A Yuletide Highlander

by Cameron, Collette

  Silently, Sarah and her grandmother followed Alexa down the corridor and into a charming sitting room decorated in shades of pale blue and peach.

  “Shall I request tea for you?” Alexa asked.

  Meeting her grandmother’s hazel eyes, so very much like her own, Sarah shook her head “I don’t care for any, but perhaps her ladyship would—”

  “No, thank you, Your Grace.” Still appearing somewhat stunned, Grandmother patted Sarah’s hand and gave a weak smile.

  “I’ll leave you then.” With a sympathetic meshing of her lips, Alexa swept from the room.

  For a long, awkward moment, her head cocked in an almost robin-like fashion, Sarah’s grandmother stared. “I cannot believe it. I simply cannot believe it. Oh, if Rolandson had only lived to see this day. He would’ve been so pleased. The resemblance to your mother is uncanny, my dear.”

  “Papa always said so, as well,” Sarah admitted, feeling the familiar twist of her heart mentioning her beloved father brought.

  Grandmother dashed a tear away from the corner of her eye, and a rather fragile smile replaced her drooping mouth. “I have a granddaughter.”

  “And grandson, too, my lady. His name is Christopher, he prefers Chris, and he’s twelve years old.” No need to tell her about Chris’s difficulties just yet. She’d learn about them soon enough.

  “Oh, my! A grandson.” She clapped her hands once. “None of that my lady balderdash, either. I insist you call me Grandmama.”

  And, of course, no one told Lady Rolandson no.

  Grandmama sank into a nearby chair, shaking her head back and forth, causing the jet earrings in her ears to sway with the motion. A few silvery curls peeked from beneath her crocheted cap. Had she been as blonde as Mama and her? Shoulders hunched, she put her hands to her face. “How I wish I could take back the harsh things I said to your mother,” she sobbed. “My pride…My foolish, foolish pride and arrogance drove my darling daughter from me. I caused her to hate me.” Her voice, sounding like ancient parchment, cracked. “She never once tried to contact me in all these years.”

  Unable to resist comforting the weeping woman, Sarah sank to her knees. This wasn’t the callous harridan she’d believed her grandmother was.

  Another great sob shook her frail shoulders.

  “Mama did write to you. Many times. I have some of the unopened letters.” She covered her grandmother’s shaking shoulder. “Three years ago, Chris and I came to your house. We were turned away at the door. I wrote to you recently, just over a week ago, and that messenger was also turned away.”

  Grandmother collapsed back into the chair, her expression aghast, one hand clutching at her throat. “No. No. That’s not possible.” She shook her head so frantically, her cap slipped to one side. “No one told me,” she gasped, her gaze bouncing around the room like marbles in a shaken cup.

  Did she think Sarah lied?

  “I swear, it’s true. Gregor McTavish delivered the letter himself. We presumed you wanted nothing to do with us.”

  After a bit of fumbling, her grandmother pulled a delicate handkerchief from her bodice. She dried her face and blew her nose. At last, she managed, “I believe you, my dear. I do.”

  Remarkably pleased her grandmother should do so, Sarah’s eyes misted.

  An instant later, severe lines hardened Grandmother’s lightly wrinkled face, giving Sarah a glimpse of the harsh woman she was reputed to be. Jerking upright, she slammed both palms onto the chair’s arms. Forged steel replaced her earlier fragility. “That devious, conniving wench.”

  Sarah inched backward a jot, uncertain whether to admire or fear her grandmother. Lady Rolandson wasn’t someone to cross. That much remained consistent with what she had heard about her grandmother.

  Shrewdness narrowed the elderly woman’s eyes. “Since Rolandson died and his nephew inherited the viscountcy, Bernice has hinted—quite regularly I might add—that I ought to leave her a generous settlement. You see, until you surprised me today, it was thought that I had no heirs to leave my personal wealth and holdings to. I simply refuse to let the Crown seize my monies, so unbeknownst to her, I bequeathed all but a stipend for her and the other servants to charity.” Her grandmother pinched her lips together. “Hmph. I’d best see about updating my will at once.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sarah sat back on her heels and furrowed her forehead.

  “I’m onto Bernice and Stinkwiggon’s dastardly scheme now, the unscrupulous fiends,” Grandmama muttered to herself, pounding the unfortunate armchair again.

  Stinkwiggon? Surely she had misheard. “Stinkwiggon?”

  Grandmother spared her a starchy glance. “Stinkwiggon’s my fusty, calculating butler. He and Wattle think I don’t know they’ve been dallying with one another for years. I may be old, but I’m neither blind nor stupid.” She tapped the fingers of one arthritic hand upon the carved wood, her vexation palpable. Her small frame quaked with outrage

  “It was your butler who turned us away,” Sarah said. Grandmother must be made aware of the truth. God only knew what else her butler and companion were capable of.

  Likely, the conniving butler had intercepted her letters, too. By returning Mama’s correspondence, they made Mama believe her parents hadn’t forgiven her. Things were starting to become quite clear.

  “Yes, well,” Grandmother huffed, her agitation turning her cheeks pink, “he’ll be without a position as soon as I return home. So will Miss Bernice Wattle. She’ll not find anyone willing to retain her in all of England. Neither will he, by God, by the time I’m done with them. Thought to pull the wool over my eyes, did they? Thought I was a dafty old tabby, did they? We’ll see about that,” she harrumphed.

  Sarah almost felt sorry for the servants.

  Almost.

  She didn’t doubt her grandmother’s extensive influence, not to mention her far-reaching wrath, would prevent the pair from finding employment in London again. Or mayhap England, as she’d claimed.

  “I’ve no doubt they’ve been intercepting letters intended for me with the intent of gaining an inheritance for themselves.” Stuffing her handkerchief back into its hiding place, Grandmother pursed her mouth in displeasure.

  “I think you must be right,” Sarah agreed, her head slightly reeling with all she’d just learned.

  Thanks to her devious servants, Grandmother had been as much a victim as she and Chris. Mama, too. If Grandmother was right, Stinkwiggon and Miss Wattle deserved the consequences of their scurrilous actions.

  Sarah rose, and after taking a seat in a nearby chair, pressed her lips together. “You should know that a very evil man is pursuing Chris and me. He killed our father, and we fled Jamaica, fearing for our lives.”

  Her almost invisible eyebrows skittering up her forehead, Grandmother whispered, “Dear God.” She clasped Sarah’s hand. “You poor, poor dear.”

  “Last week he found us, and if it hadn’t been for Gregor McTavish’s protection and kindheartedness, and that of several of the peeresses here today, as well as their husbands, Santano might’ve already abducted us.” Or worse. “Mr. McTavish has devised a plan to entrap Santano, and hopefully, he will be arrested soon.”

  “My darling girl, you’ve had such a time of it. It seems I owe Mr. McTavish a debt of gratitude, too.” She peered at Sarah, a trifle too keenly for her comfort. “May I presume he is that giant of a man who escorted you today?”

  “Yes.” Sarah tipped her head in acknowledgment. She wasn’t quite ready for her grandmother to go poking around in that area when she didn’t know exactly where she and Gregor stood with each other.

  “Tell me…” Grandmother swallowed and patted another tear from the corner of her eye. “Does...” Her throat worked, and a tear dribbled down her papery cheek. “Does my Mary live?”

  Sorrow engulfed Sarah. “I honestly do not know, Grandmama.” How strange it felt on her tongue to address the woman as such. “I hope she does with all my heart.”

  “As do I.”
>
  Fighting her own tears, and struggling for composure, Sarah glanced outside. “Why, it’s snowing. I’ve never seen snow before.”

  Huge snowflakes fluttered from the sky, casting a fluffy white blanket on everything, even as she watched. Chris would be ecstatic.

  “So it is.” Grandmama turned her head. “It’s been an unusually cold winter thus far. The trip home may be a bit of a challenge. We shouldn’t delay overly long.”

  Did that mean she intended for Sarah to accompany her?

  The dowager cleared her throat, drawing her attention. Trepidation shone in her grandmother’s red-rimmed eyes. “Can you tell me what you do know?” Her gaze silently pleaded with Sarah.

  “Mama was sickly when I left. She’d been frail for years. The tropical climate didn’t agree with her all that well. When Santano commandeered Papa’s ship, she made me take Chris and flee Jamaica. We scarcely had more than the clothes on our backs, but Mama and Papa had suspected Santano was up to something nefarious and had made arrangements for passage to England for us. She told me to contact you once we arrived three years ago. She sent a letter too.” Hitching a shoulder, she dropped her gaze to her lap. “So, I don’t know whether she lives or not.”

  Speaking those words out loud drove a dagger deep into her middle and twisted it. Sarah folded her hands, clasping her fingers tight, and crossed her ankles.

  “Three years?” Agony etched the old woman’s face. “Dear God. How have you and your brother managed to survive?”

  “We had a few pieces of jewelry and some money.” Sarah raised her chin. She would not be embarrassed, nor would she accept condemnation. “We’ve scraped by, living in unsavory neighborhoods you’ve probably never even ridden a carriage through.”

  Grandmama closed her eyes as if her shame were too great to even look upon Sarah. “This, what you and your brother have endured, is my fault. I tried to force Mary to wed a man she didn’t love. A man too old for her. She didn’t care about his title or wealth. She wanted love. How she must have suffered, and you children, as well.”

  Sarah wouldn’t deny it, not even to mollify her grandmother.

  Mustering her composure, Grandmother offered a watery smile. “Well, if you’ll permit me, my dear, I intend to make up for those years of neglect. You and Chris must come live with me. I have a rambling old house that has lacked laughter for far too long.”

  Relief washed over Sarah, as profound as if a lodestone had been lifted from her shoulders. Thank God Gregor had talked her into trying to contact her grandmother one more time. And thank God the Duchess of Harcourt had insisted on this tea party. For the first time in three years, she could actually anticipate Christmastide with a degree of joy.

  “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  That trio of softly uttered words was all Sarah could achieve, so overcome with emotion, was she. This was what she’d hoped and prayed for, and now that the moment was upon her, she couldn’t quite conceive it was happening.

  Even as the thought crossed her mind, another more sobering one did, as well. What of her and Gregor? He meant to return to Scotland. Would she see him anymore?

  You must, her heart cried. Even if that meant bolstering her courage and telling Gregor her feelings. Of her love. He felt something for her, too. Nothing could convince her otherwise.

  What did she have to lose by doing so?

  She and Chris might’ve found a home with their grandmother, but Sarah’s heart had already found a home with a blond Highlander possessing a wicked smile and rakish twinkle in his eye.

  “My Fifi—she’s my Pomeranian—may be a mite jealous of you at first.” A self-deprecating smile tipped Grandmama’s thin lips. “I fear I’ve rather spoiled her. Loneliness will do that to a person.”

  “I’m sure we’ll march on splendidly. I’ve always wanted a pet dog. Chris has too.”

  “Then you must have one,” Grandma’s voice brooked no dissent. “Both of you. Hmm,” she said, giving Sarah a speculative look. “We must find you a lady’s maid, straightaway. It won’t do for you to toddle about London unchaperoned, and I rarely attend functions these days. Though I might venture out a few times in the coming weeks to introduce you to Society.”

  “I have no need for a chaperone, Grandmama, or a maid, either.” Her grandmother looked so disconcerted, Sarah softened her declaration with a smile. “I’m almost five-and-twenty, and I assure you, given where Chris and I have lived, and the hardships we’ve endured, I don’t give a whit what anyone else thinks of my reputation. I know the truth, and that’s what counts.”

  “Very well, my dear,” Grandmother conceded. “But you’ll need a maid to help you dress. Today’s fashions cannot always be managed by one’s self. You can determine when and if she accompanies you on outings. Is that agreeable?”

  She appeared so eager to please, Sarah didn’t have the heart to deny her. On the other hand, Grandmama wasn’t going to dictate to her. She’d been independent too long. “That’s acceptable. If I have a say in who is hired for the position.”

  “Of course.” Grandmother’s face brightened, and she clasped her hands to her breast. “Oh, what a Christmastide this shall be. I haven’t celebrated since your mother left all those years ago. We used to make plum pudding together.”

  “Mama always made Christmas pudding.”

  A single tear made a track down Grandmama’s face. “And gingerbread? How Mary adored gingerbread.”

  “And…gingerbread.” Sarah pressed a palm to her mouth, fearing the dam of emotions she’d kept at bay, had refused to yield to, could no longer be held back.

  “Come here, Sarah.” Grandmother opened her arms.

  At once, she knelt before her and burying her face in the crook of her grandmother’s neck, smelling of lavender and roses, burst into tears.

  “There, there, my dear.” Grandmama made comforting sounds in her throat, all the while patting Sarah’s back. “We have each other now.”

  At last, her tears spent, Sarah sat up and retrieved her own handkerchief. As she composed herself, a twinkle entered her Grandmama’s eyes. “Tell me about that Scot you came with. I believe you have a fondness for him? Did I hear he’s related to Viscount Sethwick?”

  “He’s Gregor McTavish, and Viscount Sethwick’s his cousin.” Lest her grandmother have any ideas about dictating who she spent time with, Sarah squared her shoulders. “I am more than fond of him. I love him.”

  Gregor sat across from Sarah as the carriage rumbled through Mayfair’s elite streets. The sprinkling of snow four days ago had long since melted. Too bad, since he’d hoped to take her and Chris for an outing complete with hot drinking chocolate and roasted chestnuts. Had they been in Scotland, he’d teach her to ice skate.

  Extremely fetching in a raspberry-toned redingote trimmed in black fur with a matching hat and muff, she’d been quiet and preoccupied most of the ride. Every now and again, her lips twitched the merest bit, and she sighed softly.

  Would he ever tire of watching her?

  Not in a lifetime.

  He’d called to take her on the promised ride through Hyde Park today, and when she’d descended the stairs, uncustomary nervousness pummeled him. Given Lady Rolandson’s caustic reputation, he’d expected the dowager to eviscerate him with her hostile gaze. Instead, she welcomed him warmly and hadn’t even balked at their lack of chaperone.

  No doubt Sarah could be credited there. His tropical flower had turned out to be quite independent and strong-minded.

  Permitting himself a thin, secret smile, he adjusted the cuff of his coat. He had something exceptional in store for Sarah. He only hoped he hadn’t overstepped the mark. “Ye dinna look as happy as I thought ye would with the news that Santano and his crew were arrested.”

  Gregor was well pleased that his plan had gone off with nary a hitch.

  Last night, Santano had broken into the warehouse, only to be confronted by him, a half dozen Bow Street Runners, as well as Ewan, Clarendon, Warrick, Ramsbury, and
Harcourt.

  “Those two ruffians we caught that night at the theater couldn’t wait to turn against Santano.” In the unlikely event, they were spared the hanging they deserved, for their testimony, the pair could expect to live the rest of their miserable lives in an Australian penal colony. “They provided enough information to have the mutinied crew members also arrested for murder, the Bow Street Runners informed me this morning.”

  Sarah brushed a hand over her thigh, her eyes more jade green than brown today. “I confess, I am profoundly relieved. Tonight, I shall sleep well for the first time in years.” Her pretty bowed mouth tipped upward, and he yearned to taste those soft lips again. “I can never thank you enough, Gregor. And I’m very grateful for all that you’ve done, at great risk to yourself too.”

  Gratitude wasn’t what he wanted from her. “Then what has ye lookin’ so downtrodden, leannan?”

  A sorrowful sigh escaped her, and she shifted on the seat. “This morning, my grandmother reminded me that we still don’t know whether Mama lives.” She palmed her tummy. “There’s this persistent knot here, in my middle, that won’t go away because I don’t know.” Her tongue darted out, moistening her lower lip. Throat convulsing, she turned her face away, obviously fighting tears.

  Gregor couldn’t bear her suffering and crossed the carriage to sit beside her. He gathered her into his embrace, and she immediately turned her face into his chest, wrapped her arms about his torso, and wept.

  “Shh, leannan, mo ghoal.” Calling her, my love wasn’t so very bold, considering Sarah didn’t speak Gaelic. He ran a hand up and down her spine, admiring the gently sloping curve even as he comforted her.

  “Oh, Gregor.” His greatcoat muffled her voice. “What would I do without you?”

  “Dinna give up hope.” He laid his cheek atop her head. “If I recall correctly, Captain Piermont is scheduled to sail to the Caribbean soon. I’ve already asked him to check on your mother.” If all went as he intended, he’d be by Sarah’s side for the rest of his life, and she’d never have to fend for herself again.

  She tilted her face, her eyelashes adorably spiky, and her cheeks rosy from her cry. “I’ll write a letter to send with the captain, too. So that Mama knows Captain Piermont is trustworthy.”