The Highlander's Christmas Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Donella had the constitution of a draft horse. Uncle Riddick, however, was hypochondriacally inclined and fretted about everyone’s health, especially his own.

  The real reason she’d gone red had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the inappropriate thoughts she’d been having about Logan Kendrick these last three days.

  She stood to replenish his cup from the tea service. “I’m very well, sir. I’m just sitting too close to the fire.”

  It was a convenient excuse, since there was a roaring blaze built up in the gigantic stone hearth. Family meetings were always held in the great hall. With its medieval suits of armor, heraldic banners, and ancient weaponry, it was an impressive if rather overdone testament to the Haddon family’s history and traditions.

  Uncle Riddick was very big on tradition. He was also a master manipulator and was doing everything he could to remind Donella of who she was and what she owed to her family.

  As if I could ever forget.

  She glanced at the longcase clock. “I suppose the others will be arriving shortly.”

  “Alasdair and Eden should be down soon. But I told them I wanted to speak with you first.”

  Donella froze. “You didn’t tell them why, did you?”

  He impatiently waved her back to her chair. “Of course not.”

  “Alasdair wouldn’t stop pestering me about the Murrays. I had to pretend to fall asleep in the carriage.”

  Her great-uncle’s rheumy gaze grew sharp. “You leave Alasdair to me. Your secret has been safe for ten years, and I intend to keep it that way.”

  Uncle Riddick remained a powerful laird who commanded respect, but he was old and in failing health. In fact, she’d been shocked by the physical changes wrought on his body during her years away. While he still had a sharp mind and an iron will, he’d grown wizened and frail. He’d turned most estate and business dealings over to Alasdair, who was assisted by Donella’s brother, Fergus.

  She had serious doubts now that he could manage the situation with Mungo Murray after all.

  “Obviously Alasdair was away at the time of the incident,” she said with some hesitancy. “But Fergus was here, as was Uncle Walter. Perhaps it might be best to enlist their help.”

  “And what do you think Fergus would do if he found out what really happened between you and Roddy Murray? Mungo would be the least of our worries if it came to light.”

  She winced. “Fergus would challenge poor Roddy to a duel.”

  The oldest son of Mungo Murray, Roddy had been smitten with Donella and had wanted to marry her. Uncle Riddick’s terse refusal had resulted in thinly veiled accusations regarding Donella’s character.

  A feud had only narrowly been avoided due to the intervention of several chiefs from branches of both clans. Uncle had also made some thinly veiled accusations of his own that seemed to shut the matter down.

  That Mungo Murray had never forgotten the insult to his family’s honor was now abundantly clear.

  “Only a few people know the truth of that situation, Donella, and it has to stay that way. Alasdair and Fergus would kick up a fuss, and your reputation would end up in tatters. Not that it’s in the best of shape at the moment, ye ken,” her uncle tartly added.

  She couldn’t blame him for being annoyed. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. You must want to throw me off the highest turret of Blairgal.”

  His expression softened into a wry smile. “You think you did us all a favor by hiding away in that convent, but you were sorely missed. We’re that glad to have you home where you belong.”

  “I missed all of you too, Uncle. And I have to admit it’s lovely to be home. Everyone’s been pampering me to a disgraceful degree. If I’m not careful, I’ll grow very spoiled and never want to leave.”

  “You’ll not be leaving anytime soon, young miss, and that’s an end to it.”

  “But—”

  “And you’ll not be saying anything about the Murrays beyond what I’ve told you to say. Are we clear on that?”

  There was no point arguing with him. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve already written to Mungo and instructed my lawyers to pay him a little visit. We’ll not be having any more troubles on that score.”

  Instinct told her such would not be the case. In any event, she intended to be gone from Blairgal Castle sooner rather than later. Once she reentered the convent—any convent—Mungo and Roddy would cease to be a problem.

  He extracted his watch and scowled at it. “Where is everyone? We have a great deal to talk about, and I have no intention of holding up dinner.”

  Donella rose. “Do you want me to ring for a footman to fetch them?”

  “No need,” said Uncle Walter as he stepped down from the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. “I’m here, and Edie and Alec are right behind.”

  With his spectacles and slightly stoop-shouldered physique, Walter looked exactly what he was—a scholar. He was also the kindest man Donella had ever met. He was Alasdair’s father—stepfather, in truth, although that was another of the family’s deep secrets. When she was young, Alasdair’s mother had engaged in a brief, adulterous affair with the Duke of Kent, one of the king’s sons, and Alasdair had been the unexpected result of that liaison. Walter had selflessly accepted the blame for not protecting his young wife from the rakish prince. And he’d accepted the babe as his own son, raising him with love and devotion after the death of his wife.

  Alasdair, in turn, had always insisted that Walter was his true father and was equally devoted to him.

  Her family was really quite wonderful. They stuck together through thick and thin, even when Donella’s deranged mother had tried to murder Alasdair—certainly a low point in the Haddon family history.

  Uncle Walter bent down to kiss Donella’s cheek. “How are you, my dear? Are you feeling quite up to this? You look rather flushed to me.”

  She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just blazing hot in here.”

  “It seems quite chilly to me,” Walter said. “I wonder if we should move to the library. It’s much cozier in there.”

  “Give it up, Father,” Alasdair said in a humorous tone. “It’s a family meeting, so it’s the great hall. And that means we have to huddle around the fire and roast ourselves like capons or sit a few feet away and freeze to death.”

  “We’re Scots, lad,” barked Uncle Riddick. “Not a bunch of namby-pamby Sassenachs who can’t take a bit of the cold.”

  “This particular Sassenach never gets cold,” Eden said in a cheerful tone as she joined them. “I love winter in the Highlands. It’s invigorating.”

  “Well, this particular Englishwoman finds nothing invigorating about Scottish winters,” said Lady Reese, who’d followed her daughter into the room. “How anyone can prefer a dreary winter in the Trossachs to the healthy English climate is beyond me.”

  “Aye, and after one season in London, a body will cough up its lungs onto the floor,” Uncle Riddick dourly replied.

  “What an unpleasant image,” Walter commented. “Alec, why don’t you fetch your mother-in-law a chair so she can sit near the fire, too.”

  Lady Reese gave Walter a gracious smile. “You are always so kind, dear sir, worrying about everyone else’s welfare. Unlike some other people I could mention.”

  Uncle Riddick let out a derisive snort.

  Lord Riddick and Lady Reese, once mortal enemies, had actually grown quite fond of each other once Alasdair and Eden were married and various members of the family stopped trying to murder each other. They were often found in Lord Riddick’s library, drinking whisky while arguing the merits of English versus Scottish culture. Poor Walter was often forced to play referee.

  Donella rose. “Sit here, my lady. It’s a bit warm for me.”

  “You are looking flushed,” Lady Reese said with a frown. “I do hope you’re not falling sick again. Perhaps we should call for the doctor.”

  Donella briefly contemplated screaming and ru
nning from the room.

  “I agree,” Walter said. “One cannot be too careful.”

  Her ladyship shook her head. “How the poor girl survived that godforsaken convent is beyond me. It’s a miracle she didn’t expire from some sort of dreadful contagion.”

  “Mamma, by definition, a convent cannot be ‘godforsaken, ’” Eden said.

  Her mother bristled. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a convent.”

  “And if a miracle’s going to occur, that’s as good a place as any,” Alasdair said, amused.

  Uncle Riddick scowled at Lady Reese. “This conversation is entirely daft. And why the devil are you here? This is family business.”

  “I’m Eden’s mother, which means I am a de facto member of your family. And may I remind that I was the one who not only cured Fergus of his melancholy but found him a wealthy wife.”

  That was all true, although Fergus hadn’t really been melancholy. He’d been guilt-ridden about their mother’s criminal behavior. Donella and Fergus had dealt with that guilt in different ways—she by entering the convent, and he by practically working himself to death to make up for their mother’s misdeeds.

  “She’s got you there, Grandfather.” Alasdair settled next to Eden onto the red velvet settee. “Lady Reese is a capital matchmaker.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t wish to get married,” Donella said.

  Lady Reese looked offended by the very notion. “All sensible women wish to get married.”

  “That’s not true, Mamma,” Eden said. “Many girls prefer the single state.”

  “For example, Donella,” Alasdair said. “She had the good sense not to marry me, and bully for her.”

  “Only because you two were so poorly matched,” Lady Reese retorted. “That entire debacle could have been avoided if the rest of you had only listened to the poor girl in the first place.”

  Donella jumped in. “Very true. I didn’t want to get married then, and I don’t want to get married now.”

  “Nonsense, child. You just haven’t found the right man yet.”

  “There is no right man.”

  Possibly there might have been, and his name was Logan Kendrick. Now that chance was gone—thankfully, she told herself, since he’d likely not given her a thought since the day they parted. She’d discovered from Eden that Logan had a son—really, the dratted man had been ridiculously closemouthed—and a rapidly expanding business that consumed all his attention. A man like him wouldn’t waste a moment of time on a woman like her.

  “Ah, here’s Fergus,” Walter said, sounding relieved.

  Donella’s brother hurried in from the anteroom. “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

  “Just reliving a bit of family history,” Donella said, going to greet him.

  He shot a quick glance around the room. “That bad, eh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Fergus enfolded her in a hug. “I’m here now, Sis. I won’t let anyone badger you.”

  Donella hid a smile against his shoulder. With the exception of her uncle, Fergus badgered her more than anyone. All in the name of brotherly love, of course.

  She pulled back and fondly patted his cheek. Like her, Fergus had dark red hair, green eyes, and a dusting of freckles across his nose. When she left for the convent three years ago, he’d seemed hollowed out by the events that had almost torn their family apart. Now he was the picture of health, at peace with himself and devoted to his pretty English bride.

  “Have I told you yet how happy I am for you?” she asked.

  “Not as happy as I am to have you home—although you should be staying at Haddon House with Georgie and me. It’s where you belong, Donella. Not up at the castle.”

  “It’s Georgie’s house now. She doesn’t need me looking over her shoulder, telling her what to do.”

  Haddon House, Donella’s family home, was a small but lovely estate a short ride from Blairgal. Before entering the convent, she’d all but run the place, since their mother had never been comfortable with the responsibility.

  “Now, Sis—”

  “Stop your palavering and come join the rest of us,” their uncle interrupted.

  “Why didn’t Georgie come with you?” Donella asked as she drew him to an empty chaise.

  “She thought you would have enough family telling you what to do without in-laws chiming in.” Fergus pointedly looked at Lady Reese.

  Her ladyship sniffed with disdain. “I, for one, would welcome Georgette’s input. She’s a very sensible girl.”

  “You like her because she never contradicts you,” Fergus said.

  “As I mentioned, she’s very sensible.”

  “Perhaps we might get started?” Walter tactfully said.

  “I’d like to start with a discussion about those bloody Murrays,” Alasdair said. “I’m tired of waiting for answers.”

  “You’ll mind your business, if you please,” Uncle Riddick sternly replied. “I have the matter well in hand.”

  “I don’t mean to start an argument, Grandfather, but—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “But I doubt a stern letter will solve the problem,” Alasdair firmly went on. “If not for Logan Kendrick, Donella would have been kidnapped.”

  Eden shook her head. “I don’t understand why they’d do something so deranged.”

  “I believe the answer is simple,” Walter said. “When Donella was seventeen, Mungo Murray wished her to marry his son, Roderick. Since Donella was betrothed to Alec at the time, the offer was refused. Mungo saw that as an insult to his family’s honor.”

  “We would have refused it regardless of Alasdair,” Uncle Riddick snapped. “Roddy Murray is as thick as a plank, and his father is no better. Dolts, the lot of them.”

  “Roddy was quite sweet, though. Not at all like his father,” Donella said, compelled to defend her long-ago suitor.

  “And very handsome, as I recall,” Walter thoughtfully added.

  It was Roddy’s handsome looks that had run Donella into trouble in the first place—not that she could admit it.

  “That certainly didn’t excuse the lies he told about my sister,” Fergus said. “I should have shot him back then, like I wanted to.”

  Alasdair frowned. “What sort of lies were they?”

  Oh, Lord.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Donella said.

  “The kind no gentleman should make about a lady,” Fergus darkly responded.

  Alasdair looked blank for a moment, then guffawed. “That’s totally ridiculous. Donella cutting up larks with—” His wife elbowed him. “Um, Donella would never do anything inappropriate. She wanted to become a nun, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s immaterial,” Uncle Riddick said. “The Murrays need to realize once and for all that Donella will never marry Roddy.”

  Eden pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you mean to say that Mungo Murray tried to kidnap Donella to force her to marry his son? That’s positively medieval.”

  “It’s an old tradition in some Highland clans,” Walter explained. “Although I’ve not heard of such a case in many years.” He shot Donella a troubled glance. “They obviously heard you were leaving the convent. Just as obviously, Mungo Murray now feels that his son has a claim on you.”

  “As if the poor woman doesn’t have a say in her own life,” Eden huffed.

  “Right. I’ve had enough of this,” Alasdair said. “Fergus and I are riding north to pay Mungo Murray a visit.”

  Donella almost fell off the chaise. “No. I absolutely forbid it.”

  “We have to do something, Sis,” Fergus said. “This cannot go unanswered.”

  “I don’t want the past dredged up again. It was humiliating enough the first time.”

  “Donella is right. You’ll only cause more trouble,” Uncle Riddick said.

  Alasdair made an exasperated sound. “But, Grandfather—”

  Lady Reese leaned over and whacked him with her fan. “That’s enough, Al
asdair. Lord Riddick has made his decision, and the rest of you will abide by it.”

  “Who died and left you in charge?” Fergus muttered under his breath.

  Her ladyship narrowed her gaze, as if deciding whether to whack him, too.

  Donella mentally steeled herself. “The point is moot. I intend to write to the Mother Superior of an order of Franciscan nuns in Galway. Whatever problem there is with the Murrays will go away after I enter that convent.”

  That pronouncement resulted in a stunned silence. Not for very long, however.

  “No niece of mine is going off to Ireland,” thundered her uncle. “Much less to Galway.”

  “I should say not,” Fergus chimed in. “You’re staying right here with us, Donella. In fact, you’re moving back to Haddon House today.”

  Donella repressed a wince. “No.”

  He paused. “No . . . to what?”

  “All of it.”

  Her brother rubbed his forehead, looking frustrated and hurt. “Donella, don’t you want to stay with us? Georgie would be thrilled, you know.”

  How could her brother understand what it felt like to be a hanger-on in one’s own house? “That’s terribly sweet, Fergus. It’s just that . . .”

  “It’s just that Blairgal is a big, beautiful castle,” Eden cheerfully finished for her. “Who wouldn’t want to live in a castle?”

  “And you and Georgie are still newlyweds, Fergus,” Donella said. “You deserve time alone together.”

  “Oh, very well,” he grumbled. “But that doesn’t mean you have to run off again. Besides, you just got kicked out of the convent.”

  “I did not get kicked out.”

  “You rather did, dearest,” Eden said apologetically.

  “That doesn’t mean some order wouldn’t want me,” Donella insisted.

  “I think you should stay with us for a spell before making any final decisions,” Walter said. He smiled at her. “After all, we missed you very much, and it’s splendid to have you back.”

  “I missed you too, Uncle Walter.”

  Donella had always been surprised by how homesick she’d been at the convent, and how much she’d missed her old life.

  Perhaps Reverend Mother had been right about me all along.