Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  She turned back to Barran, forcing herself to confront the issue. “What would you tell your sister to do? You’ve indicated that you never would have chosen to let her marry a man like your Robbie—or like yourself. So what would you have her do in this situation, alone with a mysterious stranger?”

  “Hardly mysterious,” he answered, leaning back and propping his boots on the chair on which she’d been sitting.

  “I know nothing about you except that your name is Barran and that you own some land, including this cabin—but whether a small and boggy swamp or a castle I have no idea. I don’t even know for sure if Barran is your Christian name or your family name. I would guess family, but I truly know nothing of Scottish names beyond that many start with Mac. And you did mention the army and Waterloo. Is that where you injured your leg? You never did say. You have a sister and a mother who left you—although then she insisted you come with her. Is there anything else I know?” She knew she was rambling, but found it impossible to stop. The whiskey? “Oh, you must have a great fondness for whiskey that your friend left you so many bottles. Should I be concerned about that? I’ve never cared for men who were overly fond of drink. And why the one bottle of wine? Robbie didn’t know you’d have a woman with you—or was that part of the plan?” She paused, considered. “No, nobody could have figured on me—although it is rather presumptuous to have imagined there would be no other travelers in the coach. And why did you show interest when I mentioned my uncle? What has Mounthaven to do with you? And—”

  He cut her off. “You are beginning to prattle endlessly. And there is a difference between not knowing something and its being mysterious. I am hardly mysterious.”

  She would keep her own counsel on that. If he wasn’t mysterious, why did she still tingle every time he drew near? Hell, every time she thought of him.

  Before she could say anything in response, he continued. “And my name is James. Mr. James Barran.”

  James. That was a good name. She had to curl her fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out to stroke the dark hairs on his wrist. And she couldn’t even blame it on the whiskey; she’d felt that way before the first sip.

  Barran, clearly not noticing her focus on his arm, swung his legs down from the chair and went to add a few more logs to the fire. Then he turned and gestured for her to sit again. “Come, if you want answers to your questions I will do my best to give them to you.”

  She would be a fool to refuse that. Taking her chair, she took another sip of whiskey and a bite of bread and cheese. “Begin.”

  “You do know how to command like a lady.”

  His words brought a stab of pain, but only a small one. She would always be a lady, nothing could take that from her, but it was time she learned to do more as well. “Would you please continue—and begin with my most basic question. Would you have wished your sister to marry Robbie under these circumstances?”

  He sat back down heavily, the chair scraping on the floor. “I was hoping to avoid that one.”

  Another sip. “I know.” The cold air might have cleared her head, but each mouthful of whiskey made it easier to ask questions.

  He took his own gulp. “I am not sure. I would have done all I could to prevent such a situation from arising.”

  Did he not wish to marry her? Is that what he was saying? She hoped not, but found herself afraid to ask. “But if you could not—as I could not.”

  He bowed his head and stared into the tin mug, swirling it slightly. “I would have told her to marry him. I would have wished for better but would have told her to take what fate demanded—as I do now, in accepting that they will be wed and there is nothing I can do. Although I will make it very clear to Robbie that he will be a good and faithful husband or I will fry him his ballocks for breakfast.”

  He made no apology for the last statement and Emma wondered if the whiskey was warming his innards as well. “And what of me? Do you think I should wed?”

  “I would have hoped for better for you as well.” He said the words flatly, still staring into his mug.

  “And is there anyone to feed you your ballocks should you fail me?”

  That did make him look up, a crooked grin marking his mouth. “I’ll feed them to me myself.”

  Something deep within her warmed—and the whiskey had nothing to do with it—and she found herself smiling back at him. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why should you care? You don’t know me—or at least, hardly more than I know you. Why should you care? Why should you not feel trapped?” Please, please don’t let him say that he did feel trapped.

  He blinked, and then blinked again, his grin fading. “Why should I feel trapped? I was the one who said we must marry. It was my friend who . . .”

  Part of her wished to be quiet, to pretend that of course he wanted to marry her, why would he not, but still she persisted. She had to know. No matter what, she could not marry him if he was truly opposed. “Yes, but it surely is not a circumstance that you would choose. Were you even thinking of marriage before this happened?”

  He looked back at his mug, took a large swallow. “I have thought about marriage.”

  “That is not an answer.” Why could he not just say that he wished to marry her? That would make this all so much easier.

  He looked up and met her eyes, held them, his clear blue eyes shining with honesty. “No, I did not ever envision an instance in which I would, as an honorable man, be forced to marry, but I find that I do not mind as I should. I have always been a man who accepts what is. I was willing to fight Catriona’s marriage while it could still be stopped. Now that it is simply a fact, I will do everything I can to make sure it is a good one, but I will not waste time complaining of it or trying to make it worse. I made my decision about you when I did not leave you alone in the carriage to wait for rescue. If I had wanted to avoid marriage that would have been the moment. I made my choice, and I chose to stay with you and accept what happened afterward.”

  “But you knew nothing about me.” Her mouth grew dry. And she certainly had not shown him the most positive aspects of herself. She’d almost set the cabin on fire.

  “And yet I sometimes think I knew everything about you before I even met you—and nothing I have learned since then has surprised me.”

  Now that hurt. He did think she was a foolish ninny. “You mean like the fact that I cannot step down from a coach without twisting my ankle or that I can’t get out of my own dress or light a fire?”

  “I admit that the dress surprised me a bit, and I am also guessing you’ve never had to dress your own hair.”

  Trying to fight back tears, she lifted a palm, patting at the curls that were escaping from the few remaining pins and braids. She’d been afraid it looked like a hawk’s nest.

  Barran froze, his gaze focused on her watering eyes. Realizing that his words might have hurt her, he leaned forward and placed his hand over hers. “I could give it a try with my comb if you like. I used to brush my sister’s sometimes and I do know how to braid a mane or a tail.”

  She sniffed. “Now you are comparing me to your horse?”

  “Sometimes a man just can’t get it right—or so I’ve heard my sister complain on many occasions. And your hair is very pretty in a brownish way.”

  A brownish way? A low laugh left her throat. “I think you had best stop trying before I begin to cry.”

  “The rest of you is very pretty, too.” His eyes dropped to where a bit of cleavage peeked out from the blanket.

  “I will say thank you, as a proper lady should, and then I will inquire again about why you would wish to marry me. It sounds like you think I am a complete fool and I am sure that there are other pretty girls you could ask to wed you.”

  “Well, I do find you prettier than most—and that didn’t come out the way I meant it—but we do not have much choice. And I don’t mean that in a complaining way. It is just a fact and I find I do not mind.” His eyes stayed locked on that hint of bre
ast.

  She was tempted to move, to let the cloak fall back. Perhaps with a little encouragement he could be persuaded that he actually wanted to be married. “You sound a little surprised.”

  “I admit that I am, but that is not a bad thing.” His eyes remained focused on her breast. “Should not a man be surprised by his feelings when he meets the woman who will be his wife?” His gaze finally moved back to her face. Their eyes caught and held.

  Her face flushed, heat rising in her cheeks. That was certainly not mere liking she saw in his eyes and it did much to soothe her wounded feelings. “I hardly think that we fall into any normal rules.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve known many marriages that started out a trifle odd and are now happier than most.” He leaned forward and she could smell the warmth of the whiskey upon his breath. It was a surprisingly pleasant odor. “So will you marry me?” His gaze moved to her lips and settled there.

  Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Her mind swirled with his question, with the whiskey, with the feelings that were slowly building deep in her belly and her breast. Despite the still-chilly air, she felt the sudden shine of perspiration.

  She swallowed.

  And then again.

  She reached for her cup, but it was empty.

  Still watching her face, Barran reached for the bottle and poured another inch into her glass.

  “You’ll need to answer me before you drink that, lass. I’ve no desire to wonder if you meant it on the morrow.”

  She closed her eyes, tried to find focus. She knew what life was likely to offer if she said no. And if she said yes? That was so much more unpredictable. And did he actually wish to wed her? He did seem sincere in all he said, but how could she know? Even if he wanted to be a good husband, would he be?

  She wanted to take a great swallow of the whiskey and then another and another, wanted to make this choice without taking responsibility for it.

  And yet, what had life taught her but that nothing was predictable? Was it not better to take a chance, to give herself the prospect of a brighter outlook? Everything Barran had done so far pointed to a caring man. He might not be perfect, but he did seem to want to be.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I will agree to be your wife.” And then she took an absolute gulp of the whiskey.

  She sputtered a moment and then looked up to find him still staring at her, a wide smile spread across his face.

  His eyes focused on her lips again. He moved closer.

  She held her breath. She knew what was coming and in that moment she could not have wanted anything more.

  His lips touched hers, firm and dry and strong. Could lips be strong? And soft, how could something be so firm and so soft in the same moment?

  He pressed tighter, moving slightly. This kiss was more than the other had been and yet there was still so much more that she wanted. She remembered that brief touch of his lips upon her breast.

  Her own lips parted.

  He ran his tongue along the seam. Her lips parted more. God, that felt good.

  She leaned toward him, pressed tighter, opened her mouth more and felt his tongue slip in.

  Her own tongue met his, pressed against it. He tasted of whiskey, as did she, but there was something more, something she could never have described—something that made her want and want and want.

  Pulling back slightly, she stared up at him.

  Chapter Seven

  Her eyes were huge, deep, dark puddles of desire.

  Or was that his own wishful thinking? Every moment more he spent with her made him want her more—and his body, his cock, was certainly letting him know exactly what it wanted. And she’d said yes; there was nothing standing in their way. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to wait for the wedding, but they were stranded alone—and only occasionally did he claim to be a gentleman.

  And she did want him. He’d known enough women to understand that look in her eyes.

  He leaned forward and pressed another gentle kiss upon her lips, then a slightly firmer one.

  She exhaled, her breath whispering about him.

  This time, it was he that pulled back, wanting to see that look in her eyes one more time. They were glowing, pulling at him.

  Another kiss. She leaned in. Her lips parted and her tongue licked at his lower lip, tasting, teasing.

  It was too much. His arms went around her, pulling her tight, one of them slipping beneath the cloak. “I want you,” he whispered against her cheek.

  Her body stiffened beneath his touch. She stopped breathing. Her head turned until she could look at him, but she did not pull away.

  For a moment she only stared and then finally, she pulled in a single long breath. “You move quickly.”

  He placed a kiss high on her cheekbone. ‘I do not mean to, and I think this has been coming since first I saw you.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Why do I find that hard to believe? You were busy snoring away. You paid me no attention.”

  “Perhaps I was afraid to consider how much you drew me in that moment.”

  She snorted.

  He let his face turn serious. “Yes, I am teasing, but not completely. I would admit that it was not the first moment. I am not sure that I saw much beyond your half boots and your hips—although I must admit taking a liking to those hips. No, it was slightly later, when I walked back and found you sitting on the log. There was something on your face in that moment, some sense that I understood what you were feeling, some sense that we knew each other far better than was possible.”

  She opened her mouth and he could see the denial coming, but then her lips pressed tight. Her brow furrowed. When she spoke it was with care. “I want to say you are wrong. It does seem a gross exaggeration and yet—yet there is some truth to what you say. It was not when I first saw you, but when I first touched you, when the coach lurched and I ended up on your chest—and I did not want to leave. And then later when you carried me and I knew you would carry me for as long as needed.”

  “When you landed on my chest I did not want you to leave.”

  “You were asleep.”

  He raised a brow. “Do you really think my arms just happened to lock about you?” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

  A slow blush rose on her cheek. He’d always loved a woman who blushed.

  “I did think that, yes,” she said.

  “You are very innocent.”

  Her eyes dropped from his.

  Had it been the wrong thing to say—to remind her of her innocence just as things began between them? Should he release her, let her go?

  Her gaze came back up. “Yes, I am, and perhaps a bit naive. I imagine it is quite obvious that until these last few days I have led a rather sheltered life.”

  “You were protected by those who cared for you. That is as it should be.”

  She considered as her brow furrowed and then relaxed; one small hand ran down his arm to take his hand. “It is strange, but I think you actually understand. There are times when I feel you understand more from the words I say than anyone I’ve ever known. It was not until recently that I understood how valuable it is to be cared for.”

  He turned his palm up, grasping her hand, letting his thumb graze it. She shivered. “And I will always care for you to the extent that is possible. I might not be able to deck you in jewels, but I would care for you and protect you.” And that was true—deeply, deeply true.

  “I believe you.” It was hardly more than a whisper. She raised her other hand and brushed the light beard of his cheek, sending a quiver through him. “Do you ever shave?”

  It was his turn to snort. Then he turned his face to her hand and laid a single kiss upon the palm. “Yes, I am most often clean-shaven, but I am afraid that I ended up with an odd assortment of belongings when my horse went missing. I have a comb, as I stated, but no razor.”

  She laughed and it warmed something deep within him. “You are better than I. When my maid went missing—not that I mean to
compare a maid and a horse—everything went with her. My clothing, my books, everything except my pin money, a small Bible, a couple of lemon candies—which I am afraid I have finished—and one broken ear bob. I was lucky I had enough coin to hire a place in the coach. Although I suppose I could have traded the earring. The pearl is genuine.”

  “Did anything of value go missing with your maid?” He would have pulled back the words if he could. He did not want her to think that her valuables were of consideration to him.

  Her lips softened; she squeezed his hand. She understood the root of his care, that he was concerned for her loss, not for its monetary value. One of her hands lifted to touch the small gold hoop in her ear. “No. I planned to bring all my jewelry, but I have a dear friend who has a brother who will be traveling in this direction in the spring. She persuaded me to leave my few valuables with her father for transport then. And I thought she was being foolish. Despite some of my words, I do consider Scotland to be part of the civilized world.”

  “Only sometimes.” He smiled. “Although I’ve known of far less savory things to happen in the center of London.”

  “That is true. I suppose I am very lucky that nothing worse happened to me.”

  “And do you consider yourself lucky to have ended up here?”

  The question hung between them.

  Emma pulled back, pulled out of his arms. leaving them empty and wanting. “Yes. Yes, I do. Although I begin to wonder how many more times you will try to get me to say yes this afternoon—assuming it is afternoon. It is so hard to tell with the snow.”

  “I reckon you are right about the time. And there is only one more yes I am planning on.” He moved toward her, needing to be near her.

  He saw her swallow.

  And then she stood, the cloak still tight about her but falling to leave one shoulder bare, tempting him. It was so hard to be patient, even knowing her innocence.

  She smiled lightly, although her eyes remained serious. “I think you should comb out my hair.”