Once Upon A Highland Christmas (5 page)

Breena’s eyes widened. She also felt warmth sweep her at his words. “There could be a gathering of folk there before we return.”

Grim shrugged. “Aye, it’s possible.”

“What a blessing that would be.” Breena considered, imagining Duncreag’s great hall filled with merrymakers, every torch ablaze, and laughter and song echoing off the rafters. “Archie would be outraged, at first.”

“To be sure,” Grim agreed. “But the laws of Highland hospitality give him no choice but to make his guests welcome. Once they’re there—”

“He’ll relent, the season’s joy touching him at last.” Breena blinked and lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin was cold and damp, especially beneath her eyes. “O-o-oh, I hope that will be the way of it. How grand it would be to find him in high spirits.”

“We shall, I am sure.” Grim drew his horse to a halt, for they’d entered the farm’s stable yard.

Breena started and looked about the well-kept holding. She’d been thinking so strongly of Archie and Christmas miracles, and was so caught up in the wonder of Grim’s beautiful, richly burred voice, that she hadn’t realized they’d passed through the farm’s gate. Not surprisingly it stood wide in welcome, boughs of holly and ivy wrapped round the gateposts.

The Munzie farmstead sat in a clearing edged by thick pines, though birches and rowans clustered near the far side of the outbuildings. A rushing burn appeared to run through the birch grove, its presence revealed by glints of silvery water sparkling through the trees. Closer by, the gray-stoned farmhouse proved sturdily built and also inviting, its windows aglow with the warm yellow light they’d seen from afar. Blue peat smoke rose from the chimney, the earthy-sweet scent a delight in the crisp morning air.

Clearly, the Munzies lived well.

The farmstead also had an air of warmth and goodness, and she caught delicious cooking smells coming from the farmhouse: a hint of roasted goose and a delightful dash of ginger and cinnamon. It made Breena’s heart squeeze, for it reminded her of her Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell’s farm in Inishowen. She’d often fled there, when she could escape her chores, because she always felt more loved and welcomed at her aunt and uncle’s home than in her own.

She did miss her family.

And she knew, glancing about her, that she’d like Fergus and Flora Munzie.

But before she could see more of their farm, Grim called out a greeting, alerting the Munzies to their presence as he swung down from his horse. In two strides, he was at her side, seizing her by the waist and lifting her from the saddle. He set her on the hard-frosted ground as lightly as if she were made of feathers.

“Forgive me, lass, but you ken we’ll be telling them we’re betrothed,” he said, not yet releasing her. Far from it, he was tilting his head, lowering his mouth toward hers. “They’ll no’ believe us unless—”

“You kiss me,” Breena finished for him. She stood frozen, very aware of his big, strong body almost touching hers. Her heart beat fast and slow, and the world around them seemed to spin and veer away, leaving them alone in the frosty, snow-swept morn. Grim’s lips were almost upon hers. Already his beard grazed her cheek, its crisp-soft fullness cold and thrilling against her skin. Faith, she could scarce breathe with him so close, knowing what was about to happen. “You are going to, aren’t you? Kiss me, I mean.”

“I must, though no’ as I’d like to.” He pulled back to look down at her for a long moment, his solemn gray gaze going so deep she was sure he’d brushed her soul. Then he bent his head and kissed her lightly, his chilled lips only whispering across hers.

Before he straightened, he pressed a more firm kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, even nipping her skin. “I’ll no’ embarrass you more than necessary. You’ll see, the Munzies will have expected us to kiss, being the folk they are.”

“The folk they are?” Breena could hardly speak. Her heart was beating fast and her breath quickened. She felt as flushed, and hot, as if she’d leapt feet first into one of Grim’s blazing Yule beacons.

“Aye, just.” Grim stood back, reached to adjust the fall of his wolfskin cloak about her shoulders. “The Munzies are romantics, hopelessly so.”

“What would the world be without our like, h’mmm?” An amused female voice came from behind them. “A sad place, indeed, I’m thinking!”

“Flora, you look no’ a day older than when last I was here.” Grim turned to greet the handsome older woman, clearly the farmwife who claimed descent from the great MacKenzies of Kintail.

Tall and well made, she had striking sapphire-blue eyes, the edges only slightly creased. She wore her raven-black hair in a thick, single braid that fell to her hips, and Breena couldn’t see a single gray strand to mar the inky tresses. Even in Ireland, she’d heard of the great beauty of MacKenzie women, so she wasn’t surprised.

What impressed her more was the twinkle in Flora Munzie’s eye and her warm, generous smile.

“And you, Sir Grim”—Flora tapped his arm with a lovely but work-reddened hand—“have brought a guest! Now that’s a rare delight.

“He’s never done that before, my lady.” She turned to Breena, her kindness chasing any shame Breena might have felt at having been caught kissing in the woman’s stable yard. “You must be quite special to him.”

“So she is, and I’ve brought her to meet you.” He took Breena’s elbow, drawing her forward. “May I introduce my betrothed, Lady Breena O’Doherty of Donegal,” he said, pride and something else, something indefinable, ringing in his voice. “I’ve told her much about you and Fergus.”

“Have you now?” Flora beamed and extended her hands to Breena. “I’m pleased to hear you speak of more than warring and weapons. It is time you took a wife, Fergus and I were saying just the other night.”

She released Breena to grip them both by the arm, leading them toward the farmhouse. “Indeed, your arrival this morn is surely a good omen. Love is in the air these days, it is. Come and see who is visiting: my cousin, Moira, and her new husband, Malcolm. Never have I seen a pair more in love.”

Breena stopped, shooting a glance at Grim. “We mustn’t intrude then. In truth, we also hope to reach the MacGregor holding before nightfall, and—”

“Oh, nae, you must stay the night here.” Flora was adamant. “Moira and Malcolm are so happy, they want to share their joy with everyone.

“They were star-crossed lovers, see you?” Flora leaned in, lowering her voice. “Moira’s a MacKenzie of Kintail, as am I. In her youth, she fell in love with Malcolm, a proud MacDonald warrior. Their clans were feuding, quite fiercely, and Malcolm put family honor and duty above his heart, forsaking their love rather than cause more grief by claiming Moira for his own. As it happened”—she paused, glanced at the farmhouse’s open door—“a young MacLeod warrior kidnapped her when she was out berry picking one day, for we MacKenzies were aye at odds with that clan, too. The MacLeod lad wed her and they went on to have eight sons and a daughter, a fine family.

“Even so, Moira never forgot her youthful sweetheart, Malcolm.” Flora blinked and dashed at her eyes. “In truth, she never stopped loving him.”

“They’re together again now?” Breena felt her own heart twisting, her eyes misting.

She took a deep breath and smoothed her hand down the front of Grim’s wolfskin cloak, still draped protectively about her. She was very aware of him standing beside her, so tall and strong, and of the warmth in his gaze each time he looked at her. She knew she’d never feel for another man what she felt for him. Here, in this place, with these special people, she could also feel the magic of Christmas, the power of true love, in the cold, brittle air.

Perhaps there really was enchantment to the season?

Had it brought her and Grim here, so they’d see that everything except love was unimportant?

She could almost believe it.

She did dash at her eyes, giving Flora her best smile. “How did they find each other?”

“ ’Tis a wonder, it is.” Flora nodded, her own smile a bit shaky. “Not too long ago a MacLeod galley limped into Loch Moidart, asking to moor at the MacDonalds’ Blackshore Castle in the Glen of Many Legends. That’s Malcolm’s home and”—she flashed a look at Grim—“your glen, too. The MacLeod ship needed repairs, and the MacDonalds allowed the work to be done in their loch, even letting the MacLeods sleep in their great hall. One of Moira’s sons was a seaman aboard the damaged galley, and he happened to mention his mother at dinner one night, telling how she’d been widowed for years.

“The rest”—Flora pressed a hand to her breast and sighed, dreamily—“is the stuff of fairytales. Malcolm, who’d never married and loved Moira still, rode north even before first light, swearing he’d have his beloved at last, come the devil himself to stop him.”

“And now they’re wed?” Grim glanced toward the door, cocking his head at the rumble of voices from within. “Your MacKenzie cousin and Malcolm MacDonald of Blackshore, the MacDonald chieftain, Alasdair’s great-uncle?”

“That’s them, right enough.” Flora set her hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“By Thor, I ken the man.” Grim glanced at Breena and stepped back so she could slip past him into the warmth of the cozy farmhouse.

The delicious cooking smells of roasted goose, ginger, and cinnamon spice cakes lay heavy in the air, welcoming. Much stronger than outside, the festive scents made Breena’s mouth water.

Candles burned on a long thick-slabbed table of blackened oak, casting shadows across the main room, and a cheery peat fire glowed in the grate. But after traveling through the brightness of the snowy morning, Breena needed a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She was aware of Flora bundling her forward, the older woman’s hand poised at the small of Breena’s back, guiding her deeper into the room where a good number of people were now stepping out of the shadows and coming to greet her and Grim.

“So this is Grim’s lady, come all the way to our humble farm?” A big man with a shining pate and merry red cheeks set his hands on Breena’s shoulders as he smiled down at her, his words hinting that he must be Flora’s husband, the farmer, Fergus Munzie.

It was also clear that if Flora enjoyed a bit more gossip than most, Fergus had ears able to catch her every revelation, however softly spoken.

“You’ve a fine farmstead, sir.” Breena bobbed a curtsy, not missing that Grim didn’t blink at the farmer’s mistake.

She was painfully aware of it.

She wasn’t Grim’s lady, no matter how convincingly he went along with the deception.

“A good place it is, aye. And right full just now!” Fergus thwacked Grim’s shoulder, sounding most pleased. “Grim, you’ll be kenning Malcolm?”

“Indeed. We’ve crossed swords in bad times and shared ale and bread in the good ones since.” Grim smiled and clasped the aged MacDonald warrior’s arms when he appeared at their side. Tall and clearly a man who’d been dashingly handsome in youth, Malcolm was still striking with his gray hair pulled back into in a long plait that fell just below his still-broad shoulders and his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed.

Above all, he appeared buoyed by an inner happiness strongly reflected by his new wife, Lady Moira, who looked so much like Flora that Breena could only tell them apart because of Moira’s shining pleasure. The glow of those deeply in love, as Breena’s Aunt Mell would’ve said.

How odd that she’d swear Grim wore it, too.

“I wish you all the world’s happiness, Malcolm,” Grim was saying, still gripping the older man’s arms. “It’s a joy to meet you here, in the company of my own soon-to-be-wife, rather than on a battlefield as in days of old.”

“I’ll no’ argue that, laddie.” Malcolm grinned, wrapping an arm around his bride as soon as Grim released him. “I just wish I’d wed my Moira when I was your age, when we would’ve had all our days before us.”

“You could have done if you’d wished.” Lady Moira lifted up on her toes to kiss Malcolm’s cheek. “If I recall, I even begged you to do so.”

“So you did.” Her husband didn’t deny it. “I was a fool, for sure.”

Breena glanced at Grim, surprised to see he’d gone to stand before the fire, frowning as he stared down into the softly glowing peats.

“Aye, well!” Fergus Munzie’s deep voice boomed. “ ’Tis a right good thing all men present ken what’s best for them, eh, laddies? We need a woman’s warmth and loving heart. Such treasures matter more than all the feuding and wars we sometimes get ourselves into, what?

“No’ to mention the other delights they give us.” Winking broadly, he reached out to pinch Flora’s generously curved hip when she walked past him bearing a tray of brimming ale tankards. “Speaking o’ which”—he glanced at Grim and Breena—“you’ll no’ be riding on this e’en. There’s a fine newly made bed in our last unoccupied room abovestairs. The two of you will sleep there tonight, after we’ve feasted and lifted our tankards to Malcolm and Moira, and Grim and Breena. I’ll no’ be accepting a refusal.”

“He’s right, lass.” Flora set her ale tray on the table, flashed a smile at Breena. “Greer MacGregor’s tower house has stood hundreds of years. It’ll not vanish in the night, disappearing before you and Grim and ride there on the morrow. I’ve a fine venison stew simmering, roasted capon, a fine, butter-basted goose, and more loaves of fresh-baked bread than twenty hungry men can put away. And”—she winked at her husband—“my cheese and gooseberry pasties are the best in the land.”

“So they are, so they are.” Fergus raised his tankard, saluting her. “As it’s Christmas, she’s even made a batch of spice cakes.”

“And we’ve brought you a pouch each of ginger, cinnamon, and almonds.” Grim looked up from the fire, his words surprising Breena, his thoughtfulness again proving his goodness. “They’re in my saddlebags. Duncreag’s Cook thought Flora might appreciate them, this time of year. There’s also a flask of Archie’s best uisge beatha.”

Flora and Fergus beamed thanks. “That wasnae necessary, but good of you.” Fergus set down his ale, looking most pleased indeed.

Breena shifted, uncomfortable. The Munzies’ gregarious welcome reminded her so much of her Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell. Worse, each time Grim spoke of them as a couple, she felt a terrible hollow ache in her heart. She hoped to use this journey to fill that emptiness, to replace it with love.