Once Upon A Highland Christmas (4 page)

“You see the stars, aye, lass?” Grim looked at them, too, his profile silvered by their light.

“How can I not?” Breena felt a shiver move through her, the night’s beauty gripping her. “They are a river of stars. No, a sea of them, a whole wide ocean, and they take my breath with their loveliness.”

“You are the lovely one.” Grim placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I wanted you to see the night sky from here, from Lady Rosalie’s ‘room of stars.’ I wished that because you should know that if every one of those stars were to fall from the heavens, their brilliance could not outshine you, my lady.”

“You do not know what you’re saying.” Breena kept her gaze on the night, not trusting herself to look at him.

“I ken fine what I say and ne’er waste a word, lass.” He leaned down, angling his head round to catch her eye. “All the noblewomen in the land could snatch up such stars, if indeed they fell. And they could have glittery gowns made of them. But even wearing such splendor, they’d be cast into shadow just by the light in your eyes when you smile at Archie. I’ve also seen you stop and pet the older castle dogs when you pass through the hall. I’ve watched you drop to your knees beside them to rub their bony shoulders and speak softly to them. Did you ken they stare after you when you walk away, their milky gazes bright as puppies’?

“That you do, lass.” He straightened, stood silent a moment. “You bring joy where’er you go.”

“Archie has been good to me. And I’ve always loved dogs.” It was all she could think to say.

“Dinnae e’er again object to anyone calling you lady.” Grim slid his hands down from her shoulders and along her arms to her hands, linking their fingers. “I have ne’er met a greater one than you,
Lady
Breena.”

“Oh, dear.” Breena glanced aside, blinking furiously against the stinging heat at the backs of her eyes. She didn’t cry, never.

Yet now…

She swallowed hard, her heart nearly jumping from her chest when Grim released her hands to cup her face and look deeply into her eyes.

“Do you miss Ireland?” His question surprised her.

“Of course, I do.” Breena didn’t lie. She felt at home here now. But she’d always miss Inishowen and Donegal. That would never change.

“And your family?” Grim had angled his head, his beard rings clacking softly in the room’s stillness. “I know you lost them in the raid. Do you still grieve for them sorely? Is there anyone else you mourn?”

“I…” Breena glanced aside, guilt and shame sweeping her. She felt her face coloring and couldn’t stop the rush of heated embarrassment to her cheeks.

“Forgive me, lass.” Grim released her, stepping back. He looked more unhappy than she felt. “I didnae mean to distress you. That was the last thing I—”

“You didn’t upset me.” Breena closed the distance between them, lifted a hand to touch his mailed chest. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was trembling. That his words stirred memories, making them twist so tightly inside her that she could scarce breathe. “It’s not what you said, but me.

“You see”—she rushed the words, feeling a need to speak true—“I do not miss my parents. I grieve for them, of course. But my heart does not long for them. And that fills me with a terrible guilt.”

Grim’s brow creased, but rather than condemn her, he placed his hand over hers, his strength and warmth so comforting tears again stung her eyes.

“I vow you will have your reasons.” He nodded as if she hadn’t just revealed herself cold and unfeeling. “If ever you wish to speak of them, I have good ears, I’m told, and broad shoulders.”

His kindness was too much.

A terrible thickness rose in Breena’s throat, hot and burning, making it hard to speak. But she must, wanting him to know the truth.

“There isn’t much to say for I scarce knew them.” She raised her chin, meeting his surprised gaze. Her heart started to thump painfully, her parents’ faces flickering across her mind only to be swiftly replaced by two other faces, ones she’d miss all her days. “I had eight brothers, and my father never let me forget that he’d rather have had a ninth son than a daughter to clothe and feed. My mother was a silent, long-suffering woman who only did her chores and found other work for me to tend.” She glanced aside, blinking. “Neither were caring or affectionate and my brothers were aye too busy to notice me.

“The only family I truly ache for were my aunt and uncle.” Now Breena did have to dash aside a tear as memories of the beloved pair squeezed her heart. She still saw their dear faces before her, their eyes so filled with love that it hurt to remember. “Uncle Dermot was the village blacksmith, and his wife, my Aunt Mell, was more a mother to me than my own. They weren’t blessed with children and so they—”

“Showered their love on you.” Grim finished for her, pulling her against him as he closed his arms around her, holding her tight. “I can see how you’d mourn their loss, lassie, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You are kind.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as choked as it did to her.

He harrumphed, the sound coming from deep in his great chest, and oddly soothing. “You’ll no’ think so when I ask if there’s no’ anyone else you may be longing for? Someone back in your Ireland?”

She blinked, confused.

Then heat began inching up her neck, onto her cheeks. Surely he didn’t know she’d told some of the garrison lads she was spoken for? The look in Grim’s eye warned that he’d heard. And she should’ve realized such an untruth would circle back to haunt her.

But she’d only wanted to be left in peace.

And truly, she
had
given someone her heart.

He stood before her now.

“Someone in Ireland?” She repeated his question, sure her face glowed like a candle.

Grim set her from him then, his gaze locking on hers. “A man, sweet. I’d know if there’s a lad waiting for you in Donegal?”

Breena swallowed, her uncaring parents and even poor Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell gone from her mind as the portent of Grim’s question filled her with such hope that she was sure her heart would burst.

“No, there isn’t anyone.” She shook her head, not caring what he might’ve heard from the other garrison men. Her spirits rose at the relief she saw on Grim’s face. “I am not a maid, but that you know, being aware of Ralla and his band as you are. But no Irish lad ever spoke for me, nor did one ever capture my interest.”

“Has anyone done so?”

“Perhaps…” She glanced aside, unable to voice that particular truth.

“But you are no’ promised to anyone?” Grim persisted, turning away from her to brace one hand on the edge of the window arch as he stared out across the snow-covered landscape. “No one holds a claim o’er you?”

“No one at all.”

“Then it is settled.” Grim straightened and dusted his hands, seeming much larger than usual in the narrow window alcove. “As there is no one to object, you shall ride with me on my quest to bring Yule gladness to Archie and Duncreag.”

Breena blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “A quest?”

“Indeed.” Grim reached for her, pulling her closer to the window ledge. “Look there”—he raised his arm, pointing at a single star glittering just above the far horizon—“do you see that Yule beacon?”

“I thought it was a star.” Breena looked again, narrowing her eyes this time.

The twinkling light still looked like a star.

“That’s no star, my lady.” Grim flashed her one of his crooked smiles. “It only appears that way because it’s so distant. A Yule beacon is what it is, a balefire that’s kept burning every night and day to mark the path to Greer MacGregor’s door.”

Breena frowned, not sure. “I’ve never heard of a Yule beacon.”

“Aye, well.” Grim glanced back at the far-off light. “They’re a tradition hereabouts where folk live such great distances from another. At festive times, the fires are lit so all comers can find the way to a man’s keep, assured of a warm welcome when they do. There are other such Yule beacons, beyond thon horizon. I mean for us to visit each one.

“We’ll rally folk far and wide, from all the glens.” He looked at her again, his smile widening. “I can be persuasive when I must. Men will come, and they’ll bring good cheer and gifts for Archie. Greer MacGregor will be among them. That’s why”—he winked—“I couldn’t let Archie’s damage to the Old Christmas Wife go unaddressed. It wouldn’t do for MacGregor to see his own face looking back at him from Duncreag’s Yule Log, now would it?”

“Greer MacGregor is one of Archie’s worst enemies.” Breena felt her brow pleating. “He’d never agree to come here for Yule.”

Grim didn’t look concerned. “You have much to learn of warriors, lass. For now, it’s enough to tell you that I have fought many men, battling with them fiercely and them no less with me.

“Yet times can change and do.” He glanced again at Greer MacGregor’s Yule beacon. “I have gone on to fight at the sides of the same warriors I once faced as bitter foes.

“So it will be with MacGregor, and others.” He wrapped his arm around Breena, settling her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair. “I am sure of it. If”—he dropped a kiss on the top of her head—“you will go along with me, plying your feminine charm to convince them.”

“I’d love to.” She would. Since the raid on her beloved home and, especially, the loss of her dear uncle and aunt, she knew that hell wasn’t just a place that existed in the afterlife. Through being at Duncreag, she’d also learned that goodness, when it’s true and real, can never be destroyed. And from her memories of Christmases at home, at her uncle’s hearthside where the entire village gathered to celebrate, she was aware that wonders did happen at this most blessed time of year. She’d seen the power of holiday joy.

Perhaps a journey with Grim would gift them both with the miracle of love?

There was just one thing that worried her.

Before she could voice it, Grim spoke against her hair, his voice low. “We’ll travel as a betrothed pair. I’ll no’ have anyone wagging tongues o’er you.”

Brenna slipped from his arms to look up at him. “But we aren’t betrothed.”

“True enough.” He lifted his head, once again the solemn-faced man of war she knew him as. “They willnae know that, though. And I promise,” he said, regarding her with his intense gray eyes, “I’ll no’ give you cause to regret journeying with me.”

“I believe you.” She did, regrettably.

His answer wasn’t the one she’d expected.

Indeed, she’d hoped for something else entirely.

“Then you’ll go with me? You agree we should bring Yuletide cheer to Duncreag, seeing as Archie refuses to admit how much he’d enjoy the festivities?” He was looking at her, waiting for an answer.

“I will, yes.” She would. “And I agree completely about Archie. For sure, we must help him. I’ll do anything I can to bring joy back into his life.”

“Then we shall be away on the morrow.” Grim nodded and offered her his arm, indicating they should leave the room of stars and return belowstairs.

Breena was ready to go.

There weren’t many hours left of the night and she’d need every one of them. And not just to gather what she’d take along on their journey.

She had much thinking to do.

This adventure was the best Yuletide gift she’d ever received, and she meant to enjoy every blessed moment. It also might be her only chance to make her most fervent wish come true: to win Grim’s heart.

“Riding off in darkest winter, you say?” Archie MacNab huffed and railed, the narrow-eyed glare he aimed at Grim sharp as a hawk’s. His breath clouded the cold morning air and his cheeks shone red from the icy wind whistling across Duncreag’s small inner courtyard. “ ’Tis a fool’s notion if e’er I heard one.”

Grim let him rant, knowing his ill temper would disappear when he and Breena returned in a few days, bringing good cheer. And as many friends as they could rally to join them. Even some foes, if all went to plan.

“A bit of chill air and frost is no’ a bad thing, my lord.” Grim kept his hand firmly on Breena’s shoulder. She stood beside him, most resolutely. Even so, he didn’t want to risk Archie’s bellow persuading her to change her mind about their journey.

Her heart, he was sure, could be too soft at times.

“Indeed, such weather strengthens and invigorates.” Grim tightened his fingers on Breena’s shoulders, silently warning her not to disagree.

The morn was bitingly cold, the wind knifing. He could feel Breena shivering inside her woolen mantle and silently vowed to wrap his own wolfskin cloak about her as soon as they’d made their way down Duncreag’s steep and winding cliff path. Until then, the wolfskin was too heavy for her to wear and would only hamper her.

“You’ve run mad, you have!” Archie spluttered, angrily brushing snow off his sleeve. “Such weather is good for naught but staying abed, the covers o’er your head.”

“I do love winter, sir.” Breena glanced across the courtyard to where swirl after swirl of fast-falling snow hid the high mountain peaks looming just beyond Duncreag’s curtain wall. “I especially enjoy how the frost glitters everywhere, making the world look magical.”

“You willnae think so when your teeth start clattering, lassie.” Archie stamped over to Grim and glared in his face. “I cannae believe you’re doing this. I must still be in my bed a-dreaming. Who takes off across hill and glen with snow blowing every which way and the sun no’ yet up?

“That’s what I’d be hearing.” Archie’s shaggy brows snapped together, his eyes afire with indignation. “Ne’er have I heard such foolery!”

His outburst echoed off the castle walls, the strength of his voice proving he was using all his lung power. Frowning darkly, he spun away from Grim and Breena to strut back and forth before the hall steps, likewise showing that his supposedly auld and weary legs served him well, when he desired. He also didn’t appear to mind the frigid wind or the heavy snow that was falling faster by the moment.

“Some might say forbidding Yule is foolery.” Grim spoke what he believed.

Archie wheeled about and fair flew at him. “To think I aye believed you have a good head on your shoulders.” He raised his crummock high, shaking it at the heavens. For a moment, he forget himself and stood straight, his proud stance and blazing eyes hinting at the tall, handsome man he’d once been. A passionate man, it was rumored.

Just now, he only looked furious.

“You cannae be taking the lassie away into such wild weather,” he ranted, glowering at Grim. “She’ll freeze, she will. You’ll no’ even make it down the cliff path to the stables. The way is iced, it is.”

“I’ll no’ let any harm come to Lady Breena.” Grim would carry her as they descended the steep cliff trail if need be. Little more than a goat track, the path indeed didn’t offer the luxury of steps.

Even so, they’d find their way down, and safely.

Grim would see that they did.

“Truth be told,” Grim used his calmest voice on the old laird, “waving your walking stick about so wildly is a greater danger than the cliff path. I’d no’ see you whack Breena on the head.”

“Pah!” Archie glared at him, but lowered his crummock, clutching it to his chest as the wind tore at his thin bed-robe. “You’ll both go sliding to the rocks at the bottom of the path, breaking your bones. If that doesnae happen, you’ll be buried in snow before you’ve ridden ten paces.”

“Aye, well…” Grim cast a warning glance at Breena, so lovely in her deep green hooded cloak, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. He turned back to Archie, shrugging lightly. “If you’ll change your mind about Yule—”

“There’ll be no such frivol at Duncreag.” Archie jutted his chin, cantankerous as ever. “No’ this year and ne’er again. Long as I’m laird, my word is law.”

“So it is.” Grim slid his arm around Breena, drawing her to him, using his height and size to shield her from the worst of the wind and blowing snow. “And as there’ll be no celebrating here, you surely cannae mind me taking Lady Breena to a few halls where she can enjoy the season’s festivities?”

“Humph!” Archie looked down at the ice-crusted cobbles and nudged a drift of snow with his slippered foot. “I haven’t heard her complaining.”

“I’ve no reason to, my lord.” Breena glanced up at Grim, the infinitesimal wink she gave him letting him know she wouldn’t let Archie dissuade her. “I love Duncreag and am ever so fond of you, as I think you know.”

Archie’s chin thrust out even more. “Running off in the snow, disappearing to who knows where, is a fine way to show your loyalty.”

“That’s just it. You know how much I miss Inishowen.” Breena’s lovely Irish lilt softened as she recalled her home. “Happy as I am here, Donegal still holds a great part of my heart. Yule was always celebrated in style in my village. I’ve told you how my Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell held a feast for everyone. As the local blacksmith, Uncle Dermot’s forge and barn were huge, with room for the whole village.

“Uncle Dermot was well-kent and loved by all.” She glanced aside and drew a deep breath before continuing. “Folk came from far and wide to enjoy the Christmas revelries he and Aunt Mell provided. And so”—she looked again at Archie—“I would enjoy a bit of holiday cheer, sir.”

“Aye, well…” Archie glanced from Breena to Grim, his sour expression changing into a long-suffering one. “I ken fine that no young lassie wants to spend all her time seeing to the needs of an auld done man.” He leaned heavily on his walking stick, one hand pressed to his hip. “Even if his aches and pains are like to see him dead before nightfall.”

“You will live through this night and many more to come, my lord.” Breena slipped away from Grim and went to kiss Archie’s cheek. Then she leaned close to his ear, whispering something Grim couldn’t catch.

To his surprise, Archie chortled and darted back inside his keep, closing the hall door behind him without a backward glance or farewell.

“What did you say to him?” Grim took her hand, lacing their fingers when she rejoined him.

“That, unbeknownst to you, I hid our provender and ale flasks.” She smiled, her merriment warming Grim to his soul. “And that with such a voracious appetite as you have, we’d surely turn about within the hour, as soon you discovered we’d left with nothing to eat or drink.”

“You are a wicked lass.” Grim squeezed her gloved hand, then reached to adjust her cloak’s hood more securely about her face. “I wouldnae have believed you could craft such a tall tale so quickly.”

“I wanted us to be away.” She looked at him with her great green eyes, so lovely beneath her thick, gold-tipped lashes.

Her voice was soft, her tone different from just a moment ago. Something in it swept through him like molten fire, sending his thoughts away from Archie and in a direction that heated his blood so swiftly and powerfully, his reaction to her stunned him.

No woman had ever stirred him with a mere glance, a few innocent words.

As if she knew, her lips curved even more temptingly. She waved a hand at the whirling snow, the frost-coated gate that opened onto the cliff path. “It was time for us to go.”

“Indeed?” Grim lifted a brow, scarce trusting himself to speak. “Were you worried Archie would change your mind about our journey?”

“Nothing could do that.” She stepped closer, her gaze not leaving his. Something flickered in her eyes, determination, daring, and a goodly dose of provocative female heat. “This trip means a lot to me. For all the reasons I told Archie and a few more. There is much I wish to accomplish and I’ll not forgo the chance.”

Grim swallowed, his heart thundering wildly.

His manhood pounded in answer.

His wits warned that she’d just challenged him.

He hoped to the gods she had. Because if that was the way of it, he meant to take full advantage. Not just to bed her, at last having her silky-warm nakedness smooth, supple, and willing against his own bared and greedy flesh, but to finally make his bid for her hand.

“Then let us be off, my lady.” He offered her his arm, feeling as if the summer sun had burst into view when she accepted, hooking her arm through his. “This is an opportunity I’d no’ miss either.”

“I am glad.” She let him lead her through the gate and waited smiling as he closed it softly behind them.

And so it came that they descended Duncreag’s steep and ice-slicked cliff path with nary a false step or mishap, despite the howling wind and near-blinding snow. Two sturdy garrons, sure-footed hill ponies, stood at the ready near a sheltering outcrop at the bottom of the cliff. They were there because Grim had trusted their secret with a stable lad he knew wouldn’t breathe a word of their plan.

It’d only taken moments to sling his warming wolfskin cloak about Breena’s shoulders and then settle her onto her mare’s back. He swung up into his own saddle even faster, the eagerness in his heart spurring him on.

Soon they were riding through a dark, winter-still wood, the pines’ needled boughs heavy with snow and the air frosty. On and on they traveled through the cold morning, journeying ever farther from Duncreag and making for Greer MacGregor’s distant Yule beacon.

Once there, Grim was sure he could persuade the sometimes cantankerous laird to forget past ills and make merry with Archie at Duncreag.

Truth be told, Grim had an old favor to claim from the MacGregor.

He’d use it if Greer proved obstinate, forgetful of those who’d aided him in the past.

And when the MacGregor hall torches dimmed that night and the last ale was served, the castle quieting for sleep, he’d turn his attention to Breena. The gods knew he’d waited long enough to reveal his feelings to her. He’d been under her spell for over a year now, his longing for her almost driving him to madness.

Such yearning wasn’t good for a man.

But he’d done naught about it, suspecting as he had that she longed for another. Why else had she always avoided him? So he’d suffered in silence, seeing her face in his dreams and imagining he caught her light, spring-fresh scent on every turn of the wind. Only with the greatest exercise of will did he keep from dwelling on what it’d be like to sink deep inside her, claiming her as his own, heart, body, and soul. Taking her in the intimate, branding way men must possess the woman they love above all others.

Sometimes his will failed him. How he agonized then, the heated images he conjured setting him like granite, robbing his night’s rest.

He wanted her badly.

And now he knew no man stood between them.

He loved her fiercely. So much that he’d still back away, leaving her in peace, if she rejected his advances. He wasn’t a man to force himself on any woman, certainly not on Breena, whom he’d carry on his hands if she’d let him, never allowing her feet to touch the ground.

To him, she wasn’t just a lady, but a princess.

He almost feared to touch her. He worried his huge, battle-roughened hands might crush her.

Yet her challenge at Duncreag’s cliff gate encouraged him. He’d never have believed such a fair and fine maid as her would fall for a big, gruff ox of a man like him, perhaps even desiring him. Their kiss, the things she said, and the way she looked at him lifted his heart, letting him believe she might feel the same.

That she also believed they belonged together.

He hoped he was right.

Anything else would break him.

Several hours and many snowy miles later, Breena did her best to hide her relief when she spotted a yellow light gleaming in the pines not too far ahead of them. She didn’t mind the cold. Her words to Archie about loving winter had been true. But she wasn’t an accomplished rider. No matter how deftly she sought to keep her saddle, she’d spent most of the journey bouncing on its hard, leather seat. As a result, she was now quite sore, plagued by a bone-deep ache she didn’t care to disclose.

So she was most pleased they’d soon reach the comfort of Greer MacGregor’s hall.

There was only one thing worrying her.

The flickering light they were riding toward was just that: a flicker and no balefire.

“Grim!” She risked a sidelong glance at him, no longer afraid to do so because they’d finally slowed their pace, now that their destination was near. “I thought a Yule beacon would be larger?”

“They are.” He looked over at her, flashed his crooked smile. “Huge piles o’ wood that blaze higher than a mountain. Thon light ahead isn’t the MacGregor’s Yule fire. We’re nowhere near the MacGregor tower. What you see is candle- or torchlight from the farmhouse we’ll stop at shortly.

“ ’Tis Fergus Munzie’s holding and way too small to host grand Yuletide feastings.” He turned his attention back to the narrow woodland track they were following. “Fergus ne’er lights a Yule beacon.”

“Then why are we going there?” Breena hoped he hadn’t guessed her discomfort.

To her surprise, Grim chuckled. “Fergus’s wife, Flora, is the reason. You’ll understand when you meet her. She’s a MacKenzie of Kintail, leastways a cousin several times removed from the chiefly line of that great clan.

“Flora kens everyone between here and Skye and in the other direction, down to Glasgow and beyond.” He shot her another smile, this time winking. “Good for us, she spreads word faster than a fly can blink.”

“I see.” Breena did.

“Do you?” Grim’s deep voice held a note of amusement.

“You’re saying she’s a gossip.” Breena spoke low for they were nearing the farmhouse.

“I’m saying she has a soft heart and certain influence.” Grim leaned forward to brush a clump of fallen snow off his horse’s mane. “She’s a caring woman. Once she hears our plan, anyone with goodness in his soul will know of it and hopefully set off for Duncreag.”