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

by Collette Cameron

  Catrina’s breath hitched as she eyed Niall standing in her hallway, his tall, muscled form the most perfect sight she’d ever seen. Thank goodness she had loved Moira as much as she had and still did, or she doubted she’d be able to contain her anger thinking how she’d given up her future for her sister. She fisted her hands at her side.

  Shimmying out of her coat gave her the perfect chance to hide the fact she was enjoying watching Niall.

  He may very well be a rogue for being in possession of a highwayman’s horse, but Niall McHendrie cut a fine form in his gray waistcoat and matching breeches. Even his boots were highly polished, which was a lot more than she could say for her own worn pair. She must look like a mess to him.

  Niall reached for her coat.

  He was making it hard to want to be upset at him over the horse situation.

  “In exchange for ye saving me from the storm,” Niall said as he hung up Cat’s coat, “is there anything I can help ye with around the house?”

  What? “You want to help me?”

  “I think it only fair since ye are putting me up for the night.”

  “Who said anything about you staying the whole night?”

  “Surely, lass, ye dunnae mean to toss me out in that storm?”

  “The snow might end before morning.” She could not have Niall in one of her beds as there was only one free one, and that was the one she used when she napped in Fergus’s nursery, waiting for him to fall asleep. How could she ever lie there again knowing Niall had been in the very same bed? She wouldn’t toss him out in the cold, but she also was not going to have him spend the entire night under her roof.

  “So, is that yer decision? To put me out the minute the snow stops?”

  “No. Well, maybe.” The emotions running through her were conflicting at best.

  And hampering those swirling feelings even more was Mrs. Ramsay, who chose this precise moment to come tiptoeing down the stairs, pitchfork vertically aligned only a mere thread away from Niall’s spine. The stout little cook looked her way. “I have the ruffian covered; Miss. Ye may do what is needed.”

  Catrina winced. “You can put down the pitchfork, Mrs. Ramsay. It’s just the laird.”

  Mrs. Ramsay leaned forward. “Och, for the love of God, indeed it is.” The pitchfork remained in her hand.

  Niall moved away from the stairs.

  Mrs. Ramsay came down one step, her face now redder than ever. “What were ye doing stalking around Rose Cottage?”

  “I wasnae stalking the area around Rose Cottage, Mrs. Ramsay,” Niall said.

  Stepping off the stairs, Mrs. Ramsay shot Cat a confused look. “If he wasnae stalking us, why did ye bring him home?”

  “The storm picked up.” Cat turned her gaze back to Niall. “What were you doing out on the main road in this weather? You never said.”

  “I needed to get out of the Abbey.”

  “In the middle of a storm?”

  “It wasnae snowing when I left. And I didnae think it would snow as I was out.”

  Mrs. Ramsay harrumphed. “That’s the problem with ye men. Ye don’t think when ye should.” She slammed the pitchfork’s handle against the floor.

  Niall shot Catrina a pleading stare.

  It took everything in her not to laugh, but retaining her composure was a must. So too, was ensuring the laird survived Mrs. Ramsay’s fury. “Is the soup ready? It smells even more delicious then when I left.” Hopefully her honey-coated words would force her dear cook to lay off the laird.

  Mrs. Ramsay simply shook her head. “Aye, ‘tis ready, though I dunnae ken why we should be feeding Mr. MacHendrie. ‘Tis Christmas Eve and the man is imposing, if I may say so.”

  Inching back a step, Catrina cleared the way for Mrs. Ramsay to head toward the kitchen.

  “I dunnae wish to cause ye any trouble, Catrina,” Niall said, still standing near the row of coat pegs.

  “A bowl of chicken soup is no trouble.” She lied. It would be near impossible for her to eat with Niall at her table. He always made her hunger for nothing but him when she was in his presence. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Aye. Thank you.”

  At least the matter of her starving on Christmas Eve was settled, though she doubted her eyes would mind for at least they’d get their fill of a tasty dish by taking in the sight that was Niall MacHendrie.

  He brushed by her arm as he made his way to the kitchen. “I am glad to see ye still have yer fiery spirit about ye, lass.”

  “The spirit that caused you to refer to me as, and I quote, ‘Ye Sassenach witch’?”

  “Ye remember.”

  How could she forget anything he’d said to her while they were courting when half the time, he had been whispering the most wickedly delicious things at her ear? “Your words were unforgettable, your lairdship. And I ken you ken it.”

  Niall stepped forward. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “I was a fool to nae discuss things with ye in London.” He kept his hand at her face, the warmth of his fingers seeping into her cheek.

  Catrina’s breath hitched. She didn’t know whether to slap the man or…well, she simply didn’t know how to react to his bold manners of touching her as he was, other than to stare at him, dumfounded like a schoolgirl who had suddenly discovered that breathless feeling of first love.

  Niall suddenly dropped his hand from her face and silently headed for the kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  Taking such liberties with Catrina Lennox wasnae what Niall had meant to do. But the lass still owned his heart. Letting those emotions go was a must and it had to begin this verra minute.

  Cat entered the kitchen and sat in the chair opposite Niall’s.

  A trace of rose perfume floated his way. Until he’d met Catrina, he didnae find the flower’s common scent to his liking. But on Cat, the fragrance took on a new note, reminded him of mist-shrouded hills after a storm when the true beauty of nature lay waiting to be revealed. How he’d dreamt many nights of stripping Catrina of her secrets. Of bringing her to bloom like the true flower he always sensed she was.

  Mrs. Ramsay placed a bowl of soup in front of him, the aroma of chicken and onions quickly overtaking Catrina’s perfume. “Waste a single spoonful and I will have ye washing the pots as I dunnae cook for naught,” she said.

  He stared across the worn, wood table. “I ken there are many roads in the wilds of Dundaire, but I must admit, Wolf Lane was not one I had visited before ye brought me here today.” He studied Catrina’s face; her light blue eyes enchanting as ever. Damn him, but he could get lost in the depth of their gaze. Which was why he promptly looked away and focused on the celery floating in the chicken soup. He was here strictly to settle the matter of Robbie’s final wish.

  “We are rather remote,” Catrina said in that pleasant and proud voice of hers. A voice that was quickly making his battle against sin a losing one.

  “Aye. And Dundaire is a wee different than London, eh?” He continued staring into the bowl.

  “It is.” Cat paused.

  He stole a glance at her, but only enough to watch her gaze drift to the spoon she was aimlessly stirring. “I do miss London.”

  And yet she’d come to Dundaire, which was a mystery in and of itself, as this part of Scotland was unlike other areas of the country. Even to its own residents it was an eccentric place. Just because Cat had inherited the cottage, didnae mean that was the sole reason she had chosen to give up London. “Other than inheriting Rose Cottage, what brought ye to Dundaire?”

  “An injustice.”

  Niall jerked his head up, but before he had the chance to question Catrina’s answer, the wail of a bairn scratched at his ears. Could it be Robbie had a child? Did he dare dream he could have a piece of his brother back? Of course that would also mean his suspicions of Robbie and Cat were viable.

  He fisted his left hand, then quickly flexed his fingers. Regardless of the truth, he was man enough to face it. He had t
o be as it couldnae be changed.

  “Fergus,” Catrina said, rising and then dashing from the kitchen.

  Niall stood, then retook his seat after Catrina had left. He may be in one of Dundaire’s less refined areas, but it didnae mean he had an excuse to forget the ways of a gentleman.

  Staring across to Mrs. Ramsay, he quirked an eyebrow.

  “Dunnae be giving me that look, sir. Ye should be glad Miss Lennox announced ye before I jabbed ye in the arse with my pitchfork.”

  He supposed that was a miracle he should be thankful for. Especially after having had his arse frozen this morning. Two assaults to his bum were two more than he cared to endure. “Who were ye expecting Miss Lennox to bring home with her, that ye needed to arm yerself with a weapon?”

  “The Christmas Rebel.”

  He nearly choked. Hitting his chest and regaining his breath, Niall composed himself. “Ye do ken we havenae heard from The Rebel in nigh a year. Aye?” Putting Robbie’s troubled past to rest was a must. Though he wasnae sure what to do about his brother’s child. The bairn he’d heard wailing a few minutes ago must be the full reason Robbie had wanted his inheritance left at Rose Cottage.

  “Aye, but just because the brute hasnae been up to his thieving ways this year, doesnae mean he is gone for good.”

  If only Robbie were still alive. “How long have ye worked for Miss Lennox?”

  “She came here a little less than two years back. ‘Twas a compromising situation—no thanks to The Rebel—that forced her to leave London for Dundaire. But make no mistake, the lass is the best mother Little Fergus could hope to have. And I serve them both with respect.” She tsked. “That beast, The Rebel, is bloody lucky Miss Lennox is the woman she is.”

  So Robbie was in fact the father of Catrina’s child.

  He shook his head.

  He should never have taken Robbie to London. But even more important, he should have been a better brother to the lad as he obviously had failed him. If Robbie couldnae confide in him about what went on between him and Catrina, it was all because he had not been much of a father figure to the lad. Though he had to admit, the whole scheme of things was more than a wee puzzling to him. How could Catrina have been courting them both at the same time? “Did ye ever meet The Christmas Rebel in person?”

  “Thankfully, no,” Mrs. Ramsay said. “I came to this house after the deed was done. But even so, I doubt there is a living soul in all of Dundaire who knows what that beast’s face looks like. Even Miss Lennox has never set eyes on the brute.”

  Confusion rattled Niall’s brain. How could Cat nae ken what Robbie looked like? She’d seen him enough times at the house in London. “Are ye certain about Miss Lennox nae being able to identify The Rebel?”

  “Aye. She told me so herself. Said Little Fergus’s father was nae a man she had ever met, but kent for fact that he was The Christmas Rebel.”

  At least there was that, Robbie’s reputation remaining intact. But it was disturbing to think his brother had taken advantage of Catrina. He couldnae imagine Robbie taking a woman in the dark, never revealing his face to her. That didnae sound like the brother he kent. Though the lad did bear a great deal of anger over their parents’ deaths. Mayhap he took that anger out on Cat? The thought pained him. “And he never visited in the time before the bairn was born?”

  “Nae.”

  He definitely needed to have a talk with Catrina. A verra deep and important talk.

  Mrs. Ramsay glanced toward the window. “Och, but it is coming down heavy now.”

  “I am glad Miss Lennox found me when she had, or I’d probably have frozen to death.”

  Looking back to the table, Mrs. Ramsay stirred her soup. “Ye should have conferred with yer cook, Grace, as she is good in predicting the weather.”

  So he’d been told.

  Catrina returned to the kitchen, a plump little boy carried in her arms. She sat down at the table and turned the wee bairn around.

  Niall felt his mouth drop open. There was no mistaking the lad’s heritage as he had the same, rare combination of green eyes and red hair, as had Robbie. Of course Catrina had red hair, but her eyes were blue.

  Fergus smiled at him. The bairn reached for his hand and held on tight.

  God, but it was like reliving the night Robbie died. That grip, that strong hold his brother had staked on his arm. He wanted to cry, to scream in joy, to tell the wee bairn he had a family. A family outside of his mother, of course.

  Zounds! But what was he thinking? Reality washed over Niall like a wave caused in a loch by a charging kelpie. To be a part of the bairn’s life, he’d have to reveal his brother’s identity. And he wouldnae have Robbie’s soul condemned for eternity. Even if he had done the unthinkable to Catrina.

  Niall gently pulled his hand away from Fergus. “He is a handsome lad.” It was all he could say at the moment, his heart beating so fast.

  A gust of wind rattled the kitchen window.

  Niall stood. “I fear I have stayed too long. Disrupted yer day enough, and with it being Christmas, I have no right to intrude further. I’ll take a blanket and spend the night in the stables.”

  Catrina shot him a concerned look. “You will die out there.”

  He’d die if he spent another moment in this house surrounded by the woman he loved but couldn’t have, and the nephew he wanted to love, but couldn’t acknowledge. “I must go.”

  “I will not have it, Niall. You’re spending the night and that is my final word.”

  Mrs. Ramsay dropped her spoon. It clanked against the table. “But we dunnae have an extra bed, Miss.”

  Catrina shook her head, her fiery red curls bobbing around her flawless face. “We most certainly do.” She stood and placed Fergus in the highchair next to the table. “His lairdship may stay in the nursery, in the bed where I nap waiting for Fergus to fall asleep.”

  The last thing Niall needed was to sleep in the bed where Catrina Lennox had lain. Just thinking about her curvy form would keep him awake all night. Not to mention her scent. That intoxicating rose fragrance stirred his soul. “I wouldnae care to put Fergus out.”

  “I doubt he’ll be upset with sharing his room with you.”

  “I snore.”

  A soft smile flitted across Catrina’s lips.

  Damn him to hell, but he did nae need to focus on Cat’s tempting mouth. “Mayhap I can sleep on the floor in here.”

  “I will nae have a man sleeping in my kitchen, sir.” Mrs. Ramsay’s face went red.

  “Then it is the stables.” Niall turned and headed for the hall to retrieve his coat.

  Catrina followed him, the stomp of her bootheels cursing at his ears. If this had been any other situation, as in if he had never lost Catrina, he’d have turned straight back, taken her in his arms and divested her of those damn breeches and tattered gray woolen jacket that covered—from what he could tell by the rolled up cuffs—a worn linen shirt, all of which didnae do justice to her beautiful form. And he’d do it all while devouring those luscious lips of hers so she couldnae protest.

  He stopped in the hall.

  Running his hand through his hair, Niall took a moment to just breathe, to collect the wee bit of sense he still had left in his soul.

  How was it that sin insisted on following him everywhere? Was there truly no justice left in this world? All he’d wanted was to fulfill his dead brother’s wish, which by all means should have been a valiant act. Not a deed that had him stalking into the life of the most charming woman ever to stir his blood.

  A soft hand settled on his shoulder.

  Niall held his breath.

  “Please,” Catrina said from behind him. “You cannot sleep with the horses for you are not a horse. And it is far too dangerous for you to attempt to return home. And before you even think it, it’s also too dangerous to try to ride out to the tavern in town.”

  He kent that, damn it. But Catrina didnae ken the danger she was asking for by suggesting he stay the night under her ro
of.

  Staring at the small set of narrow stairs in the hall, Niall noted that the finial, carved in the shape of a pineapple, leaned to one side. “I will stay but only if ye allow me to pay for the night.” He needed something to focus his energy on or he’d die just from the mixed feelings that were storming through him.

  Catrina stepped up next to him, a small tear showing in the sleeve of her jacket. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Allow me to mend the finial or allow me the use of the stall next to Mischief’s, for the night. Ye dunnae have other options, and as laird, that is my final say.” Let Cat challenge him on that!

  “Touché, my laird. In truth, I would welcome the finial fixed, as I can’t count the times I’ve caught my sleeve on it.”

  He nodded to Catrina. “Then it is settled. Now where do ye keep yer tools?”

  Mrs. Ramsay entered the hall, a wood box gripped in her right hand. “Ye should find all ye need in here. Though I am warning ye, sir. Ye must behave yerself during yer stay at Rose Cottage or ye will face my pitchfork with certainty.” She dropped the box on the last step, then shook her head before returning to the kitchen.

  “You’ll have to forgive Mrs. Ramsay,” Catrina said, a delightful pink hue tinting her cheeks. “She means well. Of that I can assure you.”

  “I ken. I have a butler and a cook who are just as loyal to me as Mrs. Ramsay is to ye.”

  A squeal emanating from the kitchen interrupted their conversation.

  Catrina glanced away. “I should go back to tending to Little Fergus.”

  She was a good mother and it pleased Niall. “He’s a spirited bairn.”

  Catrina smiled, an uptick of her lips that showed the love she had for her son. “He is an intelligent boy. And so full of enthusiasm. Most days I can barely catch a breath trying to keep up with him.”