A Yuletide Highlander

by Cameron, Collette

  That was another thing she admired about him; his attention to little details and his consideration for others. As if she needed something else to add to the growing list of things he’d done to impress her.

  “Come along. Breakfast is ready.” Wrapping an arm around Chris’s shoulders, Sarah hugged him to her side and guided him toward the kitchen. While he ate, she meant to bundle her bedding into the storage closet to prevent the housekeeper from becoming suspicious.

  Holding a brown spotted horse atop cherry-red wheels, his favorite of the playthings that Gregor had given him, he gave her a lopsided smile. “I like it here, sister.” He gave her a toothy grin and rubbed his left eye with the palm of his other hand. “I like Gregor and Cat too.”

  Sorrow and desolation whirled together, tightening her chest. She swallowed, then cleared her throat before painting on a bright smile. “I do as well, darling, but I told you already, we cannot stay. It’s not safe for Gregor or for us.”

  Well, not until the Mary Elizabeth set sail, in any event. Then she’d have a few months’ reprieve. She fully intended to abscond to somewhere Santano would never find them.

  A pout pulled Chris’s usually cheerful mouth downward as he settled into the chair. Several strands of hair fell over his forehead, concealing his left eye. “Are we never going to have a home again, Sister? Will we ever see Mama again?”

  I honestly don’t know.

  He knew about Papa, but not Mama. The truth of it was, she didn’t know whether her mother still lived. A tiny spark of hope glimmered that she did.

  Sarah couldn’t tell him they mightn’t ever have a home. Most likely wouldn’t ever see their mother again, so she did what any loving sister would do and distracted him. “Have you named your pony yet?” She dipped her chin toward the toy horse he rolled back and forth before him.

  “Yes. Brownie, ’cause he has brown spots.” He pointed to the irregular circles.

  “Most appropriate.” If not entirely original.

  Holding the toy up for her inspection, he broke into a wide grin. “Gregor promised to teach me to ride. I want to learn on a pony just like this.”

  Spooning porridge into his bowl, she glanced up. “He did? When was that?”

  “While you bathed the other day.” One of its wheels squeaking, he rolled the toy across the table again. “He showed me a big book with horse pictures. His cousin raises them.”

  Botheration. Gregor shouldn’t be making promises of that nature. Chris didn’t understand that sometimes people said things to be kind: things they didn’t intend to or simply couldn’t do.

  The key rattled in the outer door lock, and she raised a finger to her lips as she swiftly closed the kitchen door before placing Chris’s food on the table. The unmistakable sound of the bolt sliding home reassured her, and she released the breath burning her lungs.

  A moment later, Gregor swaggered in looking entirely too cocky and pleased with himself. “It’s all right, lass, lad. Just a messenger, droppin’ off an order for me. Truth to tell, I didnae expect him until later this mornin’.”

  She poured Gregor fresh tea before retaking her seat. Never had she known a man to drink more tea than Gregor McTavish, and he drank his brew sweet. Three lumps of sugar per cup.

  Papa had preferred black coffee.

  Grinning, as if he were Saint Nick himself, Gregor strode to the table, holding two large brown paper-wrapped bundles. “I have a surprise for ye.”

  My, the man did enjoy giving to others. She’d never known anyone with as generous a nature.

  Chomping on a bite of sausage, Chris grinned. “What is it?”

  “Chris, chew your food first, then talk,” Sarah gently admonished him. She turned the same starchy eye upon Gregor. “What have you done? I told you, I don’t feel right accepting anything else from you. Besides, won’t those raise suspicions?” She wiggled her fingers at the packages.

  If anything, Gregor’s grin grew bigger, pure delight sparking in his eyes.

  She pressed a hand to her frolicking belly. Gads, when he smiled at her like that, it took all of her will to cobble together a coherent thought.

  “Alas, that’s the beauty of it.” He gave a mischievous wink and patted Chris’s shoulder. “I used the Yuletide as an excuse. I dinna ken why I didna think of it before. Dafty of me, really. I had a half dozen more packages wrapped and delivered to the kirk for the poor, so nae one kens the truth.”

  “But, Gregor, the Scots don’t celebrate Christmastide.” Even she knew that.

  Drawing himself up, he sliced Chris—busily eating and playing with his horse—a sideways glance. “Och, but I’m in England now. Would ye begrudge me the enjoyment of the tradition? I hear all sorts of savory foods and sweets are served.” He patted his flat stomach.

  Clever, endearing man.

  “I ken there are kissin’ boughs and mistletoe too.” Rocking back on his heels, he hugged the packages, causing the stiff paper to crackle in protest. His devilish wink made her blood sidle warmer still, and heat stung her cheeks. “Should a lucky gentleman catch a bonnie lassie beneath either, he’s entitled to a wee kiss.”

  Lord. A kiss from a man like him would no doubt set her blood afire and singe her hair.

  “You’re taking advantage of the situation, Gregor McTavish.” She attempted to sound stern, but her voice came out rather breathier than she’d intended. “Your breakfast grows cold. Why don’t you set those aside? We can open them later.”

  “Aye, lass.” He winked again, obviously pleased as Punch with himself and enjoying this misadventure far too much. Before she could think of a suitable retort, he disappeared into the main room, returning shortly with letters between his forefinger and thumb. “I forgot to tell ye. I’ve had responses from Countesses Ramsbury and Clarendon and the Duchess of Harcourt.”

  Her confusion must’ve shown on her face.

  “The countesses are Ewan’s sisters, and her grace is the wife of one of Ewan’s closest chums,” he explained as if it were the most common thing in the world to be on intimate terms with nobles.

  “My, you do have lofty connections, don’t you?” Sarah settled into her chair and, after draping the serviette across her lap, cocked her head.

  “Aye. I do.” Gregor shied his eyebrows high up his forehead and chuckled. “I’m still waitin’ to hear from the Baroness de Deavaux-Rousset, the Countess of Luxmoore, the Viscountess Warrick, and Lady Sethwick.”

  Spoon midway to her mouth, Sarah gaped. “Oh, my stars. You weren’t jesting about knowing a goodly number of peeresses. Have you imposed upon all of them on my behalf?”

  She nearly groaned aloud from mortification. But if it benefited Chris, her damnable pride would have to suffer.

  “Aye,” he said, teacup in hand and not the least bit repentant. “And a few noblemen, too.”

  A humiliated groan did escape her then.

  Two days ago, she’d believed he exaggerated. Knowing what she did about him now, she’d learned he was a man of his word. Having never spent any time in the company of aristocrats, the idea of doing so made her increasingly anxious.

  Imposing upon Gregor was one thing, but asking favors from high-ranking haut ton denizens?

  That was quite another, and she wasn’t altogether sure she’d measure up.

  He cut a piece of sausage then speared it with his fork. “They’re all either relatives or friends of Ewan who’ve become family friends, as well.”

  “You’re very close to your cousin, aren’t you?”

  Sarah hadn’t any cousins.

  Mama had been an only child, and Papa rarely spoke of his family. He’d run away to the sea as a young boy. Once, he’d mentioned his drunkard of a father’s ham-like fists and the beatings he’d endured. She had no idea if any of his relatives lived, and considering what little she knew of them, she wasn’t keen to find out.

  Chewing, Gregor nodded.

  “Aye. Even the Fergusons, my step-cousins, are as close as if they were my own fl
esh and blood.” He aimed his fork toward the main room. “I want ye to see the surprise I have for ye.” Impatient as a lad, he wiped his mouth. He stood and extended his hand.

  Sarah stared at it for a moment.

  Ever so slowly, she fit hers into his great paw. His calloused palm swallowed her hand in a warm, comforting grip. Her logical side cautioned against imprudence. The woman who was increasingly taken with Gregor ignored wisdom. Leaving the dishes for later, she permitted him to urge her and Chris to sit upon the sofa.

  Immediately upon spying her, Cat hopped from the windowsill and sauntered over. Giving Gregor a disdainful look, he twitched his whiskers and jumped into her lap.

  “I believe ye’ve replaced me in his affections.” Pleasure rather than envy tinged his observation.

  Feeling only slightly guilty, for she enjoyed having a pet around, Sarah scratched Cat’s ears. At once, his rumbling purr filled the room.

  Chris ran a hand down Cat’s side. He proceeded to make horse sounds as he rolled his toy along the sofa’s arm.

  Gregor handed her a package, requiring her to move Cat to the side to lay it atop her thighs.

  White whiskers twitching, he gave her a haughty look, his green-yellow eyes narrowed peevishly.

  His face animated with anticipation, Chris fidgeted beside Sarah.

  “Here ye are, lad.” Gregor passed him the smaller of the two bundles. “Let me ken if ye need help with the string.”

  One more thing to raise Gregor in her estimation. He offered to assist Chris, but always encouraged her brother to try everything on his own.

  After a bit of fumbling, Chris managed to untie the string. He flipped the package over and unfolded the paper. Eyes wide with delight, he lifted a hunter green tailcoat trimmed in black velvet. A charcoal, jade green, and silver-striped waistcoat complimented the coat and black pantaloons. Stockings, a shiny new pair of shoes, along with a pristine white cravat, and new underthings lay beneath the suit.

  Her brother ran his fingers over the fabric, his expression awed. “For me?”

  “Aye, laddie.” Gregor gave him a tender smile and ruffled his hair.

  Chris sniffed and swiped the moisture from his face with his forearm, and Sarah thought her heart would burst from gratitude.

  “What do you say, Chris?”

  His eyes glistening, he gave Gregor one of his winning sideways smiles. “Thank you, Gregor.”

  “Ye’re welcome, son. Now should yer sister open hers?”

  Chris gave an eager nod, his wavy hair brushing his ratty collar. His hair needed trimming. Perhaps later today, she’d ask Gregor if he had a pair of scissors she could borrow.

  Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Sarah untied her package. She couldn’t suppress the gasp of pleasure upon turning the brown paper back to reveal a stunning gold and crimson gown—by far the loveliest she’d ever seen. Beneath the gown lay matching slippers, gloves, stockings, a fan, chemise, and short stays.

  A blush heated her cheeks that he’d selected something so intimate for her.

  “Ye might need to make alterations.” He flicked a big hand over the garments. “I guessed on yer sizes based on what ye’re wearin’ now.”

  She glanced down at the apron, covering her simple dress. The clothes he’d fetched from the donation barrel were every bit as appreciated as these lovely gifts, though in an entirely different way. It seemed his thoughtfulness knew no bounds.

  As far as alterations went, Sarah possessed talent with a needle. “I’ve been remaking our clothes from cast-offs…” She faltered as humiliation brought a flush to her face. “What I mean to say is, I can easily manage any alterations required.”

  “I assumed as much.” A smile bent his mouth, revealing the straight row of his teeth as something more than appreciation kindled in his eyes. “I haven’t thanked ye for mendin’ my clothes.”

  Delicious heat bathed her, and to hide her consternation, she ran her palm over the gown. “Gregor, this is lovely, just gorgeous.” It truly was. “But wherever will I wear such a creation?” Her gaze questioning, she met Gregor’s eyes. Pride and affection? shone there. She quailed to think about how much the garments had cost. A warehouse supervisor didn’t earn wages enough to be able to afford luxurious clothes such as these.

  Had someone else paid for them?

  Who?

  Looking entirely too self-satisfied, he joined her on the couch and bold as brass took her hand in his and squeezed it. “That, jo, is part of the surprise. Ye ken those letters?”

  The ones he’d just shown her a few minutes ago? Had he read them already?

  “Yes,” she agreed cautiously, setting the bundle on her lap aside.

  “The Duchess of Harcourt is hostin’ a Christmastide soirée in just under three weeks, and yer grandmother is invited. Trust me, given the Harcourts’ influence and social standin’, the dowager viscountess will attend. Her grace will see to it.”

  Proud as a peacock, he was. She almost expected him to puff out his chest. A dance and musical? Sarah closed her eyes. Lord, help her.

  “Gregor, you must know, I’ve never spent so much as a minute in the company of an aristocrat. I shall embarrass us all, to be sure.”

  “Och, no’ a bit of it. Ye’ll be fine. They are kind people, Sarah,” he assured her soothingly.

  Hmph. There were degrees of kindness, and a gauche usurper plodding about their elegant homes with no knowledge of which spoon or fork ought to be used for what, surely wouldn’t endear them to her pitiful cause.

  “I have no voice, nor can I play an instrument,” she murmured, twisting her hands in her apron. How she hated this inferior feeling.

  “I’ll make sure ye aren’t called upon to do, either.”

  But she would be expected to dance. A lady of refinement might be excused the former for lack of talent or opportunity, but dancing? No. She was doomed. She flopped back against the sofa. “Gregor, I don’t know how to dance.”

  “Och, lass, I’ll teach ye.” Gregor grasped Sarah’s hand, and before she could object, pulled her to her feet.

  A blush tinted her cheeks, but she didn’t resist his urging.

  “Now what would ye like to learn first? A Scottish Reel? A cotillion?” He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “The deliciously wicked waltz?”

  Her pretty hazel eyes wide, she blinked up at him. “I honestly have no idea.”

  He most definitely preferred the waltz. It gave him an excuse to hold her in his arms, but wisdom decreed he take a slower pace. “Let’s start with somethin’ simple then. The Hole in the Wall, I think. No’ too difficult, even if we do require another couple to do it properly.” His attention shifted to Chris. “Would ye care to learn, laddie?”

  “Och, nae.” Chris’s vehement denial, as well as his attempt at Scots, sent Sarah and Gregor into peals of mirth.

  “It’s to be just ye and me then.” Gregor bent into a formal bow. “Madam.”

  Laughing, a bit self-consciously, she dipped into a less than graceful curtsy.

  A wee frown pulled his eyebrows together.

  Sarah had no experience with dancing or curtsying? Because there was no opportunity, or because her parents didn’t participate in social functions? What he knew about Jamaica’s societal hierarchy wouldn’t fill a salt spoon.

  Several minutes passed as he hummed and counted, teaching her the steps and movements. An adept pupil, she soon caught on. The intense concentration pursing her mouth and crinkling her eyes gave way to pleasure as they circled and crossed the floor.

  “This is fun,” she exclaimed as she stepped away with regal grace.

  When was the last time she’d enjoyed herself? She hadn’t done much of that these past few years, he suspected.

  He chuckled to himself, drawing her attention.

  A delicate golden eyebrow arched, and she skewed her mouth sideways. “Am I really so inept?”

  “Nothin’ of the sort, jo. I’m just imaginin’ what my brother and cousins would say
if they could see me givin’ dance lessons.” He, one of Craiglocky’s fiercest warriors. He’d never hear the end of it.

  “I think it the noblest of gestures.” She made an elegant turn and passed him in the middle. “Although I must tell you, the idea of facing my grandmother when she’s rejected every attempt to contact her sends a chill up my spine.”

  “Ye’ve nae need to fret, Sarah. For I am confident between all those ladies I mentioned and their husbands, we can contrive a solution to yer dilemma.”

  Her skeptical countenance suggested she wasn’t so sure.

  “I think ye’ve mastered this one. Let’s try a quadrille, shall we? It’s a wee bit more complicated.” He held up a hand. “Take my hand.” Sarah did so, and he said, “There are four couples for the set.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “I’m trying to picture you as a young man learning these steps. I’d be bound, at the time you’d rather have been climbing trees and such.”

  She had the right of it.

  He’d often complained about learning the niceties required of Polite Society even in Scotland. Now though, as he swept an arm around her waist, leading her in a circle, he could kiss his mother for insisting he do so.

  “Have ye ever given thought to visitin’ Scotland?” His casual tone belied the question’s importance.

  What he truly wanted to know was if Sarah were offered a safe haven in the Highlands, would she go? And if she did, would he stay here in London? The Highlands had called to him more and more of late. His stint in London would soon come to an end. He could feel it in his pores. And if he and Sarah were both in Scotland…

  Far too early to be harboring those types of musings.

  Wasn’t it?

  Instead of answering, her gaze confused yet hopeful, she stared up at him. Her work-worn hand clasped in his, he was unable to break eye contact. As he searched her eyes, seeing himself reflected in the blue and gold flecks, he couldn’t identify what transpired, but at that moment, his life changed forever.

  I swear leannan, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep ye and yer brother safe.

  To see them off London’s streets and settled someplace comfortably, as well. Mayhap…explore this ever-growing fascination.