her,” Temperance continued, “but it wasn’t until Christmas Eve, while they walked in the fields behind her home, that she told him he had won her heart.”

  “She must have been an extraordinary lass fer yer faither to pursue her the way he had.”

  “According to my father and Gram, she was. She died bringing me into the world, so I never knew her.”

  A tightness settled in Cailean’s chest. He tilted his head to look at her while they walked. “I’m thinkin’ ye are verra much like her. M’ kin would appreciate yer affinity fer heather.”

  Thanks to his conversation with Gram in her kitchen this morning, he hadn’t stopped thinking about bringing Temperance home—and Gram too.

  “But I’m a Menzie.”

  Was that her only concern? Nothing about leaving Linavar, her friends, or her farming?

  “They have accepted Fergussons, an Englishman or two, pirates, and even the monarchy. They wouldna care who ye were once they knew who ye were to me.”

  She stopped walking and pulled on his hand to stop him as well. “Who am I to you?”

  What? What had he said? He realized quickly enough, scowled, and then smiled, giving in to what his heart was telling him. “Ye are—” He paused, not truly sure what to say. He hadn’t wanted to care for her, but he did. He’d let her in, but how could he have denied her entrance? She’d been through much, thanks to him, and yet she still smiled, she still sang, she still had compassion to help him heal.

  He began again, reaching for her. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her plaid-encased body, shielding her from the wind. “Ye are my candle in the dark.” He stopped again to take her in. He smiled. “I’m better at puttin’ a quill to m’ words than I am at speakin’ them.”