Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  Her neck bared to him, he descended, his lips hungry on her skin, trailing downward. He was at her nipple before the thought of control entered into his head. He set his lips to it, his tongue swirling over the nubbin, sparking it to strain deeper into his mouth. Sparking her hips to press into him, to sway against his already straining cock.

  He took the nubbin between his teeth and it sent a gasp of pleasure from her lips. His look lifted upward for one moment to look at her, to watch the pleasure flash across her exquisite features.

  Heaven. Heaven in front of him.

  His head dipped and he took another swipe of his tongue across her nipple. “Hell, Karta, you taste like summer.”

  Words that broke the spell she was under.

  She jerked away from him, her fingers rubbing her swollen lips. Her left hand tugged the bodice of her dress up over her nipple as her words came out breathless. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dom.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re breaking me and I cannot be broken again.”

  “I’m not going to break you, Karta.”

  Her hands went up between them, pressing against his chest. “I’m not who I once was. I haven’t been that woman you knew for a long time. Those years with the viscount…they changed me.”

  His look narrowed at her. “Don’t tell me you’re still loyal to the man.” A spike of jealousy sent his gut churning. “I don’t know anything of the viscount, but I know he couldn’t touch ye like I touch you.” He pushed forward into her hands on his chest and kissed her so hard there would be no room in her mind for anyone but him.

  He broke contact, yet his lips stayed a hair away, brushing hers. “Kiss ye like I kiss you.”

  Her head craned back, her eyes wide. “No, Dom—he was different—different than you. He didn’t touch me like you do.”

  He blinked hard. And again. She was still talking about the bastard.

  The cold clamp of jealousy slithered around his chest. “So ye thought of me when you were under him?”

  She jerked back and slapped him, the sting barely registering through the fury that had gripped him at the thought of her under that decrepit old viscount.

  “No.” She fumbled to the side, scrambling away from the table and him, her voice in a screeching whisper. “Leonard was frail and he was nothing like you, Dom. Nothing. “

  Domnall stepped away from her, his head shaking as he tried to squelch the jealous rage in his chest. “I apologize. That was out of line.”

  “It sure as hell was.” She yanked her bodice fully into place and backed away from him. “Make no mistake. The day I left my father’s home was the day I stopped thinking of you.”

  His hands curled into fists at his sides and his voice went bitterly hard. “I don’t believe you, Karta.”

  She stalked to the door, her fingers waving in the air, dismissing him. “Believe what you must. Whatever sets your head on a pillow and lets you sleep. It’s not my concern and it never should have been.”

  Chapter 7

  He was getting too close.

  A day in the same house with the obstinate man and he was already too close to finding his way in, to finding out what she’d become.

  She couldn’t have that.

  It was clear he didn’t know what had happened to her or he never would have approached her—sat down with her. Kissed her.

  And he could never know. Not for the way his face would crumple when he learned the truth. Not for how he would look at her with disgust once he knew.

  Leaving Kirkmere Abbey had been the best choice. Her only choice after that scene in the dining hall. His mouth on hers. His strength around her.

  Dangerous. All of it dangerous to her very sanity.

  Better to distance herself from him before everything became so complicated there was no way to untangle her heart from him again.

  She lifted her hand, rubbing the tip of her cold nose with her leather riding glove. It scratched rough against her skin, the leather still not worn soft again after being soaked by the snow when she had walked to the abbey.

  From high on the horse she had borrowed from the Kirkmere stables, Karta’s gaze fell to the dark shadows of the trees that lined the outer land of the Leviton dower house. The moon reflected bright off the white landscape and sent long black shadows of tree branches to snake along the smooth white snow.

  Shadows that taunted her, aching to pull her back into the exile of the Leviton dower house.

  Her look moved upward, setting straight ahead to the stable behind the dower house. It had been right to leave. The doctor had agreed to stay with Maggie until she was well. With luck, Maggie would rejoin her in a few days. And then Karta could attempt to pretend the last day and a half had never happened.

  She nodded to herself. She would be fine on her own for a few days. The only thing she needed to do was purge from her mind the fact that Domnall was now living directly across the glen from her.

  The horse nickered, snorting as it stepped through the deep snow up the short hill to the stable.

  Her eyes scanned the front of the barn as they approached it. Damn. The snow was still drifted in front of the doors leading into the stable. Even higher than before.

  Karta halted the horse, staring for a long moment at the heavy black iron latching the doors closed. She exhaled a long sigh, then leaned forward, patting the mare on the side of her neck. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll get you into the warmth.”

  She nudged the horse forward another four steps and then dismounted, dropping with a thud into the drifts of snow.

  Her fingers were already cold, but there was nothing for it. She couldn’t leave the magnificent beast standing in the freezing cold.

  She trudged through the snow, the top layer of it now crusted over to a thin sheet of ice that shattered apart against her knees with every step as she pushed against the drifts.

  She stopped at the door to the right, kicking at the drift in front of it with her boot, and then grabbed the black handle next to the latch, pulling as hard as she could.

  The door only opened a hand’s width.

  She looked over her shoulder at the horse. “No, you’re a bit bigger than that, aren’t you?”

  She swiped the bank of snow a few more times with her feet. It didn’t take long to realize she was getting nowhere, and she bent over, scooping clumps of snow about her legs and tossing them behind her.

  The snow cleared in a small triangle about her boots, she yanked on the door again. It moved. Slightly.

  She exhaled out a deep breath of air, the puff freezing into crystals before her face. The whole damn area in front of the door would have to be cleared.

  Stifling a sigh, she dropped to her knees, sweeping her arms across the snow in long strokes, pushing it away from the door.

  Fifteen minutes of shoving snow on her hands and knees and she was panting. She looked up from the spot she was in. Only a quarter of the way to the hinges of the door.

  Her arms screaming with the effort, she tucked her chin into her chest and dug her knees into the cold ground to keep moving, keep clearing.

  How was there this much snow in the world?

  Her focus stayed on the snow and only the snow until she heard a faint bark. Or what she thought was a bark. It could have been an angry squirrel.

  Another bark, closer, louder, and the horse whinnied, stepping in place, anxious to be out of the cold.

  Her head popped up from below the bank of snow and she searched the white landscape, the moon sending it into an eerie glow. A horse appeared with a deerhound bounding in front of it, barking, leaping in and out of the snow.

  A dog she knew.

  A man she knew.

  She stayed on her knees, watching him approach, her chest lifting high with each heaving breath she took into her lungs.

  By the time his horse sidled up to hers, she’d caught her breath from the exertion of pushing the snow, though it still quivered in her chest, ready to be taken a
way at any moment.

  Domnall always did that to her—quickened her breath, threatened to steal it.

  “Ye bloody well left, Karta.” The thunder in his voice as he halted his horse told her everything she needed to know about his opinion on the matter.

  Her gloved hands thudded onto her knees. She looked up at him as a gust of wind hit her cheek and she cringed against it. “I did.”

  Shaking his head, grumbling, he swung his leg over his horse and dismounted, his heavy boots onto the ground sending vibrations under her knees.

  Towering over her, he blocked the light of the moon and sent her into a deep shadow.

  “Ye left to roll about in the freezing snow?”

  Her look went to the stars in the sky. “I still cannot get the door open enough to get the mare in. I was digging the area free.”

  “Ye shouldn’t be out here, Karta—you almost froze to death once in the past day, let’s not make it twice.”

  “But I need to get the mare in.”

  He looked to his left at the horses. His stare dropped back down to her. “Or you can come back to the abbey.”

  Her throat collapsed on her and she shook her head. “I cannot.”

  From what she could see in the deep shadow shrouding his face, his bottom lip jutted up and a growl bubbled from his chest.

  He turned from her, stomping through the snow to the side of the stable and disappeared around the corner of the field stone building. She could hear him tromping about, muttering nonsensical words to himself.

  He reappeared, a long plank of wood in his hands. Moving to her side, he towered over her again. “Then get yourself up and out of the blasted snow.”

  “I can do this, Dom. I don’t need your help.” She bent down, swiping at the snow, her look down and avoiding him. “I didn’t ask you to come after me.”

  He grabbed her wrist on mid swipe, his fingers digging into her flesh through the leather of her gloves. “No. But I’m here and I’m not going to watch you dig out the snow. Nor let your damnable pride set you into freezing to death.” He shook his head. “Hell, Karta, you’re already shaking with the cold.”

  He wedged the wood into the drift next to him and his hand dove into his greatcoat. He pulled free a silver flask and thrust it to her. “Drink this. It’ll warm you faster than anything else. And move away from there.” He pointed to the spot she was working on clearing.

  She drew a deep breath, then looked about the snow still piled all around her, drifted higher than her head in some spots.

  For how much she wanted to argue it out with him, she was cold. And tired. And her bothersome pride usually did get her into trouble.

  She grabbed the flask from him and rocked back onto her heels, then stood, stepping back into the small area she’d managed to clear. Opening the cap of the flask, she took a sip as she watched him start to shovel the snow aside with the plank of wood. The sting of the whisky curled her tongue, burning down her throat.

  But the burn was good. Strong against the chill her body was quickly slipping into now that she had stopped moving.

  Domnall dug back heavy scoops of snow, moving them from the side of the barn outward. Swearing at her the entire time under his breath.

  In five minutes, he’d cleared more than she had been able to do in a half hour with her hands.

  “Bloody stubborn lass.” He flipped a mound of snow into the air, the flakes separating and creating a white glowing curtain in the moonlight. “Ye always were too headstrong for your own good.”

  She stared at the width of him, the ease with which he plowed through the bank of snow. “And you were always too strong for your own good.” She took another sip of the whisky.

  He stopped, standing upright and turning around to her, his brow furrowed. “What?”

  Her fingertips went over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Aye. Ye did.”

  Her lips pulled inward for a long breath.

  “What did ye mean, Karta?”

  “I meant…” A long exhale escaped her chest. “I meant everyone always wanted to use you because of it—you were wanted for your brawn—the strongest man around. That’s why you’re too strong for your own good. Those at Vinehill never wanted you for your mind. For your kindness. For your astute observations. For the person you truly are.” She paused, tipping the flask up to her mouth for a healthy swallow. “That’s what I always wanted—you. Not for what you could do with your muscles, but for who you are. Your soul.”

  His eyes narrowed at her, his fingers tightening around the edge of the board. “I knew that, Karta. I did.”

  “Did you?” She shrugged, looking to her left at the horses waiting impatiently in the snow. “For if you had, you would have shown at the ball.”

  He spun from her, thrusting the board deep into the drift of snow before him and continuing to dig in silence. The set of his shoulders was rigid—taut and angry.

  She took another swallow of the whisky as she watched his jerking movements.

  It wasn’t fair and she knew it.

  She couldn’t keep blaming him for how they were parted. He hadn’t known what was at stake by not showing to the ball. But the fact that he didn’t arrive in time still burned bitter deep in her belly. If he had loved her—wanted her enough—he would have shown. If she’d been the most important thing to him, he would have upheld his promise to be at the ball on time.

  But she wasn’t.

  They hadn’t been anything that she thought they were. And that stung most of all.

  Domnall got to the last corner of the drift by the barn, clearing it quickly. Sticking the board into the mound of snow he’d just cleared, he went to the door of the barn and pulled it open. The four horses inside whinnied at the gust of air going into the stable.

  Karta stepped to her horse and grabbed the mare’s reins, leading her into the stable. Domnall brushed past her as she went in, then went to retrieve his horse and followed her.

  So he was staying.

  She eyed him over her shoulder as she led the mare into an open stall and started to work free the girth of the sidesaddle. He’d led his horse into the empty stall next to her and busied himself with removing his saddle.

  How long did he think to stay here?

  Five minutes? An hour?

  And why?

  Hell.

  She knew exactly why. That was the trouble.

  Her look went forward and she concentrated on the leather of the strap she was attempting to free. Her fingers were still shaking from the cold. The whisky had warmed her belly but not her limbs.

  His feet shuffled across the floor, stopping at the entrance to her stall. “Why is it ye cannot come back to the abbey, Karta?” His words, soft and raw, drifted across the stale air to her.

  She didn’t turn to look at him, instead setting her focus on her trembling fingers on the leather strap and wishing them still.

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, her gaze locked on her hands. “I don’t have the answer for that. Not now. You appeared in that field last night—oddly and magically so, and it wasn’t something I was expecting. I was expecting death to come for me. Not you. You were not something I ever could have dreamed. So I don’t yet know what to think on it.” Her head lifted and she looked at him over her shoulder. “But I cannot be near you—not without you drawing me into something I cannot control.”

  “Why do ye want to control it?” The heat in his dark blue eyes seared her. “We never could fight what was between us. And now ye are free. I am free. So why is that something to run away from?”

  She spun on her heel to face him, her fingers lifting to point at his face. “Because of this. Because of how you look at me. How your voice drops into a low rumble. When you stare at me like that, when you talk to me like that, I am the exact same girl I was years ago when I would get lost in everything about you. But I’m not that same girl anymore. I can’t be. So this thing between us—it has to be controlled. You look at me
as you do and I have to hold stalwart against it. I once risked everything for that look of yours, and I paid dearly for that gamble.”

  For a long moment, his stare pierced her, more heated than a breath ago. Then he smiled, forced, covering whatever it was he truly wanted to say. “So then let us go into the dower house, warm up, and prove how very controlled we can be.”

  Karta blinked hard, her head snapping back.

  Spoken by the very devil himself.

  Controlled? The two of them?

  Her chest tightened.

  There were secrets she needed to keep and if she didn’t gain some semblance of control, she would break.

  Something she was determined not to do.

  Chapter 8

  ”It’s still chilly in here.”

  “It’s a large room to heat.” Resting on his heels as he jabbed at the coals under the fire he’d started, Domnall lifted himself to standing and leaned the fire poker against the grey marble that lined the hearth. One scruff behind Theodora’s left ear and he turned to Karta. Where she’d disappeared to for the last twenty minutes, he didn’t know.

  She stopped just inside the doorway and she hadn’t yet removed her cloak, the dark folds still swallowing her whole. He’d removed his great coat when he’d come in, but even he could feel the snap of cold hanging in the air of the drawing room. “Should I go up and start the fire in your bedroom?”

  “No, this room will be fine. The settee is comfortable enough to sleep upon.” She lifted her hands from the drape of the cloak and held up a thick-cut crystal decanter full of amber liquid and two glasses. “I tried several times to light the fire in the kitchens to warm up water for tea, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. So this will have to do.”

  He resisted lifting an eyebrow. His flask had been noticeably lighter when she’d handed it back to him outside. But if a touch more spirits would take the cold blue from her lips, he wasn’t about to argue with the method.