The Highlander's Christmas Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Just the bill, thank you.”

  With alacrity, the man returned with the receipt. Logan paid, then rose to usher Donella and Joseph out.

  “Joseph, go with your father,” Donella said. “I’ll follow you in a moment.”

  When Logan frowned, she simply gave him a bland smile. He took Joseph’s hand, taking care to keep him well to the other side as they passed near Mrs. Ferguson’s table. When the old shrew cast Logan a triumphant smile, he had to throttle back on the overwhelming desire to dump the contents of the teapot over her head, especially after he heard Joseph quietly sniff.

  While he’d had worse moments in his life, ones of tragedy and despair, this incident brought out a deep, quiet sorrow. It was as if something small but precious had been snuffed out before it truly got a chance to grow.

  A tremendous crash sounded behind them, followed by outraged shrieks.

  Holding fast to Joseph, Logan turned to find Mrs. Ferguson and her companions wearing the contents of their tea service. Mrs. Ferguson’s bodice was particularly drenched, but all three women sported bits of cakes, tarts, and creams down the fronts of their gowns. Broken plates and teacups were strewn about the floor in a thorough mess.

  Donella looked only mildly regretful as she surveyed the wreckage.

  She righted the small table, which had apparently toppled dead-on into Mrs. Ferguson’s lap. “Dear me, what a dreadful mess. However did that happen?”

  Mrs. Ferguson, dripping both outrage and clotted cream, heaved to her feet. “You deliberately tipped the table onto my lap. I saw you do it.”

  Donella pressed a neatly gloved hand to her chest. “Surely not. That would be a terribly rude thing to do to someone. Rather like calling them horrible names.”

  Mrs. Ferguson swelled up like a turkey as she glared at Donella. Logan expected her to begin gobbling like a turkey, too. At the moment, however, she seemed too furious to get another word out.

  Their waiter bolted back into the room, gaping in dismay at the level of damage.

  Logan snagged him by the elbow. “I’ll pay for the damage,” he quietly said. “And a little extra, if you can minimize the fuss.”

  The waiter shot him a sharp glance, then winced when one of Mrs. Ferguson’s companions let out another shriek.

  “Raspberry jam stains on my best pelisse,” she wailed. “And I just bought it the other day. It was frightfully expensive.”

  Logan and the waiter exchanged another glance.

  “Send all the bills straight to me at Kendrick House,” Logan said.

  “Understood, sir,” the man dryly replied before hurrying off to deal with the mess.

  Donella handed him the remnants of a broken teacup she’d retrieved from the floor.

  “Thank you, miss. I’ll take care of all this.”

  She gave him a sweet smile before again addressing Mrs. Ferguson and her friends. “Ladies, my sincere apologies. I do hope I didn’t ruin your afternoon. Why, I would never forgive myself in such a case.”

  Mrs. Ferguson let out an angry snort. “It’s no wonder Lord Riddick packed you off in disgrace. Why he allowed you to come home now is beyond me. You should have remained in that stupid convent, out of sight. Just like your mother, you are. Not fit for decent company.”

  Donella flinched and took a step back.

  “You’d best think carefully about what you’re going to say next, madam,” Logan growled, preparing to intervene.

  Donella quickly recovered. “What an ugly comment to make, Mrs. Ferguson, especially when the season of charity and mercy is upon us.”

  “How dare you lecture me, you unrepentant hussy,” Mrs. Ferguson retorted.

  Hussy? What the bloody hell was the woman talking about? The lass had almost become a nun, for God’s sake.

  Donella sighed. “The quality of mercy is generally not strained, ma’am. In your case, however, it seems to be broken. How unfortunate for your husband. I absolutely pity the poor man.”

  Logan had to swallow a laugh, because the lass had hit the nail on the head. Everyone knew old Ferguson lived in mortal terror of his harridan wife.

  Donella turned to Logan and Joseph. Her expression was placid, but he saw turbulence roiling in her emerald gaze. “Are we ready to go, gentlemen?”

  “After you, Miss Haddon,” Logan said.

  She took Joseph’s hand and led him from the shop. Logan followed, smiling blandly at the avidly curious patrons. The scene was sure to generate astounding levels of gossip.

  In other words, it was another typical day for the Kendrick family.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joseph tugged on Logan’s hand. “Slow down, Papa. I can’t keep up.”

  “Sorry, laddie. I keep forgetting you’re not as tall as I am yet.”

  “No one’s as tall as you,” Donella said with a wry smile as Logan slowed his pace.

  “Grandda says you’re like one of those giants from the stories about the ancient”—Joseph frowned, searching for the word—“Picts.”

  Thank God the lad was talking again. After leaving Monroe’s, Joseph had withdrawn into himself, head down and gaze fastened on his feet. Donella, bless the lass, had kept up a cheerful stream of comments on harmless subjects, as if she’d not just upended a table on a bunch of old biddies.

  Logan had also fallen quiet, thinking through how to manage the gossip sure to arise from today’s ugly episode. He also couldn’t help pondering Mrs. Ferguson’s cryptic remark about Donella’s mother. That veiled dig had obviously hit Donella full on. He had no idea why, since he didn’t know much about the girl’s history.

  No one in Riddick’s family had ever mentioned Mrs. Haddon. There was obviously a reason for that, and he guessed it wasn’t a happy one.

  “A Pict, am I? Let’s be grateful I don’t run around the house with blue paint on my face.”

  “Maybe we should all wear blue paint on our faces,” Joseph said, perking up. “That might be fun.”

  “I bet you the twins would agree,” Logan said.

  “Not the ladies, though,” Donella said. “I don’t think your aunt Vicky and I would look very nice in blue paint.”

  Joseph shot her a worried glance. “We don’t have to do it if you won’t like it.”

  Donella smiled. “I’m teasing. You can wear as much blue paint as you like.”

  “I want you to have fun, too,” Joseph earnestly said. “So you’ll keep staying with us.”

  She took the boy’s free hand as they crossed the street into a quiet square. “Of course I’ll keep staying with you. And you and I always have fun, don’t we?”

  Joseph gave her a tentative smile.

  Time to start putting it out there, old boy.

  “We both hope Donella will stay with us for a very long time, son.” Logan glanced over to meet her gaze. “And I’d also like to note that I can be fun as well.”

  She frowned at him, clearly a bit fussed by his remark. He simply gave her a bland smile in return.

  For a few minutes, they walked in silence, and Logan found an odd sort of peace settling over him. To be strolling down a quiet, tree-lined street, his son safely tucked between them, felt . . . right. It seemed like something almost forgotten had slipped into place, like a missing puzzle piece found between the cushions of an old sofa and put back where it belonged.

  “Papa.”

  “Yes, son?”

  “Why did that lady have to be so mean? She doesn’t even know me.”

  Donella’s quiet sigh echoed his own. Joseph was too smart and too sensitive to let the matter go, especially now that he was getting older.

  “I expect it’s because Mrs. Ferguson is an unhappy person,” Logan said, trying to feel his way through the morass. “Unhappy people try to make other people unhappy. For some reason, they think it will make them feel better.”

  “She called me a heathen, but I’m not.” Joseph blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m just me.”

  “There is nothing wrong with
you, son,” Logan said. “And there was nothing wrong with your mother, or your grandparents, or the Mi’kmaq, or the Acadians, or the Scots, or anyone else. Sadly, people like Mrs. Ferguson find all sorts of reasons to hate other people. For the longest time, the English hated the Scots, especially Highlanders. Some Sassenachs still do.”

  “Which is probably why we shouldn’t call them Sassenachs,” Donella pointed out.

  “Tell that to Angus.”

  She ignored his feeble joke. “Joseph, sometimes people are afraid of what they don’t know. It’s a great shame, because often when we talk to people we’re a little afraid of, we discover they’re actually quite nice.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Ferguson would want to talk to me even if I tried to be nice to her,” the lad quietly replied.

  “Well, as Grandda always says, ‘Ye canna argue with stupid’,” Logan said. “There’s no point in wasting your breath on the Mrs. Fergusons of the world, son. Best ignore them.”

  “And try to forgive them for their ignorance,” Donella added.

  Logan snorted. “I noticed how forgiving you were when you dumped that table on her.”

  “An unfortunate accident,” she said, shooting him a look.

  “But I saw you hook your fingers under the table and tip it,” Joseph said.

  Donella’s cheeks flamed pink. “Oh, dear. I didn’t want you to notice that.”

  Logan smothered a laugh. “Fair warning, lass. Joseph has eyes in the back of his head.”

  “Joseph, it was very wrong of me to lose my temper,” she ruefully admitted, “and just as wrong to pretend that I didn’t.”

  The boy glanced up at Logan. “Do you think she was wrong to do that, Papa?”

  He hesitated. “It’s tricky, son. Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself. To fight back against something you know is unfair or wrong.”

  “By hitting people?” Joseph asked in an uncertain tone.

  “It’s usually best to avoid that sort of thing, if you can. Donella’s method was much more effective.”

  “But you looked like you were going to hit the mean lady.”

  “Your father would never hit a woman,” Donella said firmly. “No matter how nasty she might be.”

  Joseph rolled his eyes. “I know that. I just said it looked like he wanted to.”

  Logan felt like an utter worm. “Mrs. Ferguson doesn’t like the Kendricks, and she makes a point of showing it. But I shouldn’t have lost my temper, either.”

  “Why doesn’t she like us?”

  “It has to do with Uncle Royal and Auntie Ainsley,” he said vaguely. “Mrs. Ferguson kicked up some mean talk when they got married.”

  “Oh,” Joseph said. “You mean because Uncle Royal pretended to be Tira’s real father, even though he isn’t.”

  “What?” Donella blurted out.

  Too late, Logan remembered that she’d been sequestered in her convent during that particular family debacle.

  He shook his head at Donella, trying to warn her away from impending danger.

  Joseph, however, had no compunctions about sharing. “Auntie Ainsley’s fiancé put a baby in her tummy when he wasn’t supposed to. But he wasn’t a nice man, so Auntie Ainsley gave Tira to Uncle Royal, who pretended to be her father. But then they got married, so Uncle Royal now really is Tira’s father. So it’s all fine.”

  Logan winced at the stunned expression on Donella’s face. “Ah, I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of conversation, son.”

  Joseph glanced up at him. “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  The boy looked perplexed for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Papa, everyone knows how babies are made, probably even Donella.”

  The woman in question pressed a hand to her lips, trying to stifle a laugh.

  “You know, for an almost-nun, you’re not very well behaved,” said Logan.

  “I suppose that’s why they kicked me out of the convent.”

  Joseph let out a dramatic sigh. “I wish I knew why they did that. I bet it was for something jolly, like putting salt in the sugar bowls.”

  “Or something truly naughty,” Logan said, getting his revenge. “After all, this is a woman who goes around tipping over tables in sweet shops.”

  Donella shot him an evil glare but refrained from rising to the bait.

  As they crossed the square that fronted Kendrick House, the wind swirled around their feet and sent dried leaves scudding in front of them. The chill in the air hinted at an end to the mild weather. Joseph might get some snow in time for Christmas, after all.

  Donella ushered the boy up the marble steps and reached for the door knocker.

  “No need,” Logan said, fishing in his pocket. “I’ve got a key.”

  He stood a step below her, breathing in the faint, lemony scent of her hair. The russet curls were only partly confined by her small hat. Pale skin, dusted with freckles, peeked above the collar of her pelisse. Logan had to fight the urge to lean in and kiss her there, convinced she would taste delicious, like a creamy lemon tart.

  “Papa, are you going to kiss Donella?” Joseph was peering up at him, wide-eyed.

  Good God.

  Before he could issue a denial, Donella jumped as if he’d just goosed her arse. She turned around and gave him a stare cold enough to freeze his bollocks.

  “Certainly not,” she said tersely. “The key, Mr. Kendrick.”

  Logan meekly handed it over. She unlocked the door and propelled Joseph inside.

  Clearly, his courtship skills needed more than a bit of work.

  He stepped inside to see his brother standing in the center hall, accepting a stack of mail from Henderson. The butler then came over to help them with their coats.

  “There you are,” Nick said with a smile. “I hope you had an enjoyable outing. The weather was quite fine for a trip up to—”

  He broke off when Joseph dashed over and threw his arms around his waist. The lad burrowed his face into his uncle’s waistcoat. Nick lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Logan, who just sighed and shook his head.

  “Now, what’s all this?” Nick asked, bending down over his nephew.

  “Nothing,” came the muffled reply. “I just missed you.”

  Donella cast Logan a sympathetic glance. He mustered a smile, trying to pretend it didn’t shred his heart that Joseph had run to his uncle for support. Sometimes, the irony of it just about killed him.

  “I missed you too, laddie.” Nick eased Joseph back so he could study his face. “Did you enjoy your visit to Mugdock?”

  “It was nice.”

  That careful reply drew another inquiring look from his brother.

  “It’s been a bit of a long day,” Logan said. He glanced at Donella. “Tiring for all of us, I imagine.”

  She readily took the hint. “I don’t know about Joseph, but I’m exhausted from climbing up and down those stairs at Mugdock. Rest and a cup of tea would be just the thing.”

  “Your aunt Victoria is in the nursery with Rowena and Angus,” Nick said to Joseph. “Why don’t you go up and have tea with them?”

  “Rowena’s too young to drink tea. And she drools.” Joseph’s tone suggested drooling was an act of high treason.

  “That’s because she’s teething,” Nick said. “Drooling is a requirement at that stage.”

  “Grandda will be happy to see you,” Logan said. “And he doesn’t drool. Most of the time, anyway.”

  “That’s not very nice, Papa.”

  He tried again. “Grandda will want to hear all about Mugdock, though. It’s one of his favorite places.”

  Joseph rolled his eyes but took Donella’s hand and headed up the stairs.

  “Having a little trouble, are we?” asked Nick.

  “You have no bloody idea.”

  “Then come to my study and tell me about it. You look like you could use something a little more fortifying than tea.”

  “Just give me the whole damn bottle.” Logan followed hi
s brother down the hall.

  Nick tossed the bundle of mail onto his desk and went to the drinks trolley. Logan settled into one of the needlepoint wing chairs in front of the fireplace. When Nick handed him a glass of whisky, he downed a generous gulp. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair, letting the warmth of the whisky seep through his body.

  Nick settled into the matching chair, stretching his booted legs to rest against the firedogs in front of the hearth. “Trouble at Mugdock?”

  “Mugdock was fine. In fact, Joseph loved it. The housekeeper made a grand fuss over him, and I took the lad and Donella to the top of the old tower so we could see the view.”

  “I loved that place as a boy. It’s like going back in time, when the old clans still held sway over Scotland.”

  Logan scoffed. “You mean when we were all trying to kill each other. But it was grand to see Joseph having so much fun, for once.”

  “And what about Donella? Did she have a good time as well?” his brother casually asked.

  “Don’t pretend you’re simply making a polite inquiry. I know exactly what you’re up to.”

  Nick gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m only looking out for your interests, old man. It’s my job, as both your older brother and your laird.”

  “And you’ve decided that Miss Donella Haddon is in my best interests, Lord Arnprior?”

  “Victoria certainly thinks she is.”

  “Well, if Lady Arnprior has decided, then I suppose everything is settled,” Logan sarcastically replied. “In that case, I hope she’ll make the lady in question privy to her decision, since she won’t take it well from me.”

  Nick laughed. “All right. Tell me what happened.”

  Logan stacked his boots heel to toe. “It was a good day. Joseph and Donella enjoyed the outing.” He flashed his brother a rueful smile. “The two of them get along famously.”

  “She’s very good with him.”

  “Almost as good as you are.” Logan regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Nick leaned over and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “Of course you did, idiot. And it’s fine. Joseph is simply looking for some guidance. I’m the laird and the head of the clan. Something in that obviously appeals to him.”