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. Her own trembled and the blood roared in her ears, but she fought for composure, the courage she needed.
“I am going nowhere, uncle.” She 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.
“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?”
To her surprise, a tear spilled from her uncle’s eye and rolled down his face. He glanced aside, lifting a hand to dash at his cheek. When he turned back to her, the stoniness was gone from his expression, replaced by the warmth and softness she’d known all her life.
“You know that I love you, lass.” He sounded miserable, as if his heart were breaking. “Your Aunt Mell does, too. To us, you are indeed as our child. That will never change.”
“Then I have a challenge for you.” Grim joined them, looking so bold and magnificent that Breena’s knees weakened. “Stay here at Duncreag for Christmas and then return to your Ireland, telling no one that you saw Breena. Leave her to live her life in peace. In return”—he glanced at Archie—“you and your wife will aye be welcome to visit us here.”
“It is Yule.” Archie swelled his chest, giving his consent.
“So it is.” Dermot pulled on his beard, considering.
For a moment, the night seemed to still, even the wind going quiet. The air turned colder and the snowy mist glittered, almost magically. The luminosity shone on Dermot’s rust-gray hair and also caught the brightness of his beloved eyes. He heaved a great sigh, not appearing at all like a man about to break his niece’s heart.
When he looked at Breena again, something inside her warmed and hope flared. She lifted a hand to her face to brush th
e hair from her cheek and wasn’t surprised when her fingers touched chill dampness beneath her eyes. Her uncle was coming around, she was sure.
“Uncle Dermot,” she started, struggling past the heat in her throat, “you used to say Christmas was a time for miracles.” She smiled up at him, willing him to remember. “You told everyone that wonders could happen.”
“Aye, I did, didn’t I?” He came forward then, taking her hands. His voice was thick and gruff. “It would seem I didn’t find you after all, lass. You ken how much I love your Aunt Mell. I’d no’ be denying you and your lad here the same happiness.”
Breena released the breath she’d been holding. “Then you’ll not say anything about having seen me? You’ll let them think I’m gone?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say dead.
“So I will do, aye.” He nodded, his eyes still glistening. “Though I’d spend a bit of time with you before I head back, if you’ll allow me the pleasure?”
On his final words, the last shadows faded from his face and he was once more the uncle she’d always known and loved. And she did love him.
“Oh, to be sure, you can stay.” Breena glanced at Grim and Archie, joy sweeping her to see their smiles. “Grim just invited you, anyway,” she added, a new thought popping into her mind. “And I have a very special Christmas gift for you. If it pleases you, Grim and I will name our firstborn son Dermot, in your honor.”
“Indeed, we shall,” Grim agreed, nodding.
Her uncle beamed, again swiping at his eyes. “You would do that for me?”
“We will, and gladly.” Breena threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. Then she smiled as Archie stepped forward, his chest still puffed and his chin held high.
“As you’ve seen, Sir Dermot, good folk have come from far and wide to enjoy my Yuletide revels,” Archie boasted, hooking his arm through Uncle Dermot’s and leading him away. “Come back with me to the hall and have a heather ale and some fine Highland victuals. There’s nothing I like more than a rollicking Christmas feast and cheer.
“The more the merrier, eh?” Archie looked over his shoulder at Breena and Grim, winking. Then he and Breena’s uncle disappeared into the shadows of the stair tower. “We’ll have a grand night,” his booming voice drifted back to them, “even if some misguided folk tried to talk me out of the celebrations this year!”
Grim and Breena just looked at each other, sure Archie’s last words were meant for them.
“Did he really say that?” Breena couldn’t believe it.
“He did.” Grim laughed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her. When he tore his mouth from hers at last, his beautiful gray eyes were amused. “To be sure, he believes the Yule feasting was his idea. Just as he’ll always think everyone in the hall this night came because they missed his celebrations of old. We’ll never tell him otherwise.”
He leaned down and dropped a kiss on her brow. “Will we, Breena-lass?”
“No, we won’t.” She smiled up at him, sure she’d never been happier.
“And you won’t miss marrying an Irish prince?” Grim didn’t look at her as he asked, but Breena sensed he was serious.
“I did wed a prince.” She touched his cheek, letting her fingers glide down over his beard, the silver warrior rings that made him look so fierce and bold. “I would have no other.”
“You humble me, lass. And”—he captured her hand, kissed her fingers—“you are a princess. I aye knew it.”
“You did?” Breena lifted a brow. She felt no different than before.
Except perhaps that she loved Grim even more.
“To be sure I knew.” He turned her hand, dropped a tender kiss to her wrist. “Did I no’ once tell you to ne’er forget that things aren’t always as they seem? And that even so, other things are just that? They are what they are, however we view them. No matter what happened to you, or e’er will, you are a princess.”
“No, that isn’t what I am.” She shook her head, smiling. “I am simply yours.” She slipped her arms around him, rising on her toes to brush her lips softly over his. “And there’s a Yuletide feast in the hall. We really should be there.”
“Aye, we should.” Grim took her hand, leading the way.
“Grim, wait…” She pulled back just as they reached the hall’s arched entry. “Do you think we can make every Christmas as special as this one?”
“We can try, my love,” he agreed, pulling her close for one more kiss. “We can try.”
Epilogue
The Great Hall at Duncreag Castle
A Few Nights Later…
“Isn’t she a beautiful bride?” Breena pressed a hand to her breast, her gaze on Malcolm MacDonald’s new wife, Moira, as the older couple twirled and beamed, dancing to a lively pipe tune. “She glows with love for her husband.” She glanced at Grim, standing beside her. “He’s so proud to hold her in his arms, isn’t he?”
Grim looked at her, smiling in a way that warmed her to her toes.
“I know how he feels.” Stepping closer, he smoothed her hair back from her face, for they’d just finished a wild Highland reel. “Indeed, Lady Moira is a fine-looking woman. But she cannae compare to you.
“No one can.” He reached for her hand, pressing her palm to his heart. “You are lovely in more ways than I could name and looking at you now, flushed so fetchingly and with your eyes alight—”
“My hair is mussed and my gown rumpled.” Breena glanced down and brushed at her skirts, righting them. “We danced three reels and—”
He tugged her to him, kissed her long and deep, seemingly uncaring if any of the Christmas carousers saw them. Breena didn’t mind either, returning his kiss with equal passion, clutching his shoulders as the revelers swirled and reeled around them.
“I cannae get enough of you.” Grim set her from him, his intense gray gaze holding hers. “I crave you badly, hunger for every inch of you.”
“Surely not here?” Breena glanced about, pretending to be scandalized, secretly thrilled to know how much he desired her. “You are quite bold to say the like now, here in the midst of Christmas celebrations.”
“I would shout my desire for you from the hills.” He cupped her face, looking at her with heated appreciation. “Sweet lass, I’d call in trumpeters and drum-beaters to let the world know how much I love you.”
His words made her tingle, sent delicious shivers all through her. “You are mad, a brazen charmer.”
“Nae.” He shook his head slowly. “I am a man in love, desperate for the woman I married.”
“Oh, Grim.” Breena swallowed, unable to say more for the lump rising in her throat.
Releasing her, Grim glanced across the hall to where Archie held court at the high table. Greer MacGregor sat to his right, laughing heartily at something Archie was saying. Dermot O’Doherty was to Archie’s left and appeared equally amused. Turning back to Breena, Grim touched her cheek, his caress sending more quivers of delight through her.
“The Christmas celebrations will continue for days yet,” he reminded her. “You cannae expect me to act a saint that long. There isn’t a moment I dinnae want you. There’s no’ a place I can go where you aren’t on my mind, in my heart.
“Truth be told, I’d be alone with you now.” He took her hand and drew her with him to the hall’s gaily decorated entry arch. He glanced at her as they passed beneath a bower of beribboned holly and ivy and stepped into the dimly lit passage beyond. His expression was strangely somber. “Will you come with me to the Winter Tower?”
Breena blinked. She glanced down the corridor to where she knew the ancient tower waited. Late as it was, and so far from the great hall, that part of the castle would be cold, dark, and silent.
She had been enjoying the Christmas festivities. She appreciated the light and laughter, the goodwill and camaraderie among kith and kin, friends and allies, and even the clan’s erstwhile enemies.
Yet she cared for Grim more. And chose to be with him.
&nbs
p; But there was the magical room of stars at the top of the old tower. On such a clear, still night as this one, the views would be breathtaking. She’d been enchanted when Grim had first taken her up there. That was surely his reason for wanting to return now.
“Well?” He lifted her chin, looked down at her. “Shall we slip away?”
“To be sure,” she agreed, hoping he didn’t sense her one flicker of disappointment.
Despite the magic of the room of stars, she’d expected him to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the main turret stairs to their bedchamber. She’d hoped he’d then tumble with her onto their great four-postered bed and make passionate love to her.
She bit her lip, an almost unbearable yearning inside her.
She loved him so much.
“You willnae regret it, sweet.” He leaned in, kissed her brow.
Breena blushed. “I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t have to.” He smiled, leading her around the corridor’s curve, into the shadows. “I ken you that well, my heart. We shall return to our bedchamber after we’ve visited the Winter Tower.”
Then they were at the tower’s entrance. And just as on the night before their journey, he opened the door to a rush of cold, stone-scented air.
But this time there was something else.
An unmistakably festive scent greeted them: holly and ivy, cinnamon and spice, and the rich, woodsy headiness of fresh-cut pine.
Equally surprising, a sea of tiny candles lit the way upward. Each winding step was graced by small stone jars holding the flames.
“Grim!” Breena’s eyes widened, wonder filling her. She glanced at him, her pulse quickening at the pride on his face. “What have you done?”
“Och, well…” He tugged her into the stair tower, up the circling steps. “It could be I’ve arranged a wee Christmas celebration just for us.”
“But how?” Breena’s heart beat faster as they climbed. “When did you—”
He laughed and paused on a landing to kiss her. “Remember when Lady Moira asked you to join her in encouraging Archie to share some of his storytelling skills of old? When the three of you went to sit before the hall’s fire?”
Once Upon a Highland Christmas (Highland Warriors Book 3) Page 12
