Once Upon A Highland Christmas (8 page)

Emboldened, she brushed the covering aside, freeing herself entirely to his view. “They may have used me, even taking my innocence, but they didn’t
touch
me, inhabit my heart and soul.

“No man has ever done that, though I am waiting for you to do so.” She let her gaze flick to his manhood, straining against his hose, and oh so prominent. “I know you want me. Then take me, Grim. Please.”

“If I even lay a finger to you there’ll be no’ stopping me.” He stepped closer to the bed, slowly shaking his head as he approached. His gray eyes were dark as charcoal as he looked over every bared inch of her. He let his gaze drift from her toes to her face and back down again, lingering along the way at the places she knew men most appreciated. “You are lovelier than winter’s first delicate snowflakes and I fear I may crush you, but—” he broke off, staring as she deliberately parted her knees, knowing what he’d see.

She couldn’t believe her daring.

But she wouldn’t let this night pass without their sealing their vows, and doing so properly.

“Bluidy hell!” His gaze locked on the wedge of red curls she’d revealed. The fierceness of his expression almost scorched her.

She bit back a smile, shifting so her thighs opened a bit more.

Doing so was her first line of offense, a seduction trick she’d once overheard in Ireland when she’d happened to stand near two joy women at a country fair. Apparently it worked, for Grim actually growled, making an almost feral sound deep in his chest as he reached up and yanked off his undertunic. He cast it aside and quickly removed his boots. Then he shoved down his hose until he was as naked as she was.

In a flash, he was on the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her ravenously. It was a bold, openmouthed kiss and he thrust his tongue deep, plundering her lips as if he drank her in, taking life-bringing sustenance from their shared breath and the heated swirls of their tongues.

“Don’t stop kissing me, please.” Breena clung to him, pulling back only long enough to voice her wish against his beard. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“Precious lass, I would kiss every inch of you and then start all over again when I’m done.” He smoothed his big warm hand up and down her side, his tongue now tangling even more languorously with hers. When he cupped her breast, rolling his thumb back and forth over her nipple, she would’ve cried out at the pleasure if she hadn’t wanted him to keep kissing her.

“I’ll kiss you always, my love,” he promised, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Even when I am in you, indeed, I’ll kiss you most thoroughly then.”

“I’m on fire now.” Breena was, for he’d captured her wrists in one hand, lifting her arms over her head. He stopped kneading her breasts and let that hand glide lower, down the smooth expanse of her belly, and to the wondrous place that tingled so deliciously. “I can’t bear any more—”

“Aye, you can.” He locked gazes with her as he skimmed his fingers oh-so-lightly over her feminine curls. Not quite touching her, but so close to doing so that each pass of his stroking fingertips was the most exquisite torment. “A woman should aye be caressed into pleasure.” He cupped her then, squeezing slightly, the unexpected pressure so heady, so incredibly pleasurable, that she rocked her hips, needing more, aching for something both urgent and indescribable. “Only when you are well and truly ready, will I take you, my heart.”

“I want you now.” Breena bit her lip, tingling warmth spooling everywhere. He kept circling his fingers over her, so gently the sensations were both maddeningly pleasing and wickedly frustrating. His touch was deliberate and light, his hand working magic, taking her higher and higher into a glorious realm that was surely the home of angels.

“Please, hurry, I can’t bear it,” she gasped when he traced one long finger gently down the center of her. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“So eager are you, my minx?” He lifted his hand, stopping the caresses.

“Yes!” Breena raised her hips again, seeking his pleasure-spending fingers. She would die if he didn’t touch her again.

When he arched a brow, looking amused, she knew she’d spoken the last words aloud.

“Nae, you willnae,” he said, confirming it. He watched her carefully, one corner of his mouth hitching up in a smile that melted her. “But it might feel that way when I do this…”

He stopped running one finger up and down the length of her and touched a spot that sent rippling streams of intense pleasure spiraling all through her. When he began circling that place, rubbing slowly but insistently, she inhaled sharply. Her world darkened and then shattered, splitting wide to cast her into a dazzling sea of such reckless, unrestrained sensation that her entire body quivered.

“Oh, my…” She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. “What have you done?”

“Only what I intend to do every day of our lives together, please you again and again.” He lowered his head and kissed her, this time long, deep, and slow. They melded against each other, sinking into the kiss so that it was sweet, wondrous, and so right that her heart swelled with such fierce love she could hardly contain the happiness inside her.

“I’ve waited so long to have you.” Grim pulled back, looked deep into her eyes. “Now you are mine. I love you more than my own life. I’m just no’ sure what you see in me.”

“My entire world, that’s what.” She slipped one hand around his nape, drawing him closer so they could kiss again. She’d never have enough of his kisses, not even if they lived a thousand years.

Then she heard the rustle of the bed sheets as, still kissing her, he eased her onto her back and rolled on top of her. He braced his weight on his arms and reached down between them, grasping himself to nudge his hardness against her, parting and gliding into her, making her his at last.

He kept his hand on her intimate flesh, resting one finger gently atop the sensitive place she hadn’t known existed. He rubbed her there, a light circling touch that again brought her so much bliss as he stroked in and out of her. She gripped his shoulders, knowing how much she pleased him when he inhaled sharply and his entire body jerked, the hot seed of his release spilling inside her.

“Breena,” he hissed her name, straining, his head thrown back as he stared up at the room’s black-raftered ceiling. “Sweet, sweet lass, I love you so.”

“And I you.” She thrust her fingers into his hair, gripping tight as her own pleasure crested again. The wonder of it, the delicious fullness of having him so intimately joined to her, flowed over her as a molten tide, stunning and glorious. She arched in delight, her world narrowing until she only knew darkness and sensation. Then, as if from a great distance yet still close, Grim’s words of love.

She must’ve slept, because the cold wakened her some hours later. She saw at once that it was still night, for the moon had risen. Silvery light slipped through the shutter slats, giving the room a pearly luminescence. The wind had died and in the stillness she caught the rush of the burn that ran through the farm’s birchwood.

She scarce noticed, because Grim had left the bed.

The sheets beside her were chilled, so he must’ve been gone a while.

For a beat, panic seized her. Had she disappointed him in some way? Did he regret his avowals of love and, especially, making her his wife in the old way of the ancients? Could he have remembered her lowly birth and changed his mind about their union, deciding he did indeed need a gentle-born wife? Had he perhaps left her?

She pushed the notions aside as soon as they came to her.

He’d made his feelings clear, opened his heart to her.

She didn’t doubt him.

But she did miss him, his warmth and the feel of his great, hard-muscled body next to her.

“I was thanking my gods for the gift of you, that is all.” His deep voice came from the shadows, a corner with a window edged silver by the moon.

He stood there, full naked and magnificent, the pale light gilding him so that he could have passed for one of the Norse gods he worshipped.

He smiled, at ease with his nakedness.

Breena began to tingle again, wondering if he’d always affect her powerfully. She suspected he would.

She swallowed, lifting her gaze when his manhood twitched and started to grow, the proof of his desire thrilling her.

“Do you often speak to your gods?” It was all she could think to say.

“Thor, Odin, and the rest of them aye do what they will and most times are too busy amusing themselves to bother with mortal men. But”—he came over to her, drawing her into his arms, warming her—“it doesn’t hurt to give gratitude when such a treasure as you is put in our path.”

Breena looked up at him. “You believe the gods brought us together?”

“I do.” He sounded sure. “Fate is inexorable.”

Out of nowhere a shiver sped down Breena’s spine. Leaning into Grim’s broad, powerfully muscled chest, she glanced at the bed where, according to the laws of the Old Ones, he’d claimed her body and soul, making her his bride.

She couldn’t bear to lose him.

“I’ll ne’er let us be parted, dinnae you worry.” He tightened his arms around her, stroking her back as his words only increased her chill. “The gods wouldn’t be so cruel. And I’d cut down the mortal man who’d dare attempt to take you from me.”

Breena didn’t say anything, just rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes, relishing the closeness, the intimacy of being naked in his arms.

Words weren’t good right now.

Not with the odd prickles at her nape and the shiver that had chilled her so.

She, too, trusted in the old ways. She couldn’t shake the feeling all wasn’t right in their world. Something was stirring beneath the surface. And it had to do with her and Grim.

She hoped she was wrong.

Yule was a time of joyous wonders. And the spirit of Christmas had been good to her, blessing her with her heart’s most fervent desire.

So she’d trust in the magic of the season.

It was all she could do.

“Mercy me!” Breena’s breath caught as she and Grim rode past a frozen loch, its icy surface half hidden beneath a drift of snow. A huge fire lit the evening sky ahead of them, the sight filling her with wonder. The blaze stretched toward the heavens from the top of a low, humpbacked ridge, painting the clouds and mist with streaks of red and orange. “So that is a Yule beacon.”

“Aye, it is.” Grim sounded pleased by her delight. “That’ll be Greer MacGregor’s beacon, true enough. His tower house is around thon bend.”

“I believe I can hear the flame’s roar.” Breena lifted a hand to her brow, tipping back her head to better see the spectacle. “I never dreamed it’d be so large, or so colorful.”

“Such a blaze must be huge where the glens are so vast and empty, the hills even more daunting,” Grim reminded her. “ ’Tis a wondrous time of year, Christmastide. The lairds and chieftains will be wanting to guide all friends and kin to their door, to celebrate.

“The Yule beacons are tradition.” His voice deepened, his love of his Highland home evident. “They’re a fine way to greet visitors, assuring even lonely wayfarers of a hearty holiday welcome.”

Breena glanced at Grim, her heart doing a little flip when he flashed his crooked smile.

He rode close beside her, as he’d done since they’d left the Munzie farm so early that morning. Their hosts had sent them off with much fanfare after Grim revealed their stay had inspired them to exchange vows in the wee hours, following the honored tradition of their Celtic ancestors.

Grim hadn’t stopped smiling since. He’d even told her he didn’t know how he’d master his tasks at Duncreag now because she occupied his heart and mind so completely little room remained for anything else. His pleasure at their union, and in her, filled her with so much joy, she was sure no other woman could be more fortunate.

Even now, he kept glancing at her in a bold, appreciative way that sent rivers of awareness flowing all through her.

Not wanting to arrive at the MacGregor’s in a swoon, she returned her attention to the Yule beacon. “I didn’t expect the fire to be so beautiful.”

“Some say such a balefire can make the devil envious.” Grim turned his own gaze back to the frost-hardened path they were following along the lochside. “That is so because the poor devil has only the flames of hell to ponder while a Highland chieftain’s Yule beacon blazes across the most stunning country this side of heaven.

“Indeed”—his tone held pride—“to a Highlander, our hills and glens are heaven. I vow even Valhalla would pale by comparison.”

“No doubt.” Breena agreed entirely.

She, too, could lose her heart to the Highlands. She’d dreamed of someday going back to Ireland. Her heart still squeezed, her soul yearning, when she thought of Inishowen. The approach of Christmas, always such a joyous time in her village, had sharpened the longing. But she trusted her homesickness would lessen, especially now that she and Grim had wed.

At the reminder, her pulse quickened and she felt the sweetest warmth curl low by her thighs, tingly anticipation of another night spent in Grim’s arms.

She didn’t think she’d ever tire of his touching her, or of caressing him. Even now, she could feel her passion for him building, her heart swelling with love.

“Do you think we’ll reach MacGregor Tower soon?” She glanced about as they rode away from the loch and entered the deep trough of a long and narrow glen.

The Yule beacon lit the way, but it was now deepening twilight, the hour of gloaming. For the last few miles, the snow-blanketed hills and woodlands had been sinking into darkness, and frosty mist blew across their path. Breena was sure her ears were frozen, and the brittle air burned her lungs. The wind was also picking up, each new gust howling like a banshee as it tore through the glen, shrieking and ice-edged, so cold that her eyes stung.

But the balefire’s leaping flames were reward enough for any discomfort.

In truth, she found the wintry Highlands wild, glorious, and awe inspiring.

The Yule beacon finally loomed near, a towering pile of wood with its huge red plumes coloring the night sky. It could’ve been ripped from a bard’s fantastical song about the myths and legends of old.

“No’ at all like the pinprick of light we saw through the pines at Fergus Munzie’s farm, is it?” Grim edged his horse nearer to hers. He reached over, adjusting the great wolfskin cloak he’d again insisted she wear. “Thon flames can be seen for miles.” He nodded toward the fire, so high atop its rock-strewn ridge. “Like as no’, we’ll be seen as well. The MacGregor will have lookouts posted. Men set to watch who is attracted by his balefire.

“We’ll be met at his door, you’ll see.” Grim kneed his horse, also clucking to Breena’s, encouraging the mare to keep pace. “There’ll be a welcoming hearth fire, ale and uisge beatha, and a good, warm meal. Like as no’ pipers will be strutting about in number, playing their hearts out to herald in the festive days. If we’re lucky, there’ll be plenty of sugared almonds and other sweetmeats. The MacGregor is said to be fond of the like.”

“I have only one wish for this night.” Breena kept her chin raised and met Grim’s eye when he glanced her way. “I’d enjoy more of your kisses.”

“Is that so?” He angled his head, his silver beard rings glinting red in the light of the Yule beacon. “And I thought there might be more you’d be wanting? A bit of careful stroking here and there, some fine neck nuzzles that inch ever lower until—”

“I am eager for all that and more,” Breena admitted, warmth blooming on her cheeks even as the most rousing heat pooled between her legs.

“You shall have your desires, my lady.” Grim leaned close and kissed her cheek, nipping her ear before he pulled away. “Every last one of them, especially your most secret and lascivious wishes.”

“Oh!” Breena pressed a hand to her belly, the stirring wickedness of his words almost sending her over that glittery edge of bliss that had brought her such carnal delight the night before.

She truly was a wanton!

And—she blinked—they were fast approaching a sea of warmth and light. Not the Yule beacon that now raged almost directly above them, but the torch-lit gatehouse and forecourt of MacGregor Tower, a great black bulk of a square, four-storied tower house topped by a notched parapet walk, every window and arrow slit brightly lit. Torches also blazed at the arched entrance to the gatehouse.

It was there that a tall, heavily built man stood, a plaid slung proudly across one shoulder. A great sword hung at his hip and he had a wild mane of russet hair. An even bushier beard of the same color added to his savage appearance, while a scar cut a curving swath across his left cheek. Most startling of all was his large, bulbous nose.

He was Greer MacGregor.

And he looked exactly like Duncreag’s Old Christmas Wife after Archie’s angry adjustments to the sacred Yule Log.

Breena shot a look at Grim as they clattered into the courtyard. “Praise be you undid the damage to the
Cailleach Nollaigh.
There’d be much grief if the MacGregor saw Archie’s handiwork.”

“Now you see why I took my dirk to the log.” Grim spoke low, for they were already near the tower steps. “I’ve left orders to have Archie watched in our absence. He’ll no’ pull such a trick again.”

“Grim, I greet you!” The MacGregor started forward, a hand raised in salute. “You and your lady wife are welcome if you’ve come to share holiday cheer.” He stopped before them, waiting as Grim dismounted and then lifted Breena down from her horse’s back. “You can leave now if your visit has aught to do with Archie MacNab.”

“You know it does.” Grim took Breena’s arm, drawing her to his side. “I’m thinking you know even more if you’re aware Lady Breena is no longer my betrothed but now my bride. We only said our vows last night.”

“Aye, well.” Greer MacGregor hooked his thumbs in his sword belt and rocked back on his heels. “Could be I’m the wisest man in the Highlands, eh?”

Grim chuckled. “Could also be that Flora Munzie put out word faster than I expected.”

“She couldn’t have.” Breena looked from Grim to the MacGregor chieftain and then back to Grim. “She was at the farm when we left.”

“So she was.” Grim appeared to consider. “Now that I think on it, how many of her four sons were at the table when we broke our fast this morn?”

Breena remembered. “Three.”

“Indeed.” Grim nodded once.

Greer MacGregor started to laugh, a great and noisy rumble that came from deep in his gut and erupted to fill the torch-lit courtyard with its merriment. “Can a man ne’er outfox you, you wily bastard?”

“No’ if I can help it.” Grim glanced at Breena, winking. “I told you Flora has ways to spread news faster than a fly can blink.”

“Then, good sir,” Breena started, opting for courtesy as Greer led them up the stone steps to his keep, “you know we’ve come to beg a favor for—”

“Archie MacNab. Aye, that I ken!” Greer paused before his hall door, planted his fists on his hips. “A trickier rascal ne’er strode the heather. I’m no’ of mind to leave the comforts of my own hearth now, in the deep of winter, just so he isn’t alone at Yule.

“That old stoat made his bed and should wallow in it, I say!” he scolded, the twinkle in his eye at odds with his grousing.

When he winked at Breena behind Grim’s back, her spirits soared, for she saw through his bluster to the goodness of his heart.

Greer MacGregor knew their business and had something planned to help, she was sure.

She just didn’t know what it was.

Until he threw her another wink and flung open his hall door, ushering them inside.

They stepped into a forest of pine boughs, swags and swags of red-ribboned holly and ivy, and towering piles of mistletoe. The entire hall was festooned with evergreen, the smoke-hazed air filled with the piney scent. Men lined the long rows of trestle tables, eating their evening meal. Their booming voices and the clatter of ale cups and knives warred with the barks of dogs and the roar of the log fire in the hall’s huge soot-blackened hearth.

As Grim had predicted, every table boasted festively carved bowls piled high with sugared almonds. Breena also noted plentiful trays of custard pasties, her mouth watering to see such scrumptious holiday fare.

Grim was also right in guessing that the MacGregor pipers would be playing with gusto. Three of them marched back and forth before the hearth, kilts swinging merrily and their cheeks red from their exertions. Several more equally enthusiastic pipers strode up and down between the long tables, their tunes lively.

The din was tremendous. Jollity and goodwill shone on every face.

“We’re in fine fettle, as you see.” Greer threw out an arm, taking in the bustling scene. “No man here is for traipsing off now. No’ at Yuletide.”

“You’ll be joining us at Duncreag all the same.” Grim set a hand on Greer’s shoulder. “I’ve no’ wish to remind you of an old favor, but I will if—”

“There be no need for that, laddie.” Greer’s jaw jutted, his bushy red beard glinting in the torchlight. “Could be I feel the spirit of the season coming upon me, persuading me to—”

“You’re a crazed loon, MacGregor.” Grim smiled, lowered his hand from the older man’s shoulder. “Are you with us or nae?”

Breena scarce heard them, her brow furrowing as she looked about the hall.

Something wasn’t right.

Although the walls, ceiling rafters, and every table appeared draped in holiday finery, the most of the greenery and mistletoe was spread about in great piles and mounds on the floor.

With the great hall already so gaily decorated, there was no room to display the extra trappings. Yet there was so much stashed everywhere that traversing the hall’s aisles could prove hazardous.

Either Clan MacGregor was prepared to celebrate Yule in grand style or the additional holiday goods were meant for somewhere else.

“You’re taking the season to Duncreag, aren’t you?” Breena touched the MacGregor’s arm, her smile tremulous, for she was so sure of his intent that her throat swelled with emotion. “The extra greenery and mistletoe is for Archie’s hall, isn’t it?”

“Aye, well…” The MacGregor pulled a hand down over his chin, looking embarrassed. “I lost my own wife some years back, see you? No man should suffer what MacNab’s been put through, old enemy or nae.”

“Why did you no’ say so right away?” Grim shook his head, looking about as if he had only now noticed the mountains of decorations.

“Could be I wanted to see if you’d be lout enough to remind me of that old favor!” Greer thrust a finger in Grim’s chest, once more cantankerous. “I ken well that you helped a few of my drovers when they were set upon by cattle thieves a few years back. That doesnae mean you ought to sally up here and expect me to do your bidding.”

“I ne’er dreamed it.” Grim accepted the ale cup a passing serving lass offered him, took a long sip. “As Archie’s man, I had to come. I’m glad to hear you’re willing to put the past behind you and—”

“I’ll ne’er forget he’s a ring-tailed, fork-tongued weasel, even if I do feel sorry for the bastard. No’ that I should.” Greer swelled his chest. “He’s aye been a pest. Once, he stole a lassie out from under my nose. That was years ago, back when we were lads sprouting our first beards. In those days, he was right bonnie, if you’d believe it. He had a silver tongue, which he used to woo the ladies. Most of us didn’t like him at all, I say you!”

Greer nudged a pile of holly and ivy with his toe. “If you’d hear the truth, my real reason for helping is Flora Munzie. She’s a MacKenzie.” He glanced left and right, lowering his voice. “Devorgilla of Doon, the most far-famed cailleach in the Highlands serves that clan. I’ll no’ be going against Flora’s wishes and risk waking up one fine morn to find I’ve been turned into a newt.

“Or worse!” He shuddered. “That Devorgilla has been known to stir much mischief.”

“So men say.” Grim nodded.

“As soon as Flora’s son rode off, I sent three of my own lads to rally the Gregorach and our friends.” Greer straightened, looking proud. “We’ll be there in number. If we cannae bring Archie to join in the season’s good cheer, then he’s hopeless indeed.”