Tavish stroked her shoulder. “I think they will. Neil was quite excited by the prospect, and I think Dougal is just glad to have his brother safe.”
“I am glad to have all of us safe.” Elspeth shuddered when she recalled what they’d had to do at the inn.
Tavish took his arm from her and started to slip from the bed. Elspeth reached for him. “Where are you going?”
He smiled at her. “Nowhere, but I need to do something.” He left the bed and stoked the fire, then returned carrying Lann Dhearg of all things.
She bolted upright. “What are you doing with that? Please don’t set the bed on fire!”
He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. “That won’t happen. I didn’t have a chance to tell you the true secret of this sword. We’ve scarcely had a moment alone since we left the inn, and last night, well, I had other, more pressing matters to attend to.”
Heat sparked in Elspeth’s core as she arched a brow at him. “What secret?”
“How I kept it from bursting into flame when I fought Kent outside your room. My grandfather had told me there was a way to control the flame, but he didn’t know what it was. We knew that anger and despair and other negative emotions made the sword more powerful. When I was fighting to save you, I knew I loved you—more than anything. That love and the hope for our future together extinguished the flame. Even now, I can feel that love vibrating through the sword.”
Love tingled through Elspeth’s chest and spread to her limbs. “Your love for me saved us all?”
His eyes gleamed with mirth. “That, in addition to your quick thinking and expert paring knife skills.”
Elspeth laughed. “What a wonderful secret for such a terrible weapon. You’re still going to hide it in the morning?”
He nodded. “As soon as it’s light. First, however, I want to do something. Elspeth, I grant you the use of Lann Dhearg.” He held out the sword.
She frowned. “You know I can’t lift that.”
“Try.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
Still frowning, she closed her hand around the handle and tentatively took it from him. It wasn’t exactly light—it was still a sword—but she could lift it. “Because you gave it to me?”
He nodded again. “Do you feel the way it sings in your grip?”
“I’m not sure I’d describe it like that. Perhaps more of a low hum.” She tipped her head to the side. “Why did you want to give it to me?”
“Because after I hide it in a few hours, it will be lost forever. I wanted it to know the love we share from both of us. This will sound strange, but I think it was…content once I learned how to control it.”
“You talk as if it’s a living thing.”
“Of course, it’s not, but it has power.”
She could feel it. “Yes, it does.” Concentrating, she thought she could feel the love the blade now held. But perhaps that was just the love she felt for Tavish, which was almost overwhelming. She looked up at him a bit shyly. “I can’t believe how happy I am.”
He leaned over and kissed her, his lips lingering against hers. “Believe it. And believe how very much I love you.”
“It can’t be as much as I love you.” She gasped as the sword truly sang in her grip. Her eyes met his. “I think I felt what you meant!”
He grinned. “See?” He took the sword from her and set it down beside the bed. Then he gathered her against him and buried his face in her hair. “If someone were to write this legend, they’d have to include the story of our love—of how we tamed the sword.”
“You tamed it.”
He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “We did it together. If not for the sword and our shared passion for legends, we may never have met. I would not have stopped to listen to your story at the Lammas Fair.”
“I suppose that is true. You did take a rather long time to pursue me, however.”
“Only because I was committed to supporting my mother’s family.” Even so, she saw the regret in his gaze.
She rushed to reassure him, putting her hand on his cheek. “I know. That’s all behind us, and it doesn’t matter because everything has turned out as it should. I am grateful we found our way to one another.”
“As am I.” He bent his head and kissed her collarbone, then her neck, then the hollow of her throat. “Allow me to show you.” He pressed her back onto the bed and settled between her thighs.
“Shouldn’t I be on top again?” she asked, tracing the scar that stretched across his shoulder blade that he’d sustained at Culloden. “I realize your wounds are mostly healed, but I’d hate for you to tear the stitches in your arm.”
He let out a throaty laugh. “If you insist. Or, if you’d care to move to your side, I can show you another way.” He rolled away from her, and she turned to face him.
He shook his head. “Other way.”
Desire pulsed in her core as she rolled over and presented her back to him. “Like this?”
“Just like that.” He stroked his hand up her back as he pushed her hair aside and kissed her nape. Then he trailed his hand down her collarbone and cupped her breast. She gasped as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“You are the story I always hoped my life might be,” she said softly, arching into his touch.
He kissed the side of her ear and whispered, “Then let us write it.”
* THE END *
About Darcy Burke
Want to read more about the Thirteen Treasures of Britain and one family’s quest to find and protect them? Don’t miss the Legendary Rogues series: four intrepid heroines and adventurous heroes embark on exciting quests across Regency England and Wales! Start with Lady of Desire!
Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical and contemporary romance. A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, artist daughter, and imaginative son who will almost certainly out-write her one day (that may be tomorrow). Would you like to know when Darcy’s next book is available and to hear about sales and deals? Sign up for the Darcy’s Reader Club newsletter, visit her darcyburke.com, and follow her on social media:
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The Highlander Who Stole Christmas
By Eliza Knight
Part of A Very Highland Holiday Collection
© Copyright 2020 by Eliza Knight
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
The Highlander Who Stole Christmas
For eight months, Thane Shaw has patiently waited to enact his revenge against the Campbells, and finally he can’t resist the opportunity that’s presented itself: stealing their most precious treasure for his own—Lady Sarah.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
I’m very excited to be a part of A Very Highland Holiday collection. My story, The Highlander Who Stole Christmas, is a fun tale loosely based on How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss. It’s one of my very favorite Christmas stories, and I thought it would be a lot of fun to use some of the themes from it in writing this Highland holiday tale.
Thane is quite bitter when he heads down south from his clan’s holding to Campbell lands where he plans to ruin their Christmas festivities and all of the holiday season by stealing Lady Sarah. But he may just find his heart growing by three, as did the Grinch.
While it’s true that Christmas wasn’
t widely celebrated in the Highlands after being banned, and frowned upon even when the ban was lifted, there were some small pockets where traditions were maintained (probably in secret), perhaps a bit more quiet than how I portray celebrations in my story.
After all, it is said that the Christmas Carol, “O, Come All Ye Faithful” was written as a call to rebel arms after the birth of Bonnie Prince Charlie. How else would such a call be passed if rebels weren’t singing in secret?
I wish you all a very merry holiday season, and a wonderful New Year.
Happy Highland Reading!
XO,
Eliza
DEDICATION
To Andrea, because you always bring me Christmas cheer!
Chapter One
Revenge was a dish best served on a cold, snowy platter.
At least, that was what Laird Thane Shaw told himself as he headed out into the darkness just after nightfall, ignoring how the clouds covered the stars in the inky black sky. A blustery wind blew, and a man with less hate in his bones might have frozen to death. But his thirst for revenge was enough to keep him warm.
This was for his twin sister, Thea. If no one else felt the need to exact revenge on her behalf, then he would gladly take up the mantle. Thea deserved no less—in fact, she deserved so much more. Life, for one.
Damn his clan for fearing the wrath of the Campbells. The bloody bastards deserved to feel the same pain the Shaw clan endured. No matter their size, no matter their might, the Campbells couldn’t get away with murder.
And he was going to teach them just that.
An eye for an eye—or rather, a sister for a sister.
Lady Sarah Campbell was about to become collateral damage in a war waged between clans, and while he did feel a twinge of guilt at putting her life in danger for the sake of his bloodlust, at least he wasn’t going to kill her. Unlike the Campbells who had violently stolen his sister’s life.
And so, Thane ignored the warnings of the weather and rode out into the night before anyone could stop him.
Wrapped in his plaid to ward off the cold along with an extra riding blanket on his horse, Destiny, he rode over the moors. His horse’s hooves knocked against the frozen, packed earth. White clouds puffed from his mouth and the horse’s muzzle, and with each gust of wind, the ice on the tree limbs tinkled like musical wind chimes.
Eight long months had passed since the Battle of Culloden, which had not only changed the landscape of Scotland but the landscape of his clan. His entire life. And ended his sister’s.
He’d been one of the lucky ones. Hell, if one could call him lucky. He felt cursed. Vexed with life, and guilt for surviving, when so many others had died for the cause. More than half of the Shaw warriors had been annihilated in battle. And those who’d made it were filled with such anguish and fear. Not to mention they’d had to hide from those who sought to kill them ever since. The Duke of Cumberland had orchestrated the catastrophic battle, and when it had ended, he’d put out the order for all Jacobite rebels to be murdered.
And still, Thane was here. But without his twin sister in the world, what more did he have to live for?
When he returned to his castle with Lady Sarah in tow, it would raise the morale of his people. Seeing that Thea’s death was being avenged would bring them hope for a brighter future. Or in some way present a future that was less bleak. Even the dogs looked dejected these days. All of the clan’s crops had been burned or stolen by dragoons, and what little stores they’d been able to hide were quickly dwindling. Neighboring clans were all in the same boat. The population itself was dwindling because of it, as some fled to the New World and parts of Europe. Escaping starvation, fear and grief.
At the very least, he might be able to extort some supplies from the Campbells when they came looking for Sarah. A ransom paid was better than a silly chit who required rations.
Lady Sarah Campbell…He’d not seen her since Thea had been wed to the Chief of Clan Campbell, but his memory of her was sharp. The lass had a confidence about her that came with the privilege of belonging to a powerful clan. One that had not seemed to fair as badly as the rest of the nation.
Trailing in undulating waves down her back and threaded with little white flowers, her red locks screamed out to the sun. Her lips were a perfect pink bow, accented by a beauty mark on the indentation of her creamy, dimpled cheek. But most noteworthy were her brown eyes, the kind that saw straight into a man’s soul, disturbing him enough that he’d dreamt of them for months after their meeting.
What sort of things had a lass like that seen?
He hardly had to guess, given the brutality of her brothers. It crossed his mind then that perhaps Lady Sarah had witnessed his sister’s death. A shudder passed through him, imagining what Thea had gone through. Why had their da arranged to marry her off? If Thane had been laird at the time, he’d not have agreed. But the responsibility had only fallen to his shoulders after the great battle, which had also stolen his da’s life. And what was done was done.
Thane thrust aside those melancholy thoughts, or else he might guide his horse right off a cliff. Instead, he focused on his plan for infiltrating the Campbell stronghold and finding Lady Sarah as fast as he could.
Recognizing her was the least of his worries. Och, but Thane could pick her out of a crowd of a thousand fiery-headed beauties, of that he was certain.
What he worried about most was blending in with those in residence.
He planned to infiltrate the castle during their annual Christmas feast, which took place on the eve of the holiday, and steal her away while everyone was distracted by the celebration. Word had leached out across the Highlands that the Campbells still planned to celebrate despite the death and destruction that had hit their country. Another great blow to those who were still suffering.
Bloody bastards would be drunk on ale and wine and spiced cider, dining on the blood and guts of their peers.
The Campbells hardly suffered enough during the battle.
Of course, he knew that wasn’t generous of him. All the clans had suffered. However, after learning that Thea had been left with little protection at the castle while the warriors had gone off to fight for Bonnie Prince Charlie and that when the ransom for Thea was demanded, the Campbells had refused, he wasn’t feeling very charitable.
Oh, how his sister must have suffered at the hands of the butcher of the loyalist government army—also known as the Duke of Cumberland, son to King George who’d exacted his revenge on the Scottish rebels in favor of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Knowing that had made him harden his heart. Not just to the bloody Sassenachs who’d murdered her, but to those bastard Campbells, who might as well have been a party to it for they hadn’t done much to protect her.
The place in his chest that used to burn a fire for a cause, had now frozen over, beating only for revenge.
Before this moment, Lady Sarah Campbell had considered herself to be quite beloved by her family.
But now, as she backed against the wall in the darkened corridor, she realized what a complete fool she’d been. How easily she’d allowed herself to live in a bubble of pure fantasy. For it was evident now, considering the conversation happening on the other side of the tightly closed door, that she was only a commodity to be traded.
Her heart pounded in her ears, threatening to drown out the rest of the conversation happening within.
“There will be dozens of them present.” This was the distinctive deep voice of her younger brother Edward.
“Ye were smart, brother, to invite everyone for the Christmas feast. No one will guess that we’re actually brokering a deal.” And that had been her other youngest brother Ellyson’s reply.
Both her brothers chuckled, following by the sound of clinking. Were they giving cheers to selling her off?
Sarah fumed, hands fisted at her side, and her jaw clenched so tight she risked breaking a tooth. To them, she was a deal to be brokered, and neither of them seemed to care one wit that she was human,
and until a few moments ago, their much-beloved sister.
Alas, that had all been in her mind, for it was evident now that she didn’t mean as much to them as she thought she did. What an absolutely pathetic idiot she’d been.
The Christmas feast that she’d been helping to prepare for weeks—had in fact planned most of—was just a ruse to auction her off to the highest bidder. Why did they even bother with the feast to begin with? They could have saved themselves a lot of trouble and resources if they’d simply tossed her naked out into the moors for the quickest man to grab.
The clans were all hurting for money and staples since the Battle of Culloden, and though their clan was larger and richer than others, their size was the problem. They were large, too large, and had a lot of mouths to feed. So why not get rid of her and collect coin in the process?
She was nothing but a piece of property.
Jon was so busy with the rebellion these last few years that he’d put off arranging a marriage for her, and she’d been glad for it. Now that she was five and twenty, she thought for certain she’d be too long in the tooth for anyone to want her. Apparently not.
Sarah reached forward, preparing to bang on the door to tell them exactly what she thought of their disgusting plan, but what they said next stilled her.
“Northumberland’s son will be there, as well.”
“English bastards,” cursed her brother Edward.
“Aye. We’ll rob him blind if he’s willing to take her.”
Selling her to a bloody Sassenach made her stomach curdle, and she dropped her hand, pressing it to her gut, willing herself not to vomit. Northumberland…The same man who’d killed their brother and cousins on the field of battle.
A Very Highland Holiday Page 39
