Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  He smiled when he spied MacLauchlin colors.

  By the time they made it in, laughing all the while, they were covered in snow. He lowered her and pulled her against him, barely noticing the crackling fire or pine and holly spread about festively.

  All he could see was her.

  “I cannae tell ye how many times I imagined this moment.” He cupped her cheek. “How I longed to make ye mine.”

  He closed his lips over hers and kissed her with all the passion he felt. With his very heart. Desperate to finally have her, and sink into her welcoming heat, he kept his lips with hers and tossed aside their cloaks. Then he cupped her backside and squeezed her against him, letting her know what to expect. How much he desired her. When she groaned in return, he grew desperate.

  He had to see her.

  Touch her.

  Taste everything she had to offer.

  Unfortunately, a knock at the door interrupted his intentions.

  “’Tis time for the first-footing,” she murmured against his lips.

  After the stroke of midnight, it was considered good luck for the New Year if the first person who crossed one’s threshold—preferably a neighbor, a family member or friend—offered a symbolic gift such as salt, bread, coal or whisky.

  In their case, it was Adlin with a wee dram or two of whisky.

  “’Tis lucky for us ye are a tall, handsome dark-haired fellow and not red-headed,” Rona grinned, “or our New Year might look verra bleak.”

  “Aye,” Adlin exclaimed, chuckling at the old superstition. “Worse yet, a red-headed lass!”

  The theory held that the Norse had ignited such beliefs. As it were, some swore Viking raiders first brought fair hair to Scotland. And if a Viking woman were first to enter, she would surely be followed by an angry Viking man.

  Adlin embraced and congratulated them both, then urged them to sit at a small table where a variety of tasty morsels and sweets had been left for their enjoyment. “I willnae keep ye long, but I promised ye I would explain everything.”

  “Aye, then.” Colmac poured them all whisky, curious. “About how the last letter got here? Mayhap who was behind it all from the beginning?”

  “’Twas yer brother behind it.” Adlin sighed and took a sip. “But ‘twas me and yer good ma who saw through his wishes.”

  “Ma?” He frowned. “She knows about all this then?”

  “Aye.” Adlin looked from Rona to Colmac. “And verra much approves of the union.”

  “She knew, aye?” Colmac said softly, sinking into a chair. He saw things so clearly now. “She knew how I felt about Rona all those years ago?”

  “From what I hear ‘tis safe to say most knew.” Adlin looked between them. “The love that blossomed betwixt ye that eve at MacLauchlin Castle was much talked about.” He winked. “Albeit in hushed tones.”

  “Och.” Rona looked at Colmac. “I didnae know we were so obvious.”

  “True love is impossible not to see,” Adlin informed. “Suffice it to say, things happened as they did. Bróccín grew ill, and he summoned me to help see through his final wishes. Yer ma was on the mend at that point, so we were together by his bedside in those final hours.”

  “’Tis all so happenstance,” Rona said. “How could he have foreseen this going as he planned? I wasnae even intending to stop at MacLauchlin Castle.”

  “I agree things were left to chance,” Adlin said. “He knew that but ‘twas his fondest hope ye would find yer way back to the castle when ye did, Rona.” A twinkle lit his eye. “Mayhap ‘twas the magic of the holiday that saw things through?”

  “Or Fate.” Colmac slipped his hand into hers. “Either way, despite the attack, I am glad ye ended up where ye did, Rona. That we were given a second chance.”

  Her gaze warmed. “Me too.”

  “Bróccín really was verra sorry in the end,” Adlin said softly. “But at peace in a way that was soothing to his soul. At peace believing the two people he loved most would find their way to each other once more.”

  Colmac bit back emotion and squeezed Rona’s hand. He could tell by the look in her eyes, that like him, she had released all anger and was at ease now. The past was in the past.

  “So ma hid the letters?” Colmac asked. “She even placed the first one by Rona’s bedside?”

  “I cannae speak to how she saw things through,” Adlin said. “But aye, she saw to the first three letters. I saw to the fourth and the ring.”

  “That is what she meant when she told me, Brighid and Aaron that Hogmanay would be a final farewell.” Rona's eyes met Colmac’s. “Because of the letters and what Bróccín hoped would happen betwixt ye and I, she knew we would be saying goodbye to yer brother in a way we never anticipated.”

  “Aye,” he replied. “So it seems.”

  “What of my dress, though?” She fingered the garment and looked at Adlin. “Where did it come from?”

  “Bróccín said ‘twas yer favorite color,” Adlin replied. “So I had one of our seamstresses prepare it in case ye arrived as we hoped ye might.”

  “But I never told Bróccín my favorite color…” she began and trailed off. Her gaze went to Colmac. “I told ye…earlier that day long ago.”

  “Aye, ye said ye wished ye had a red dress for the holiday.” He recalled the longing in her eyes. “So I suggested Bróccín might want to consider having one made for yer Hogmanay marriage.”

  “Ye thought of everything, aye?” she whispered.

  “Nay, I only though of ye, lass.”

  When their gazes lingered on one another, Adlin cleared his throat and stood. “Well, ‘tis best I leave ye two be and get back to my Mildred.” He embraced Rona then clasped Colmac’s hand. “We MacLomains are glad to welcome a strong alliance with the MacLauchlins.” He looked between them and nodded. “Might this union see yer clan grow stronger.”

  “Aye.” Colmac pulled her against him the moment Adlin was gone. “And what better way to strengthen a clan than giving it wee bairns?”

  Chapter 13

  Heat spread through her at the hungry look in Colmac’s eyes. She could barely believe he was her husband now. That the love they had found long ago finally had a chance to flourish and grow.

  Ever so slowly, worshiping her with his gaze, he undid the sashes of her dress then lowered it over her shoulders. Nervous and excited all at once, she tensed, unsure what she should do. How she should respond.

  “’Tis all right, lass,” he said softly, evidently noticing her concern. “I will see ye well pleasured.”

  “I dinnae doubt it,” she said just as softly. Her dress pooled to the floor, leaving only her shift. “Yet I know nothing of pleasuring ye.”

  “Just being with ye brings me pleasure.” He crouched, helped her step free of the dress, and removed her shoes. His hands rode up her calves and thighs, and she struggled to breathe. “Just focus on how I make ye feel, Rona.” His eyes rose to hers. “Soon enough yer worry will fade.”

  She nodded but could not find her voice to respond at the feel of his warm, weapon roughened hands on her sensitive flesh. A burning ache ignited between her thighs, and her legs grew weak. Something he seemed to realize because he stopped his slow torture, scooped her up and laid her on the bed.

  When he undressed, she could hardly hear the wind whistling through the rafters, her heart pounded so loudly. She had never seen a man nude but found she liked it. Very much. Or at least a man who looked like Colmac. Well-muscled from battle, and slightly scarred from wounds, his form appealed to her so greatly that the burning between her thighs returned with a vengeance.

  “Bloody hell,” she exclaimed, spying what hung between his legs. Long and thick, his cock was more than ready to claim her by the looks of it. Would it fit, though? That seemed an impossible feat.

  “’Tis all right,” he assured again, joining her.

  He cupped the side of her neck and kissed her softly at first before it grew more passionate. Lost in the sensation of his tongue dancing
with hers, she relaxed as his hand traveled over her shoulder, down her arm, and across her stomach. Then it wandered up until he brushed the side of her breast. Shivers rushed through her, and her nipples tightened in anticipation.

  Seeming to understand what she needed, he palmed her breast through her shift and peppered kisses along her neck. As if unwrapping a treasured gift, he slowly lowered her shift and continued downward. Gooseflesh spread like wildfire and sensations heightened even more. Bracing herself, barely able to inhale, she arched when his mouth found her bare breast.

  Colmac rolled his tongue around her pebbled nipple, and her eyes fluttered closed. When he suckled it, they shot open on a moan. All the while, he worked her shift down and touched her. Featherlike on her belly causing tantalizing pleasure to fan out everywhere. Then more aggressively, making her writhe, desperate for more.

  “So bloody beautiful,” he groaned.

  His gaze swept over her, and his talented lips followed in the wake of his hand, kissing here, licking there. She was so caught up in the vivid sensations he wrung from her, she barely knew how far he had traveled until he tossed aside her shift. She thought for sure he would come back up but instead dropped kisses along her inner thigh.

  “What are ye—” She cried out in pleasure when he pressed her thighs apart and licked her vulnerable center.

  Should she stop him? Was this appropriate?

  Yet she found she did not care. Not as he licked and kissed, then pulled the tiny center of her pleasure into his mouth. Heat flushed her skin like an inferno. Groaning, she gripped the bedding. Sensations swelled. Bliss consumed. He suckled harder, causing need to coil tighter and tighter until she bit her lower lip hard.

  Suddenly, everything let go, and untouchable pleasure shot through her.

  She trembled uncontrollably before waves of release washed over her, carrying her on a sensual journey she never could have imagined. Gone, adrift somewhere of his making, she gazed into Colmac’s eyes as came over her and spread her thighs wider.

  She had heard lying with a man for the first time was painful, but when he pressed forward, she barely felt a pinch. Thanks to the lingering pleasure he had invoked, instead of tensing, she relaxed as he slowly stretched and filled her.

  Once fully seated, he stopped moving and cupped her cheek. “Are ye well, lass?”

  “Aye,” she said hoarsely, overly aware of every inch of him inside her, caught by the feel of being filled so completely. “Verra well indeed.”

  He kissed her once, twice, then a third time before he began moving and made what she had felt prior pale in comparison. She had imagined such intimacy feeling all sorts of ways, but nothing like this. Nothing like the feeling of staring into his eyes, immersed in the wondrous sensations his thrusts invoked.

  When he rolled his hips and moved faster, the inferno she had felt before turned to blazing fire in her veins. She figured it impossible to feel more, but every moment that passed, every thrust, drove more and more sensation into her.

  More need and lust she did not know she was capable of.

  “Colmac,” she groaned through clenched teeth, spreading her legs even wider, wanting more.

  He moved faster still, his arm muscles bulging while he rode her. Sweat slicked their skin, and boundless passion fueled her. Desperate, needing the pinnacle she raced toward, she wrapped her legs around him and gripped his strong forearms.

  In, out, over and over, they raced toward a crescendo until it struck.

  Teetering on the edge, she released a sob of pleasure and arched when unparalleled ecstasy broke over her. Bliss ravaged his features, and he thrust one last time, locking up inside her. Trembling, pleasure kept coursing through her, the sensation only heightened by the feel of his throbbing cock filling her with hot seed. They stayed that way for some time, him deep inside her, their hearts pounding, their breathing labored, until he eventually pulled her into his arms.

  “I think I will verra much enjoy strengthening our clan with ye,” she murmured, running her fingers languidly along his chest. “Making all the wee bairns that entails.”

  “Aye, lass.” He smiled and stroked her hair. “We will work at it often.”

  She met his smile. “I hope so.”

  “No need to hope.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I intend to have ye in our bed as often as possible, wife.”

  “That sounds verra promising, husband.”

  “It does.” He gazed into her eyes. “I love ye verra much, lass.” He wrapped his fingers with hers and brushed the pad of his thumb over the ring. “Ye truly do hold my heart.”

  “As ye hold mine,” she murmured. “’Til the end of my days.”

  They spent the night loving each other. Sometimes eating, drinking, and laughing. Other times wrapped around each other in bed, exploring one another. Though he did not take her again, claiming she needed time to heal, he brought her to release in all sorts of other creative ways.

  So it was as the merry pipes echoed on the wind and snow fell in twirling drifts, their life started anew together on the eve that was always meant to be theirs.

  They had been given a cherished gift they would never forget.

  A special Hogmanay that would forever remain in their hearts.

  About Sky Purington

  Bestselling author Sky Purington married her hero, has an amazing son who inspires her daily, and two husky shepherd mixes that keep her on her toes. Her stories run scorching hot, teeming with protective alpha heroes and strong-minded heroines. Passionate for variety, Sky’s vivid imagination spans several romance genres including historical, time travel, paranormal, and fantasy.

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  The Russian Betrothal

  by Elsa Holland

  Prologue

  BETROTHED

  Miss Georgina Franklin’s betrothal to Prince Vladimir Demetri James Petroski was announced to the world when she was six and he was eleven. The idea that a well-to-do capitalist and investor of untitled family could arrange such a match for his daughter kicked up a fluster and a fuss throughout parlors across the London. As the years went by and far more current and interesting events took the limelight, the gossip paled, and the betrothal became a little-known fact. Fourteen years hence and only the old vanguard of dowagers still had it on their registers and lists. When the Petroski brothers arrived in London in December 1898 and set it alight with their breathtaking presence, bone melting accents and heart fluttering masculinity, eligible women of status were all interested in their availability. It was simply a matter of time until the Russian Betrothal and all its attendant speculation would once again raise its head.

  Part I

  The Betrothal

  Chapter 1

  Georgie’s hand curled around the newspaper, crumpling its middle. Blast him! Prince Vladimir Petroski and his brother were reported at Madam Debuverey’s salon, again. She stalked over to the sideboard and slapped the newspaper down on the glossy mahogany surface. The night before, he was seen at the opera before heading to a gaming hall. And… the night before that he was sighted at the theatre and then the Fervors Salon, purportedly a hive of artists and painters set on turning beauty on its head.

  Over the last seven days reports had begun to piece things together and there at the bottom of today’s edition was her inevitable shaming:

  Were the Petroski brothers in town on special business? Reportedly, a well-to-do Miss might be keeping secrets the rest of London is yet to remember? Or is it the elusive and shockingly beautiful widow haunting the salons recently that has brought them here?

  In any of those seven days had he come to visit her? Had he come to make her acquaintance? Had he come to pay his regards to his betrothed, the woman he would whisk away to St Petersburg and wed in less than a m
onth?

  No.

  Had the date of their wedding been posted?

  No.

  Had there been any celebration of the long-standing event now pending?

  No. No. NO.

  The pain each of the reports generated was not the worst of it, she had lived with the shame of rejection for many a year.

  Her hand tightened on the paper before letting it go, smoothing it out and folding it on the sideboard for the others who wanted to read it… that was the hardest part. First her father, then the butler, the housekeeper and finally the other staff. Everyone in the house would read how Prince Vladimir Petroski, her long-standing betrothed, was gallivanting around London instead of coming to make himself known to her.

  If the last few days were anything to go by, after the news was well and truly spread through the house the hushed voices and whispered discussions would begin, about him, about her, about the salons and more, the whole debacle of years of neglect. If that were not torture enough, it would all happen with small loyal glances in her direction, with eyes that silently said ‘there, there’ or ‘poor thing he will come around’.

  Damn a literate household. When was it that everyone started to read?

  Georgie stalked the room; around her the sun shone through the front parlor window, a rare stream of winter light shamelessly bright and cheery. If there were any justice, a Bram Stoker storm should be dragging itself through the sky with lightning breaking through the clouds to gallantly set the guilty salons, gaming halls and theaters aflame.

  The elusive and shockingly beautiful widow…. her throat tightened.

  Upstairs, her entire possessions were slowly being packed, everything readied for her new life in St Petersburg, the home of her devoted betrothed. Georgie screwed up her nose.