Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  Bastian squeezed her. “I’m sorry, Thora.”

  “Oh, no. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. What you did in there, with the people, how you calmed them and even managed to get them into a festive spirit…” She shook her head, gazing at him with adoration. “You saved them.”

  Boisterous, off-tune voices sounded from down the corridor. Bastian stepped back and removed his arm from Thora’s waist.

  Two servants approached, singing loudly. As they passed them, they nodded a greeting.

  Thora looked back at Bastian with gratitude etched into her face. “You saved us all.”

  “Except for the Yule Cat.”

  “You did what you could. For that, I’m grateful.”

  “You were the brave one,” Bastian said. “To tell the truth to everyone. To save a cat when you were so afraid of it.” He cupped her chin with his hand and ran his thumb along her cheek.

  “You were the one that told me I loved animals far too much not to see the truth of what happened that night. You were right. How did you know me so well?”

  Bastian smiled and stepped closer, pulling her against him. “I love you. That’s how. I think I’ve loved you longer than I even realized.”

  Shocked, Thora stared into his honey-colored eyes for a moment. “You love me?”

  His lip slowly curled into a half-smile. “With all my heart.”

  Joy bloomed inside of her as her heart pounded with joy. She lifted up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Bastian,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his.

  He drew back to look down at her with a speculative gaze. “I would like your opinion on a matter I’ve been considering.”

  She tilted her head, wondering why he had put space between them. Her lips tingled with the memory of his lips.

  “I was thinking of speaking with your father and, if you approve, asking for your hand in marriage.”

  Surprise washed over her, and her lips curled in a smile. “You want to marry me?”

  His grin was heart-stopping. “I can think of no one else. You are a wonder. Beautiful, kind. And I thought we would be a perfect match.”

  She nodded. “We will be.”

  “So, you agree?” he asked.

  “With all my heart.”

  He held her against him, claiming her lips in a deep, sultry, heated kiss that promised so much more.

  Movement sounded from inside the room. Thora pulled away and looked at the door in confusion. There should be no one in the room.

  Bastian stepped before her as the door opened.

  Nicolas stood in the open doorway.

  Bastian greeted him with a fierce embrace. “Where have you been?” he demanded and stepped back to look at him. “And what are you doing here?”

  Nicolas ran a hand over his hair to straighten it. “It was the safest place.”

  Thora stepped into the room and saw the small water bowl on the floor, and sadness filled her. Poor Miracle. She hoped the cat was safe somewhere.

  Bastian scowled at his brother. “You were hiding?” he asked in disbelief and disgust.

  Nicolas lifted his chin. “No. I was protecting.”

  “Thora?” a small voice called.

  Thora spun, searching for the voice. As she came around the side of the bed, she saw a tiny booted foot sticking out from beneath it. She bent and peered beneath the bed. As she did, she met Bella’s gaze.

  Bella’s eyes widened. “Thora!”

  “What are you doing here?” Thora asked incredulously as the little girl crawled from beneath her bed. “Are you well?”

  Bella nodded. “I didn’t know where else to go. I was afraid.”

  Thora sighed and opened her arms to embrace the little girl. “You don’t have to be afraid. The Yule Cat won’t hurt you.”

  Bella shook her head, her curls swaying. “I wasn’t afraid of the Yule Cat. I was afraid they would hurt it.”

  Thora scowled in confusion. “The cat?”

  Bella nodded. “We took her here and hid her.”

  Thora gasped. “She’s alive? She’s okay?”

  Bella bent and pointed beneath the bed. “She’s right there.”

  Thora released Bella and dropped to her hands and knees to peer under the bed. She spotted those glowing eyes immediately as Miracle slowly came toward her. Relief and happiness overwhelmed Thora.

  “She came right to me in the Great Hall,” Bella explained. “I think she was scared. Nicolas led us up here. He stayed and protected us the whole time.”

  Miracle poked her head from beneath the bed and gazed at them with those big brown eyes.

  Relief flooded through Thora as tears of gratitude entered her eyes. Miracle was safe! She grabbed Bella and hugged her fiercely. “Thank you, Bella! Oh, thank you!”

  Nicolas shoved Bastian’s shoulder as his chest inflated proudly. “Told ya.”

  Bastian ruffled Nicolas’s hair. “You did good, little brother.” He nodded in satisfaction. “It’s a Yuletide miracle.”

  Thora released Bella and stood, laughing. She embraced Bastian. “This is the best Yule ever!”

  Chapter 18

  Three Months Later

  Bastian stood in his chambers, their chambers, staring at his new wife. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have wed the most beautiful woman in the land. Thora’s red hair was braided into compliance beneath her white veil. He stepped up to her and eased the veil from her head.

  She watched him with large blue eyes that darkened when he approached.

  He was immediately aroused. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had fallen in love with her. He ran his hands through her red hair, freeing it from it’s confines. He wanted to go slow and enjoy their lovemaking, but when she lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, he realized she had other plans.

  Her fingers skimmed up his side, removing the tunic he wore. Her kiss was urgent and exploratory.

  He showered kisses along her smooth jaw and down her neck, as his fingers worked the lacings at the back of her gown. Finally, he pushed it from her shoulders and pushed it off of her. She stepped out of the garment. Her chemise was a barrier he wanted to rid them of. He looked down at her, trembling with the effort to control himself.

  Thora was the one who eased the chemise from her. It slid down revealing her naked glorious body to him.

  She was perfect. As perfect as he had imagined.

  She took his hand and lifted it, pressing it to her breast.

  He gasped slightly, fondling the small globe. It fit into his hand exactly right. He could feel the pointed nipple against his palm.

  And then, she was tugging at his leggings, pushing them from his body.

  He caught her hands and eased her back onto the bed. Clouds of blankets surrounded them as his body imprisoned hers in a web of growing passion. He gazed down at her, studying her face in the glow of the hearth. She was beautiful. Sultry. Innocent. He lowered his body over hers and she gasped before he claimed her lips.

  They took time to discover, to arouse and to give each other pleasure until Bastian could not stand another moment of the exquisite torture. He entered her with a painstaking slowness until he filled her completely. Then slowly their bodies moved as one in delightful lovemaking, soaring higher and higher with each thrust. When Thora cried out and clung tightly to him, he shattered in a shuddering release.

  Gasping and spent, he rolled from her and gathered his wife into his arms. “You are mine, now.”

  “I’ve always been yours. Since the day you saved me from the Yule Cat.”

  He grinned against her head and they succumbed to the satisified sleep of fulfilled lovers.

  Epilogue

  Nine months later

  Melodic singing rose to the rafters high above the heads of the villagers, peasants, and servants gathered in the Great Hall for the Yule celebration.

  Thora sat in the chair before the hearth, her stomach round with child. Miracle sat on the top of her
stomach as she ran a hand over the cat’s head and then scratched beneath her chin.

  It had taken a long time to convince the villagers that Miracle was not the Yule Cat.

  But once the villagers had accepted Miracle was not the cursed cat of lore, it was simple to convince them other cats and creatures weren’t. And it was all due to Bastian. Singing was the answer. And the villagers felt safe singing. If they were frightened of an animal, they would break out into song. The animals would run away. Thora smiled. Bastian was brilliant.

  Bastian strolled over to Thora and handed her a mug of ale. He laughed at seeing Miracle sitting atop her stomach. “That cannot be comfortable for Miracle.”

  Thora shrugged. “It is the only thing that calms the baby. When Miracle is near, he stops kicking.”

  “He?” Bastian echoed.

  Thora looked up at Bastian with a grin. “The midwife says it is a boy. She says she has no doubt. And she is rarely wrong.”

  “A boy?” Bastian mused, running his hand along her stomach. “Our boy.”

  Thora put her hand over Bastian’s. “He will make a wonderful knight.”

  Bastian nodded. “That he will.” He leaned in to kiss her lips gently.

  His kisses always left her hungry and burning for more.

  A boy stopped before them, raising a wooden sword to the ceiling. “The Yule Cat has been defeated,” he announced.

  Bastian grinned.

  Thora stroked Miracle. Yes. She had to agree. The legend of the Yule Cat had been defeated.

  The End

  Dearest Reader –

  Thank you for reading A Yuletide Miracle. I hope you enjoyed Thora and Bastian’s tale and fell in love with Miracle.

  I did a lot of research into the legend of the Yule Cat. The legend in my story is from Icelandic folklore. According to the legend, Gryla and the Yule Cat live in the mountains and come down at Christmas time to eat children who do not do their chores. It was a fascinating legend and I had fun incorporating it into my story.

  A lot of this story was based on real-life experience. Remember the two squires who kicked the little cat into the fire? I once read in my neighborhood animal shelter’s newsletter about a cat who was rescued from a group of boys kicking it into a bonfire. I was so horrified that people could be so mean that I wanted to give the little cat her own happy ever after and forever home. The cat in the animal shelter did survive, for which I am grateful.

  I based Miracle on one of my own cats named Muse. She is just as skittish as Miracle. While Miracle was black, Muse is a little tortoiseshell cat. Shortly after ending the story, Muse became sick. She was hiding (which is a terrible sign) and not eating or drinking. It was horrible to see her suffering so. After a visit to the emergency vet and one to her regular vet, she was given antibiotics. Two days later, she showed signs of getting back to her normal self of sitting with us, eating, drinking and not hiding. The vet said she had a wound, perhaps a scratch from one of my other cats, that had become infected. Anyway, I’m thankful to say Muse is back to her old wonderful self.

  Thank you for reading!

  Laurel

  About Laurel O’Donnell

  Bestselling, critically acclaimed novelist LAUREL O’DONNELL sold her first book to Kensington after being a Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart finalist.

  Laurel began writing in junior high school when she carried a pen and paper wherever she went. In college, she took fiction writing classes to further her skill. She worked at King Richard’s Faire in Wisconsin where she learned sword fighting.

  Laurel has many books yet to write and hopes you will join her on her journey to bring the medieval era to life!

  Visit www.laurel-odonnell.com to discover a free book, to view upcoming releases, and to subscribe to Laurel’s blog by email.

  Browse Laurel’s gorgeous books, on Amazon

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  The Lady Who Stole Christmas

  by Sydney Jane Baily

  To all those who keep the spirit of Christmas alive all year long, I salute you!

  Acknowledgments

  I had three dashing-good beta readers for this quick-paced novella: Toni Young, Lesley Walsh, and Philip Thomas. My story was made better by each of them, and I offer my sincere gratitude. And as always, a big thank you to my lovely mom, Beryl.

  Prologue

  Great Oakley

  1814

  The carriage rocked sharply, before tilting wildly, causing Lady Sarah Worthington and her maid to shriek as they slid across the leather squabs and crashed against the inside of the door. Thankfully, the door latch held, and they didn’t pop out onto the frozen ground. Finally, the vehicle came to a halt.

  “Drats!” Sarah exclaimed aloud. They were so close to their destination—Forde Hall and Lady Macroun’s Christmastide house party—but not so close that they could walk, especially with the afternoon air being so chilly one could see one’s breath. The only blessing was the lack of snow so far that winter, though she knew circumstances could change within a few hours.

  An instant later, her footman’s face appeared at the window, which she lowered.

  “A broken wheel, my lady. Went down a rut and four spokes shattered.”

  “Repairable, Henley?” she asked, her mind thinking of alternatives because even if it were fixable, it would take ages. Far more quickly, her coachman could unhitch the horses, and she and her maid, Dorie, could ride.

  Before Henley could answer, she turned to Dorie with a question she’d never considered before. “Can you ride?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. I never have tried in my life.”

  Sarah would consider that answer to be firmly in the negative. She wouldn’t risk Dorie atop a steed, only to have the horse run off with her or for her maid to fall and get injured.

  Turning her attention back to her footman, she realized, he wasn’t looking in the window anymore but behind them.

  “Another carriage approaching, my lady.”

  “Then hail it, Henley. We are saved!”

  Lord Miles Denbigh felt his carriage slowing down and leaned over so he could look out the window. Another vehicle was blocking the path and was clearly disabled. It seemed a genuine accident of some kind, however such tricks were often used by highwaymen. Reaching under his seat, he grabbed his pistol, already loaded and ready. Although he was not one of the Robin Redbreasts, who sought out and disarmed highway robbers, he had worked for Bow Street long enough to have a healthy dose of suspicion.

  His carriage had hardly come to a halt when he opened the door and jumped down, not the type to wait for the assistance of his footman or even have the iron steps lowered. Maybe when he was eighty, he would allow such luxuries.

  Still, his footman had beat him to the ground in a little contest that always occurred between the two of them, but as the man had to walk around the coach, Miles reached the other carriage first.

  Obviously, the front left wheel had snapped. A footman, blocking his view of the window, looked alarmed at the sight of a gun and flattened himself against the carriage door. Then, Miles heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

  Looking up, he saw the coachman pointing a shotgun at his chest.

  “Lower your weapon,” the driver ordered, “and step back from her ladyship’s carriage.”

  Her ladyship? Interesting.

  “I don’t mind lowering my weapon,” Miles said, “as long as you do the same. I stopped only to offer my assistance, but I shall not leave myself open to the potential menace of a robber’s grand scheme. I demand to know the occupant before I lower my pistol.”

  A tapping at the window made the footman turn to speak with the carriage’s occupant.

  “Her ladyship asks your name.”

  Miles sighed. “Lord Denbigh.”

  There was more noise from the carriage, and then the footman was being pushed aside.

  “Denbigh!” came a fami
liar voice as the door was pushed open before the footman recalled his duties and lowered the step.

  Lady Sarah Worthington. He should have known. A house party with many jewels and festive revelers apt to become snockered by midday, ripe for being fleeced—that would be exactly to her liking.

  Suddenly, she appeared, offering the footman her hand. As usual, she was stunning, this time in a sable-trimmed blue wool pelisse and matching muff, her blonde hair piled upon her head, with a fur trimmed hat perched on top.

  Not even glancing at her coachman, she ordered him, “Lower your weapon, Mr. Higgins. We are safe with my good friend, Lord Denbigh.”

  Safe, unless they found themselves alone, as had happened upon two occasions. Both times he’d kissed her senseless and relieved them both of pent-up lust, once on a sofa in a sitting room during a diner party with her skirts raised to her corseted waist, and the second time, far more comfortably, in his own bed. After unwrapping her like a delectable present, swiftly and with care, he’d found her not only to be warm and willing but far more beautiful when bare than when artfully made up.

  Without a doubt, they were two of the best, most satisfying sexual experiences he’d ever had, even the hurried one on the sofa when he’d been unable to feast his eyes upon anything except her passion-glazed blue ones while driving into her. He wouldn’t mind making it a third time for Christmas’ sake. Truth be told, if she wasn’t so inclined to buzzing dazzlers from the nobility, he might consider a longer arrangement with her.