Stars are Brightly Shining

by Quinn, Paula

  His jaw had sagged, and Broden had nudged him in the arm. “Close yer mouth, mon. Ye’re gawpin’ like a codfish.”

  Taking a quick sip of his pre-supper drink, he’d covered his gaucheness, but had been unable to haul his attention from her for more than a minute or two all evening.

  Emeline clapped her hands. “We’ll pick the charade teams now. Kendra will pass by with a bowl. Inside are slips of paper that say either Team 1 or Team 2.” She arched a winged brow in artificial chastisement. “Nae switchin’ either,” she admonished, shaking her finger as if they were children in the school room.

  Several chuckles greeted her mock scolding.

  In short order, the teams had been picked. To Quinn’s disappointment, he and Skye weren’t on the same side. He gave Liam a sour look from beneath hooded eyes, wondering if it had been by chance or design.

  Of course it was by chance.

  Everyone had picked from the same bowl. He was just out of sorts, his continued disappointment taking a toll.

  Skye cast him an apologetic smile and, with the epitome of feminine grace, glided to sit with her team.

  “I’m quite good at charades,” Grandmother announced as she settled into an armchair, and regally nodded her head. This evening’s wig, a rather conservative head covering compared to her earlier flamboyant hair dressings—was only adorned with green and gold silk flowers, ribbons, and feathers to match her gown.

  She was having the time of her life, and gratitude for permitting her to be included in the house party tapped behind his ribs. She also heartily approved of Skye.

  Everyone had written their Christmastide subject for the charades on slips of paper prior to dinner and placed them in another cut-crystal bowl. Emeline quickly explained the rules for those who hadn’t played before, and amid much hilarity, groans, laughter and cries of, “No’ done,” or “Ye canna talk,” over an hour passed.

  “’Tis yer turn, Liam,” his wife said sweetly, crossing to present him with the bowl containing only a few scraps of paper.

  Quinn stifled a chuckle.

  Liam wasn’t long on parlor games.

  Leveling his wife a long-suffering look, he unfolded his arms and straightened from where he’d been leaning beside the fireplace. With a theatrical sigh that would’ve earned Shakespeare’s applause, he reached inside the bowl and withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper.

  “Mayhap ye drew holly,” Quinn suggested with false solicitousness. “Ye’re prickly already, so we should be able to guess quickly.”

  Liam eyed Quinn’s ill-concealed smirk. “Need I remind ye, that ye havena taken a turn either?”

  True. They were on the same side and on the opposite team, only Berget and Marjorie Kennedy had yet to demonstrate their acting skills.

  “We’re to have mulled cider when we’re done.” Skye swept her gaze around the room. “And wassail as well.”

  The old light had returned to her mesmerizing blue eyes and the healthy glow to her cheeks. This distraction was precisely what she’d needed.

  “I am so glad you suggested this gathering,” Marjorie Kennedy said. “I’ve missed celebrating Christmas.”

  “Let’s have at it then.” Liam turned another undiscernible glance on Quinn.

  He’d done that often of late, and Quinn had begun to consider he might’ve overstayed his welcome. Would he be asked to leave when the festivities ended?

  By thunder, he’d not be leaving without his beloved Skye.

  Liam cleared his throat, brushing his hand through his hair. He swiftly perused the slip of paper then wadded it into a tight little ball and tossed it in the fire.

  Emeline gave him an encouraging little nudge and directed what could only be called a secretive smile toward Skye.

  Quinn looked between Liam and his wife.

  What were they about?

  His discussion with Liam this afternoon had gone better than expected. He hadn’t committed to allowing Quinn to marry Skye. However, this time, he hadn’t said no outright, either.

  “I’m considerin’ yer request,” Liam had said with his usual severity. Clapping a hand on his nape, he cleared his throat again.

  He raised four fingers.

  “Four words,” Broden said.

  Liam nodded and held up one finger.

  “First word,” Dowager Baroness Penderhaven said, a rather surprising competitive gleam in her eyes, so like her son’s and daughter’s. She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Quinn’s grandmother who leaned forward a bit in anticipation.

  He pointed to his eye.

  “Eye. I?” Bethea Glanville cried, glancing around for approval.

  Nodding again, Liam displayed two fingers.

  “Second word,” Grandmother announced, unnecessarily.

  A combination of chagrin and concentration lining his face, he made a pushing motion.

  “Shove.”

  “Push.”

  “Thrust.”

  “Heave?”

  At the wild guesses, he harrumphed and pretended to shape a square box and offer it to Quinn.

  “We have to remember the clues are all Christmas themed,” Skye reminded them.

  “Och, well I dinna much like havin’ to portray the arse Mary sat upon,” Graeme Kennedy grumbled.

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  Liam emphasized the shape of a square package again.

  “Present?” Berget suggested.

  Marjorie Kennedy said, “Gift. That’s Christmas themed.”

  “Offering?” Quinn’s grandmother put in.

  Liam rolled his eyes ceilingward, a muscle in his jaw beginning to tic. He motioned emphatically from his chest to Quinn several times.

  “Bosoms?” Boden dared drolly, earning him a blistering glower from Kendra.

  Confused frowns and shrugs met Liam’s evermore terse gestures.

  “Oh, I think I know.” Skye waved her hand. “Give?”

  A grin split Liam’s face, and a flush of pleasure skimmed her face at her cleverness.

  “All right, we have I give so far,” Coburn Wallace murmured.

  Holding up three fingers, Liam pointed at Quinn.

  “What in the world?” The dowager baroness appeared completely lost. “I give Quinn? Does it sound like Quinn?”

  The others all began talking at once.

  “Fin?”

  “Sin?”

  “Twin?”

  “Spin?”

  Liam gesticulated harder.

  “Thin?”

  “Tin?”

  “Kin?”

  “Shin?”

  “Gin?”

  “Grin?”

  “Chin?”

  Releasing a loud, frustrated snort, Liam pointed at himself as he vigorously shook his head back and forth. He pointed his finger at Quinn and then everyone else and nodded like a lunatic or a drunkard.

  “Liam, my friend, ye’re dismal at this game.” Logan chuckled and received a thunderous scowl in return.

  I give…give what?

  Quinn flexed his eyes the merest bit, trying to pay attention, but he couldn’t keep his gaze off of Skye’s radiant face. She was having such a splendid time.

  Ye.

  All at once Quinn knew.

  I give ye…permission.

  He jerked his head up and met Liam’s gray gaze, a question in his own. He cut Skye a sideways glance then flicked his attention back to Liam.

  Liam gave the merest flex of his eyes and dip of his chin.

  “I give ye permission,” Quinn said softly, reverently. Almost unable to believe the truth of the words. He had permission to marry his cherished Skye.

  “Oohh,” Grandmother breathed, unfurling her ostrich feather fan and waving it furiously before her face as she blinked just as rapidly.

  “Aye.” Liam slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Badly done.” Kendra objected, giving Quinn a gimlet glare. “Quinn, ye solved it for them. How does that work for the scorekeepin’? And what in the wor
ld does that have to do with Christmastide?” She wrinkled her nose. “Logan is correct. Ye’re absolutely horrid at charades, Liam.”

  “Shh, my dear. I dinna believe the game’s up quite yet,” her mother said, smiling from ear to ear.

  The room gradually grew silent; quite a feat considering how many people were present. But it was as if everyone at once became aware that something more monumental than a nonsensical charade had taken place.

  Quinn pulled his coat straight and took the five short steps to where Skye sat.

  She cut her puzzled gaze behind him to Liam and then back to Quinn.

  Dropping to one knee, he gathered her hand in his.

  Her mouth parted into a startled “O”.

  Understanding swept over her face. Joy lit her eyes and a smile so luminous curved her face, the sun might’ve entered the room in all its incandescent glory.

  A collective gasp went up by the ladies, and the men made approving sounds in their throats.

  “Skye, my love. Will ye marry this humble man so unworthy of ye, but who loves ye more than mortal words can say?”

  Bobbing her head excitedly, the feathers in her wig threatening to take flight, Grandmother pointed her fan at Skye. “Yes. Yes. Oh, do say yes, my dear.”

  “Yes, yes.” Tears glistened in Skye’s azure eyes. She nodded so enthusiastically, two silky blonde curls escaped their pins and bounced to her nape. “I shall marry you.”

  As everyone applauded, he pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. “Thank ye, my love.”

  “I do believe that’s quite the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” The dowager baroness dabbed daintily at her eyes.

  “Liam, I amend my earlier comment about how horrid ye are at charades,” Logan said. “That was brilliant.”

  “This calls for a toast,” Graeme Kennedy announced. “Didna I hear somethin’ about mulled cider and wassail earlier?”

  “Indeed, ye did.” Emeline swept to the bell pull.

  Quinn stood, gently drawing Skye to her feet.

  She still appeared half-dazed.

  He well knew the feeling.

  “You didn’t tell me he gave his permission,” she said quietly, her words muffled in all the well wishes and good cheer.

  He leaned closer, speaking into her dainty ear. “He didna. He only said he wouldna say nae. I kent nothin’ about this.” He circled his hand in the air.

  In short order, everyone had a beverage of choice in hand, and Liam raised his glass. “To Quinn and Skye. May their happiness and joy be as vast as the ocean, and their troubles and sorrows as light as thistle down.”

  Tucking Skye to his side, Quinn drew her away from the others until they stood near the relative privacy of the window nook. Holding her hand, he took a swallow of the mulled wine. “Och, that’s a fine brew.” He lifted the cup, taking a deep breath of the aromatic mixtures. “I could well become accustomed to this.”

  “It does warm one through and through.” She took a dainty sip.

  “When do ye want to exchange vows, my love?” Pray God she didn’t want a long betrothal.

  “Would tomorrow be too soon?” she quipped.

  “No’ for me.”

  She sobered, considering him from beneath her lashes.

  “If you’ve no objections, I’d truly like to wed Christmas morning. I know it’s not entirely proper, considering I’m in mourning. But I feel in my heart, it’s right. I know my parents wouldn’t have objected if they were alive.” She gave his forearm an excited little squeeze. “We can begin our new life together as our friends are celebrating new-to-them Twelfth Night traditions, and we also commemorate Christ’s birth. What could be more perfect?”

  “Nothin’, my heart.” Clearing his throat, he glanced around the room. “May I have yer attention?”

  Once more, the drawing room settled into respectful silence.

  He gathered Skye’s hand in his, smiling into her shining face. “Ye came to celebrate the Christmas holiday, but Skye and I would be honored if ye’d also attend our weddin’ Christmas morn.”

  Epilogue

  Snow had fallen overnight, cloaking the frozen Highlands in a shimmering, pristine blanket.

  Utterly perfect for Christmas.

  Even more perfect for Skye’s wedding day. Her tummy tumbled over itself as Kendra finished arranging her hair. She tucked in a sprig of holly and ivy before standing back and admiring her handiwork.

  “Beautiful,” Kendra pronounced. “Never has there been a more stunnin’ Christmas bride.”

  Her eyes misty with emotion, Skye stood and hugged her cousin.

  “Yer mother and father would be so proud, Skye.” Aunt Louisa blinked rapidly, a watery smile bending her mouth. “And so verra pleased to see ye this happy.”

  “I am happy.” Blissfully so.

  Only a few short weeks ago, she’d wondered if she’d ever know contentment again, and now she knew a joy far beyond anything she might’ve conjured in her imagination. Because Quinn loved her.

  How appropriate during this season when the Christians around the world acknowledged the love and sacrifice of their Savior, she should find her way back from the darkness that had threatened to engulf her. Because of the gift of love Quinn had given her.

  Never would she underestimate the power of love again. Never.

  She kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. “Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”

  “’Tis been a pleasure, my dear.”

  Shaking out the folds of her gown, Skye brushed a slightly trembling hand over her elaborately embroidered stomacher as the crimson fabric settled around her feet. Her silk square-toed, ruby-colored shoes peaked from beneath the hem of the same gown she’d been wearing when Quinn proposed.

  The finest frock she owned, other than her ballgowns, it seemed most fitting to wed the man she adored above all else in the whole of the entire world in the gown she’d accepted his proposal in. She wore the same ruby jewels she’d worn the other night, as well as a magnificent diamond, pearl, and ruby Luckenbooth brooch.

  Her betrothal and Christmas gift from Quinn.

  He couldn’t wait until later when the others opened their gifts to present it to her. He’d wanted her to wear the token of his affection during the ceremony.

  Naturally, she readily complied.

  She could deny him nothing.

  Twenty minutes later, she stood outside the drawing room, her previous nerves having abated. Instead, a surreal calmness enveloped her at the rightness of what she was about to do. She and Quinn were destined to be together. She’d known that since he strode into the drawing room that fateful day and his spirit had touched hers across the space.

  Liam, looking ever so dashing in a cobalt velvet suit, waited to escort her inside.

  Emeline and Kendra acting as her attendants, each with a bouquet of holiday greenery, were positioned near the three-sided window nook.

  Broden McGregor stood beside Quinn, but his gaze flicked to Kendra every so often. An enigmatic expression would flit across his rugged features, only to vanish a second later, giving Skye reason to ponder if he was truly as off put by her as he proclaimed.

  Quinn smiled at Skye, and her blood sang with happiness.

  Her pulse quickened as she took in his somber black suit, his golden-brown hair neatly brushed, and presenting quite the most wonderful sight for a young bride. He would be her husband soon, joy of joys.

  She examined the festive room, now filled with smiling houseguests.

  Wearing an a la Grecque styled wig, Mrs. Dunwoodie sat beside Aunt Louisa.

  Skye sincerely hoped Emeline and Liam considered making the Christmas gathering an annual event.

  Would she be minutes away from becoming Quinn’s wife if she hadn’t dared to ask for a Christmas celebration? Had the holiday worked its magic on Liam and persuaded him to allow the match. Or had other, more powerful forces been at work?

  She had no way of knowin
g, of course, and it didn’t matter. In a few minutes, she’d be Mrs. Quinn Catherwood. Skye Catherwood, the happiest woman on earth.

  Liam approached and gave her a gentle smile. “Ye have nae doubts, lass? If ye do, I can call the weddin’ off with a single word.”

  She placed her palm on his forearm and clasped her other hand more firmly around the ribbon-wrapped stems of her bouquet. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  The string quartet struck their first chords and, taking a deep breath, she allowed her cousin to guide her to her groom.

  Liam took his position beside Broden, and the cleric cleared his throat.

  She couldn’t drag her attention from the wonderment and adoration on Quinn’s face. She must’ve answered the questions put to her, but the ceremony passed in a fog.

  I’m marrying Quinn

  Christmas wishes do come true.

  Then, Quinn was smiling, his eyes suspiciously moist, and applause resounded behind her. She blinked, coming out of her daze as he bent to brush his mouth over hers. “I love ye, leannan.”

  He started to lift his head, but Skye clasped his nape, giving him a naughty smile. “Oh, I think you can do better than that, Quinn.”

  A delighted matronly chuckle echoed behind her. “She’ll keep my grandson on his toes, to be sure.”

  Bedevilment glittered in his pale green eyes, and he scooped her against him. “Does my lady bride wish a Christmas kiss from her Highland groom?”

  “Oh, she does. She does.”

  And to her delight, and no doubt the astonishment of those looking on, he proceeded to kiss her most ardently and thoroughly.

  “Happy Christmas, darlin,” he whispered.

  Laughing, Skye cupped his cheek. “Happy life, my love.”

  THE END

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Collette Cameron

  Heart of a Scot Series

  To Love a Highland Laird

  To Redeem a Highland Rogue

  To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel

  To Woo a Highland Warrior

  To Enchant a Highland Earl

  To Defy a Highland Duke

  To Marry a Highland Marauder

  To Bargain with a Highland Buccaneer