Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (18 page)

“Well, try ta restrain yerself whilst ye’re inside. I’ll not have ye turnin’ the boys into ruffians with yer games,” admonished Fiona, but her lips twitched into an indulgent smile. She turned to her sons. “Maybe ye should take some o’ that energy outside, collecting fresh greens for the mantle.”

Fletcher’s mouth widened into a gap-toothed grin as he scampered to the door. Slipping around Hugh, he glanced up. “Will ye be coming, Uncle?”

Hugh ruffled the black hair, thick and unruly, and so like his own. “Maybe later. Ye take care in the woods and watch out for wee Roddy. Take Fahrgus with ye and let the hound chase some rabbits.”

Alastair paused and sent his mother worried stare. “Fahrgus has been at the chickens again, Uncle, so we brought ‘im inside.”

“Inside? Where inside?” asked Fiona sharply. She narrowed her eyes. “Where ‘ave ye put the beastie?”

Roderick removed his thumb from his mouth and smiled. “I put ‘im in the kitchen, Mama, where he canna’ track mud through the house.” Then he scampered off with his brothers.

Fiona paled. “Oh, saints! Our dinner!” She pushed past Hugh with one last hard stare. “This is
your
fault. You encourage them.” At the sound of a dull crash from the rear of the house, Fiona shook her head and hurried toward the sound, muttering curses and threats under her breath.

Hugh stared at Kitty from across the room.

“Should you go help her?” she asked.

“Oh…” He leaned through the doorway and peered along the hallway. “No, I don’t think so.” He stepped back inside and closed the double doors with a shrug. “I suppose we forgot to mention Brian’s out there waiting to surprise her.”

“He made it back from England in time for Christmas!” Kitty’s heart warmed. The only hint of gloom hanging over the holiday celebration had been whether Fiona’s husband would arrive home in time.

“Now, did I not tell ye he would be? A Scot’s timing is always perfect.” With maddening slowness he walked across the hardwood floor, loving her with the light dancing in his eyes.

Kitty found herself wishing one particular Scot’s timing would become a little faster, as her heart quickened into a disjointed drumbeat that echoed in her ears.

He halted a footstep away from her, removed the ink well from her unresisting fingers, and set it on the writing table. When she would have slipped into his embrace, he placed his hands on her shoulders and held her off, fixing her in his gaze as he searched her face. Drawing a resolute breath, he sent a quick glance about the room before returning his attention to Kitty.

“This is a sad comparison to the life ye’re accustomed to.”

“This is a
happy
comparison to my old life, Hugh.” She looked around at the cramped quarters, the wooden settee with the worn tweed cushions, the scarred buffet cabinet, the white china, most of which she knew had tiny chips around the edges. “This… this is home. It’s comfortable and happy. And safe.” She traced his lips, pleased that the bruise had faced and the cut had healed. “And it has you in it.”

Hugh drew her finger into his mouth and suckled gently, the motion awakening a deep answering yearning within her most secret places. Just as her legs felt boneless and incapable of holding her up, he pulled her against his chest with a sigh.

“We canna’ stay here, ye know.”

Kitty tilted her head back and watched the flickering firelight play over his face. “Is this when you’ll tell me you’ve found a nice cave up the lane? Or perhaps a hollow tree near the city?”

He chuckled and tightened his embrace ever so slightly. “Nothing so dire. I managed to save a fair bit when Dougal and I were working down south.”

A thrill stole over Kitty, part excitement, part trepidation. She’d always known she and her new husband had been in transition while in Fiona’s home. “Your America money.”

“Aye, it was… once.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Do ye have yer heart set on America?”

Slowly, with her heart squeezing against her lungs, Kitty shook her head. In truth, the thought of moving so far away terrified her. “I have my heart set on
you
.”

“Good.” His next words came in a rush, so unlike his normally careful speech, Kitty could only stare with wide eyes. “There’s a bit of property to the east of here. It’s at the edge of a larger estate. ‘Twill be a perfect place to raise horses and train them up to the carriage. I’ve already talked with the landowner. There’s a sound stable and a cottage…” He gestured around the room, his movements becoming even more animated. “Smaller than this and in need of some repair, I’m afraid, but mostly sound.” He grimaced and averted his eyes to the right as his speech slowed. “It’s made of stone so, ah… it might be akin to living in a cave—”

Kitty pressed her fingers against his mouth, stopping his words. “You don’t — you don’t want to go to America?”

“I do not.” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I want to stay here, near my family, where we can still see your sisters, and… even one day perhaps reconcile with—” He curled his upper lip with distaste. “—your parents.”

“We’ll need funds to start out.” Her thoughts flashed to the pouch her sister had sent with her, and she said a prayer of thanks. “Ellie’s coins!”

Hugh shook his head with such vehemence, the shudder rocked through Kitty. “I’ll not touch what’s yers.”

A frown of confusion pinched Kitty’s brow. “But, ‘tis
ours
, husband, not mine alone. And besides… you’ll need horses to train.”

“That I will, and I’ve a start there as well.” Hugh leaned back and smiled, his blue eyes glinting with some as yet untold secret. “Brian did a bit o’ business for me while he was in England. Took himself to Surrey and purchased several excellent horses.” Hugh’s smile deepened. “One of them is a verra fine chestnut mare with a penchant for smuggled carrots.”

Flutters of excitement stirred in Kitty’s middle. Surely he couldn’t mean… “Oh, Hugh. P-Patty? Did he bring Patty?” At his silent nod, tears of joy stung her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered over the swell of happiness in her throat.

“Kitten…” he began, using his own version of her nickname, having refused to call her by the endearment her father had given her. Uncertainty momentarily clouded his gaze before he squared his shoulders and slid his hands from her shoulders to take her hands. “I canna’ give you a manor so grand as Rose Hill. I won’t be able to send you to London every season… But I promise ye that ne’er will ye go hungry or cold so long as I have breath in my body. I will take care of ye always. I love ye.”

“And I will follow you anywhere,” she whispered. “I love you, Hugh James Donald McCollum.”

His eyes took on a gleam as he once again gathered her against him and tightened his arms around her. “Mrs. McCollum, we seem to find ourselves alone…”

Kitty giggled. “And not a bit of mistletoe in sight, I’m afraid.”

Casting a secret smile, Hugh dug in the pocket of his tweed jacket and pulled out a battered, dried sprig of green leaves. A red and white ribbon had been wound around the stems.

“Is that… Is that
ours?
” she asked, already knowing it was. A lump of emotion formed in her throat. “You saved our first mistletoe?”

“I did… I never know when my wife might need another lesson.”

“Will you teach me now, Mr. McCollum?” She raised her face and leaned closer. “Will you teach me under the mistletoe?”

“Aye, that I will,” he whispered, holding the twigs over her head. Then he bent and sealed his promises with a tender kiss.

About the Author

Kay Springsteen
loves all things Christmas, especially the traditions of her mother’s homeland, England. But nothing strikes a cord as much as the air of romance and celebration that surrounds the holiday. Kay lives in Virginia, near the Blue Ridge Mountains, which offer a wonderful sense of peace and relaxation. She can often be found wandering one of the trails up there with a camera and one of her rescued dogs.

Find Kay at her blog
http://kayspringsteen.wordpress.com/

and on Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/KaySpringsteen

and you can follow her on Twitter @KaySpringsteen

Also by Kay Springsteen

Prologue

December 2012

The sign was small and unassuming.
Caroline's Antiques & Estate Liquidations
. Angela didn't know what possessed her to pull into the parking lot. It was just another junk store, the kind that seemed to crop up around the Virginia countryside like weeds. She'd been to dozens in the last few weeks, for no other reason than she enjoyed seeing what people had kept through the ages that ended up needing liquidation when nothing was left but the estate.

Twin mutinous groans rose from the back seat as the SUV rolled to a stop, undoubtedly begun by twelve-year-old Kalie. She was just discovering the fine art of boy watching with girl pals at the mall and any stops along the way were potential life-altering emergencies. At only eight, Sam was still pretty agreeable as little boys went. As long as he got to his lacrosse and basketball games on time and had an assortment of junk food to choose from after school, he didn't complain too often. But he did try to be supportive of his sister's rebellions.

"Not another smelly store filled with junk." Kalie wrinkled her nose as she peered through the side window.

"We'll be quick, I promise." Angela switched off the ignition, opened the door, and slid to the ground below.

Fine limestone gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stepped away from the vehicle and shut the door. A gust of wind sent the light flurries that fell from the sky skittering across the windshield and stirred the bits of white that had already collected on the ground. They'd have to be quick or she'd be sweeping snow before they could drive again.

Behind her, Sam popped open his door and vaulted from the vehicle. With more exuberance than a lazy Saturday morning should allow, he turned and laid both hands against the door and shoved it closed with a mighty
thump
. When he stepped back, two sticky purple handprints had been added to the assortment of other such decorations on the champagne colored paint.

A soft
clunk
from the other side of the car signaled Kalie's more ladylike exit. As Angela and Sam met the slender girl at the front of the SUV, the chilly, almost-winter breeze fluffed the spray of hair spouting from the top of her head. Snowflakes clung to a single strand of chestnut hair that had escaped the arrangement and fallen across Kalie's forehead above her right eye.

"Ugh! What time is it?" she asked with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "We're going to be
so late
." She shivered. "Could it be any colder?"

Angela hid a smile.
Could
you
be more dramatic?

"Yep!" Sam raced across the gravel, kicking up puffs of snow with each footfall. He made it to the shade of the overhang that ran across the front of the building and turned around with a cry of triumph. "It's thirty-one degrees. That's what the bank said. That's below freezing. But it'll be colder on Christmas!"

Kaylie scrunched up her nose as she picked her way across the limestone. "No one cares, squirt!" She kicked out with her left foot, chasing a pebble through the air with the toe of her fur-trimmed, suede boot.

"Uh-
huh
! You asked!" Sam chortled as he performed a robot-style victory dance.

Time for Mom to take control of the situation before it got out of hand. Angela cleared her throat. "All right, let's save it for later. Sam, where do your hands go?"

Instantly, her son reached deep into the pockets of his blue jeans.

"Good. Keep them there until we're outside again." Angela pointed to the single glass door at the far end of the cluttered porch. "It'll probably be heated inside."

"And stinky," muttered Kalie, stomping onto the wooden planks.

With a soft sigh, Angela pulled open the door. "You used to like going to these places with me, you know."

The near-teenager's face pinched into a frown. "Kim and Bridget are probably already at the mall, Mother!"

Right. The mall. That assortment of shops sporting shiny new fancies… and boys. Angela sighed. In Christmases past, Santa had been the only male Kalie had been interested in at the mall.

Despite her objections, though, it was Kalie who crossed the threshold first. No more than two steps inside, she twisted her head and sent Angela a wrinkled-nosed grimace over her shoulder. "Musty," she announced, but moved deeper into the building regardless.

It did smell of dust and disuse, conceded Angela. But the interior afforded relief from the brisk chill outside. She smiled at the four-foot plastic snowman standing guard over a cardboard box filled with multiple strands of Christmas lights to the left of the door.

What would Rob do if he came home from his deployment to Afghanistan to find
that
in their front yard? Angela pushed back the wave of loneliness and replaced it with practicality. He'd be home in the spring, so unless she left it up that long, the snowman would be a moot point.