by Quinn, Paula
“Me too, love.”
“We are meant to be together.” She smiled at him. “Or simply put, I cannot be without you either. I don’t ever want to be without you. It would break my heart.”
“So that’s a yes, I take it?”
She nodded.
“Good. This special license has been burning a hole in my pocket. Adam will club me over the head when he learns I’ve been carrying it around for almost a month now, building up the courage to ask you.”
She tipped her head and gazed up at him in confusion. “But you said you only learned of becoming a duke two weeks ago?”
“One has nothing to do with the other.” He moved closer and kissed her with heat and longing, his kiss holding the promise of rich pleasures to come. “I’m going to find him now. He can brood over the perplexing questions of our place on this earth another time. He’s going to marry us this very night. I want the right to lie beside you, to take you in my arms and hold you close to my heart from this day forward.”
His expression softened as he gazed at her. “Will you marry me tonight, Felicity? I know it is asking a lot of you. But I don’t need to see you in a fine silk gown or have you stand beside me with your hair done up in fancy curls. What matters is that I have you beside me as we exchange vows. I want the right to call you my wife. It’s too long overdue. My fault, of course.”
“That’s quite an impassioned speech, coming from you. I don’t suppose we’ve done anything in the ordinary course. It will be a fine story to tell our children and grandchildren. I’ll don my finest woolen robe for the occasion and my warmest socks. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand…or kneel before the altar, for that matter. I’ll need to lean on you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, love.” He kissed her again, his hands warm as they slipped around her waist and drew her to him so that she could feel the comforting heat of his body against hers. “We all carry the hope of love in our hearts. Some of us are fortunate enough to find it. I love you, Felicity.”
“Wait! We can’t get married just yet. There’s something we must do first.”
“And what is that?”
“The goose. We need to claim the legs for ourselves.”
Laughing, he lifted her into his arms. “How could I forget? I’ll distract them while you steal the goose.”
“What if I’m caught?”
“You won’t be. We’ll eat the evidence.”
They were both laughing like giddy schoolchildren when Adam walked back inside.
Angus set her down a moment on the bed. “Vicar, I have something for you. The special license. I’m sure our wise women and their husbands will be happy to serve as witnesses. What do you say? Will you marry us now?”
Adam’s jaw dropped, but after a moment he shook his head and grinned. “I don’t dare refuse, the Good Lord might strike me dead. Yes, of course. It is my pleasure. Well, it will be an unusual ceremony, but official nonetheless.”
Angus lifted Felicity into his arms once more and carried her into the bookshop to take their places in front of the hearth. Adam had no prayer book, but he seemed to be so restored in spirit, he did not need to read passages he had already committed to memory.
Olivia, Poppy, Penelope, and their husbands gathered behind them. Pip stood beside Penelope and did not seem to mind as she placed her arm around him and held the boy close to her side.
All her life, Felicity thought she did not have a family, but she was wrong. Wellesford had provided her the best family any orphan could possibly have. She turned to her friends. “I love you all.”
She gazed up at Angus. He’d always carried himself like a duke. Strong, powerful, confident. Now she understood why.
Angus whispered in her ear as the ceremony began. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
Felicity thought of The Book of Love that had been resting on her bureau just moments ago but was now upright on the fireplace mantel. She did not know whether this book was magical or divine or if all that had happened tonight was mere coincidence. Whatever powers this old, red leather tome held, if any, seemed always to bring about happy endings…or rather, happy beginnings. “Indeed, the best Christmas ever.”
THE END
Also by Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl Of Hearts
If You Wished For Me
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
BOOK OF LOVE SERIES
The Look of Love
The Touch of Love
The Taste of Love
The Song of Love (December 2019)
The Scent of Love (March 2020)
The Kiss of Love (June 2020)
The Hope of Love (novella)
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
Fortune’s Dragon
Earl of Kinross
Pearls of Fire*
(*also in Pirates of Britannia series)
DeWOLFE PACK ANGELS SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
About the Author
Meara Platt is an award winning, USA TODAY bestselling author and an Amazon UK All-Star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Learn more about the Dark Gardens and Meara’s lighthearted and humorous Regency romances in her Farthingale series and Book of Love series, or her warmhearted Regency romances in her Braydens series by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com.
Meara Platt on Amazon
A Christmas Kiss for the Highlander
Collette Cameron
For Skye, he’d walk through molten lava.
His pride was as inconsequential as thistle down.
Chapter One
Eytone Hall, Scottish Highlands
September 1720
Cantering his horse up the well-maintained drive to Eytone Hall, Quinn felt the tension easing from his muscles. It had always been like this when he visited Liam MacKay, Baron Penderhaven, one of the few men he called a true friend. One of the very few people he trusted. The doors to Eytone Hall were open to him whenever he decided to drop in for an unannounced visit, and today would be no exception.
He called no place home, preferring the freedom to come and go at will. But if he had, Eytone Hall came the closest. In fact, Liam’s mother, Lady Penderhaven, made certain his usual chamber was always prepared, his clothes inside the wardrobe, clean.
“Thank ye.” Handing Benedict’s reins off to the liveried footman who’d hurried from the grand mansion to attend the gelding, Quinn skewed his mouth into a grin. It truly was good to be here.
He untied his pack from the saddle while sending his gaze around the familiar courtyard and lands. Creamy, shorn sheep dotted one sloping hillside, and reddish-brown Highland cows milled about on another.
Even he could admit there was something enjoyable about the familiarity and comfort of returning to a place where he’d known a degree of contentment and peace. Contentment? Peace? That was a stretch and neither were things he’d particularly coveted.
Until recently.
Nevertheless, if he didn’t relish his freedom so much, he might envy Liam MacKay. Slinging his pack over one shoulder, he drew his mouth into a grim line. No, he didn’t. Liam had been through bloody hell these past few years.
“Simmons.” He nodded to the austere butler poised
beside the mansion’s double doors. “Ye’re lookin’ well.”
Simmons angled his hoary head. “As are ye, Mr. Catherwood.” He closed the doors then reached for Quinn’s satchel. “I’ll have yer bag delivered to yer usual chamber.”
“Thank ye. Is Liam at home?” More than once, Quinn had arrived to find Liam absent, not that he wasn’t still made wholly welcome by Lady Penderhaven and her daughter, Kendra. He’d known that minx since she’d worn braids, and she was still inevitably embroiled in some sort of mischief or other.
“Nae, he isna, though he is expected back any day.” He passed Quinn’s pack to the footman before angling toward the corridor. “Will ye join her ladyship for tea at half-past three?”
Quinn would rather lick the marble floor than perch on a settee and exchange trivial comments, but he summoned a droll smile nevertheless. He was capable of acting the part of a gentleman. After all, he’d been raised as such even if he’d chosen to leave that life behind a decade ago.
What time was it, anyway?
His pocket watch had been rather smashed on his last mission, and he hadn’t replaced the timepiece yet. He didn’t relish cooling his heels in the salon for an hour or two, waiting for the lady of the house’s arrival when he could traipse about outside or enjoy a long relaxing soak in the tub while sipping a glass of Liam’s superior cognac.
“Lead on, good fellow. I shall endeavor to appear civilized.” He clasped a palm to his chest. “I promise no’ to slurp my tea or chew with my mouth open.”
He might talk with his mouth full though.
One of Simmons’ wiry eyebrows shied upward the merest bit. Ah, that’s right. The butler didn’t possess a sense of humor.
No one in Baron Penderhaven’s household had ever accused Quinn of being ungentlemanly or, for that matter, of being a gentleman. He skirted the bounds of propriety, not quite drifting so far astray as to be ostracized, but never teetering over the edge into complete respectability either.
“Might I suggest ye freshen up first?” Nothing subtle about that or the butler’s slightly flared nostrils.
Quinn was quite covered in dust, and he stank of sweat and horse.
“Indeed. An excellent notion.” He swiveled toward the impressive staircase instead.
Twenty minutes later, he tripped back down the risers, having made do with the washstand water after examining the night table clock and finding it three-quarters past two. Just his blasted luck, he’d also nicked himself shaving in his haste. Putting a fingertip to the still-stinging cut, he checked for fresh blood.
Wouldn’t do to bleed all over his starched neckcloth. He only had three here.
He passed the impressive library and had nearly gone beyond the drawing room, when movement inside the open doorway caught his attention. Scrunching his brows together into a puzzled frown, he halted.
Hadn’t Simmons said tea was to be served in the rose salon?
No, although that was where her ladyship generally preferred to take her tea, the butler hadn’t specified where earlier. Mayhap things had changed since Quinn last visited. After all, it had been over six months. He pivoted and, touching his cut again, strode into the room.
A startlingly exquisite woman with glorious, pale, honey-colored hair piled atop her head, and attired in a white and robin’s egg blue gown, whirled away from the window. Her incredibly blue eyes widened, and she put a delicate hand to her throat where a single row of creamy pearls rested.
A long, intense minute stretched out, lengthening into something extraordinary and potent as they stared at each other, neither seeming able to break the inexplicable and immediate powerful connection which thrummed between them.
Good God. He almost expected choruses of Hallelujah and the harmony of violin strings to fill the sweetly tense atmosphere.
Finally, somehow marshaling his composure, he swept into a gallant’s bow. Not usually at a loss for words or one to falter when faced with something unexpected—after all, his line of work tossed him in the middle of the perilous and unforeseen on a daily basis—he commanded his galloping pulse to return to its normal pace.
Opening his mouth, he found every drop of moisture had vanished. He cleared his throat then swallowed. Blast, he was behaving more ineptly than a wet-behind-the-ears pup.
She remained statue-still, much like a wary doe prepared to flee if he moved suddenly.
“Please permit me to introduce myself. Quinn Catherwood, yer most humble servant, my lady.” He found himself standing over her, not consciously recalling having moved across the carpet. The top of her shiny head reached his shoulder.
He envisioned leading her in a dance, or wrapping his arms about her delicate shoulders, or resting his cheek on the crown of her head. Yes, to all of that and more.
The girl was impossibly more perfect up close; her skin milky and smooth as silk. Navy blue ringed her light azure irises framed by golden, winged brows. A delicate floral and citrus scent wafted upward from her sleek hair, and he inhaled her heady fragrance.
She was…Odin’s teeth. She was—God help him—an answer to a prayer he hadn’t even known he’d desired. And she must be his. His.
Gazing up at him, her peach-tinted lips slightly parted, she seemed as transfixed as he. As if coming to her senses, she blinked and lowered her hand to her waist.
“I’m Skye Hendron, Baron Penderhaven’s cousin, visiting from England,” she said in a melodious, cultured tone. “I’m simply a miss, not a lady.”
Very proper and English, but not the least stuffy or superior. Her voice held an unexpected husky quality that immediately sent his senses into a spin once more.
“I’m most pleased I decided to pay my auld friend a visit.” Quinn couldn’t drag his focus from her exquisite features or the lively intelligence dancing in her now amused gaze.
God’s teeth.
His pulse leaped again. An extended stay might be in order. No, most definitely was in order. “Will ye be here long?”
God and all the saints, please say aye.
A slight shadow passed over her features, tipping her lovely mouth downward as she directed her focus to the window behind him. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. My father has fallen ill, and my mother sent me to Eytone Hall while she tends him. I pray ’tis nothing serious.” As if as an afterthought, she arced her hand gracefully. “Aunt Louisa is my mother’s sister.”
At her obvious distress, a strange coiling began in Quinn’s middle, spreading outward, until it tangled around his heart. How could he want to gather this woman in his arms and promise her she could rely upon him for…what?
Comfort? Protection? Security?
Aye. Aye, and much more.
Something he’d never considered until this very instant, but so wondrous, he’d be an absolute idiot not to pursue whatever this was.
“I’m sorry, lass. I’m sure ye’d rather be with them than here no’ kennin’ what is happenin’.” He tipped his mouth into a compassionate arc. “It must weigh heavily on ye. Have ye any brothers or sisters?”
She pulled her vibrant gaze back, surprise and appreciation for his understanding shining in her eyes. “It does, and no. I am an only child.”
So was he.
“Mr. Catherwood—”
“Quinn. Ye must call me Quinn, please. I would deem it the greatest honor.”
Taking her soft hand in his, he cupped it reverently. How he wanted to hear his name on her lips. He didn’t know what had come over him and, in truth, he didn’t give a ragman’s scorn. Something had clicked the instant he laid eyes upon her, and he knew as well as he knew his name that his life had inexplicably veered down a heretofore unexplored path.
It was terrifying. And exhilarating. And marvelous.
His request for her to address him by his given name lay completely outside the bounds of propriety and, yet, she made no attempt to remove her hand from his. In fact, she cupped his palm back, her pale fingers in stark relief against his sun-browned skin. Her dainty, fin
e-boned hand nested inside his as if sculpted to fit there.
“And it would please me if you’d call me Skye,” she said, a touch of color high on her cheekbones.
A secret thrill tunneled through him. She was bold in the sweetest way possible.
Eyes guileless and the merest bit curious, she curved her mouth upward. “Quinn, I know this may sound strange, and please believe me when I tell you I am not usually so forward, but I feel as if I’ve known you my entire life. That we aren’t strangers meeting for the first time at all.”
Yes, he knew exactly what she felt, because the same sensation sluiced through him.
She gave a self-conscious chuckle, and her lush lashes fanned against her porcelain skin for the space of a blink before she met his gaze again. A hint of becoming color tinged her sloping cheeks. “’Tis silly, I know.”
“Nae, no’ silly, Skye.” He stepped nearer, drawing her close and then tipped her chin upward with one finger. “I ken exactly what ye mean, for though I canna explain it, I feel precisely the same way.”
“You do?” she whispered, her breath sweet and smelling of strawberries.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured before brushing his lips across the velvety softness of her fingers. “I feel like I’ve come home at last.”
Chapter Two
One month later
Despite the chilly October morning, Skye wandered the scrupulously maintained garden path. The last month had been both the most exciting and worrisome of her life.
Weeks ago, Quinn had arrived unannounced, quite tilting her world on end in a most delightful fashion. After enduring the worst thunderstorm she had ever experienced, Liam finally returned home with Emeline LeClaire. He’d saved her life during a flash flood, and they’d scandalously spent several days alone in a hunting lodge.