Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  “Silence!” His voice boomed through the hall, reaching every nook and corner. When he had everyone’s ear, he covered Andrew’s shoulder with his palm. “Give attention to Andrew Harrison, who has something to say to the people of Camlochlin.”

  Leslie took a seat at her table and prayed that her brother showed gratitude to these people for their kindness. These were Highland men, not English. These were warriors, children of the ancient king of the Picts, Kenneth MacAlpine. They wouldn’t take kindly to cowards who ran at the first sign of trouble.

  And there was no reason to run. Her family would be safe here. No army would survive riding into Camlochlin with intentions of massacring its inhabitants for their religion.

  Andrew cleared his throat. Leslie closed her eyes.

  “My lord.” Her brother acknowledged the chief then waited while he regained his chair. “As the eldest of my family, allow me to express my gratitude to all of you for taking us in and giving us a safe haven despite the fact that we are Protestant. I know I speak for my family when I tell you all that Camlochlin has become our second home, but”—he dipped his gaze to his boots and cleared his throat again—“our first home awaits, and it is time we left.”

  Leslie’s gaze met Finn’s across the span of tables. She’d known the day would come when her brothers would want to leave this place, and now the day was upon her. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She wanted to stay, but Andrew would never allow it unless she was wed. Was that what Finn wanted to ask her later? To be his wife? Oh, she prayed it was. She would say yes, of course! She smiled at him across the crowded hall. She couldn’t wait to meet him later.

  “Ye’re always welcome here, Harrison,” the chief told him, rising to his feet once again and facing the crowd. “We hope ye’ll stay until the Twelfth Night and then I’ll see ye off with an escort to England.”

  “You have my thanks, Rob, but we’re not returning to England,” Andrew told him, surprising Leslie enough to drag her eyes from Finn to her brother. “And we already have an escort. James Douglas, Marquess of Dumfriesshire is going to meet us across the Narrows in Glenelg and then escort us to Dumfries.”

  What? Her family was returning to Dumfries? Leslie shot to her feet and tugged on her brother’s sleeve. She didn’t want to go back there. She didn’t care if the Stuart king was about to be deposed and they no longer had to fear what he might do to heretics next. Dumfries held bleak, dark memories she never wanted to return to. Her father had died there, along with dozens of others she knew, husbands, brothers, sons, and daughters. She didn’t want to go back there and she could only imagine her mother felt the same.

  “Brother, I would have a word. What does Mother—”

  “Later.” Andrew’s gaze warned her not to argue, at least not in the company of others. “Please return to your seat.”

  Leslie obliged, albeit with hands rolled into fists at her sides. They would speak later, all right.

  “Andrew.” Now it was Finn who stood from his chair. He glanced at his chief and then at her. When he did, his smile softened on her and seeped through her bones, making her smile back. “There’s something I’d like to ask of ye.”

  Leslie’s heart beat so frantically she feared it might break free of her ribs and fly straight into his hands. Was he going to ask for her now? She hoped so. She prayed so. She loved him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, here in Camlochlin.

  “Before you do—” Andrew held up his palm to stop him, but Finn hadn’t taken his eyes off her, so he didn’t see. He obviously didn’t hear him either.

  “I know I’m not worthy of her, and there are likely many other men who could give her finer riches than I could, but I love yer sister and I—”

  “Finn, I must—” Andrew interrupted him again.

  This time, Leslie didn’t hold back and sprang to her feet. “And I love him!” She didn’t look at Andrew or Alan or anyone else but Finn. She wanted to laugh at the relief in his expression. Did he honestly not know how she felt all this time?

  “I’m sorry…both of you, but…my sister is betrothed to another.”

  Leslie blinked up at her brother, certain that her ears had just deceived her and there was no reason that her heart should be lying shattered at her feet. “What?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to.

  “I said,” Andrew repeated, sounding more contrite this time, meeting her gaze, “you have been promised to someone else.”

  Chapter 3

  She couldn’t be betrothed. It was the only thing going through Finn’s mind while he looked toward Rob. It was impossible. He’d gone to Rob weeks after the Harrisons arrived, inquiring about Leslie and if she was already promised to another. According to her eldest brother and guardian, she wasn’t. Nae. He had to have heard wrong. She couldn’t be promised to someone else. She was to be his.

  “Andrew Harrison,” he said, his voice hoarse with the emotion he fought to hold back. “What is the meaning of yer deceit? Is it because I am Catholic that ye don’t want her with me? Because I’m a Highlander, mayhap? Or does it have more to do with my kinship to the MacGregors?”

  “No, I…I… ,” Harrison stammered.

  “Why else would ye speak of her betrothal fer the first time since ye came here?”

  Finn could hear Andrew’s heart beating in the silence that had descended on the hall—or was it his own heart that echoed in his ears?

  “There has been no deceit here, Finn,” Leslie’s brother offered. “Her betrothal is a recent occurrence. It is—”

  “Recent?” Finn raked his gaze over the men in the Hall. His kin, his friends. If one of them…Who is it? Who have ye promised her to?”

  “Andrew.” It was Leslie who spoke, her eyes wide with dread. “What is this about? Please say you jest.”

  Her brother couldn’t look at her, which tempted Finn to leap over the table and pull the life from his throat.

  “I intended on telling you sooner,” Andrew began quietly. “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Leslie. But we have no choice. We are going home, sister—to the place of our birth and the land of our father.”

  “No.”

  Andrew continued on as if she had said nothing.

  “Sadly, there will be little welcome for us since we’ve been branded traitors to the faith. Our old neighbors think us Catholic and have even promised to turn us over to Prince William’s men upon our return.”

  “Then would it not be best to keep yer family safe here?” Rob put to him.

  Andrew shook his head. “I don’t know how much longer it will be safe for us here. I know the men of Camlochlin are mighty and numerous, but you won’t hold up against William’s army.”

  “Leslie will—”

  “Be safe for certain in Dumfries,” Andrew turned to Finn, finishing the sentence for him. “I have secured it. She must come with us. It is where she belongs.”

  “Do not speak for me so!” Leslie protested.

  Her brother looked at her, his gaze soft and shadowed with regret. “You are promised to the Marquess of Dumfriesshire—” His eyes fled from her when she fell back into her seat. “It was the only way to get our home back and to guarantee our safety,” he explained, more to the rest of them than to her. “As I said, the people of Dumfries whisper that we’ve turned away from our faith. The Douglases are a powerful family. They sit in Parliament and have secured influence by marrying into Scottish and European royal houses. The marquess has promised to protect us from a scandal that could cost us our lives with the new Protestant king. To prove his support to us”—he finally turned back to Leslie—“he’s agreed to take your hand.”

  Finn’s heart beat furiously against his ears, shattering the silence in the Hall. Unable to move, he stood in his spot while something he’d never felt before coursed through his veins. Something that men like his brother, Connor, and Colin MacGregor had trained and harnessed while he’d learned to play musical instruments. He wasn’t born to be a warrior like mo
st of the others here. Until now, he was what he’d always wanted to be—the chief’s bard.

  “Harrison, I warn ye. I will kill the man who takes her from me.”

  “Finn.”

  He didn’t acknowledge Rob or the two men who appeared at his sides to take hold of his arms. He simply waited for Andrew to acknowledge him. He could do it. He could kill a man for her. He would go to war for her. Why now? Why her? Why hadn’t he asked her to be his wife sooner? He’d known he loved her soon after she arrived at Camlochlin with her sassy tongue and hips to match. Och, saints, he couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her.

  “Tell the marquess that ye’ve changed yer mind and ye won’t trade yer sister over like a sack of barley. Tell him that she belongs to another, and if he wishes to go to swords with me over it, ye’ll bring him to Skye.”

  Andrew shook his head. “I cannot tell him such—”

  The two men holding on to Finn turned out to be cousins Will and Tristan MacGregor. Thankfully, they both possessed quick reflexes and caught him before he leaped forward in Andrew’s direction.

  “Finn.” This time, the warning in the chief’s voice drew Finn’s gaze to him. “Wait ootside.”

  Finn hesitated, but only for a moment. There was no one he trusted more than Rob. He wouldn’t dishonor him by disobeying his orders in front of everyone. The chief knew he loved Leslie—and not just because his wife, Davina, had told him. Rob was Finn’s closest friend and as such, he would make certain that Andrew understood the consequences of refusing the only request put to him.

  And so, Finn left, unfettered by either Will or Tristan. He met Leslie’s gaze when he turned to have a last look at her. Every bone, muscle, and nerve ending in his body resisted the direction his feet were taking him. He ached to go to her, to draw her into his arms and vow to never let her go.

  He would. Later. When this was all over.

  He met Andrew’s gaze and then Alan’s with a murderous glare of his own.

  Leslie was his and he wasn’t about to let those two stop him from having her.

  Chapter 4

  “I don’t care if you’ve already signed a pact with James Douglas for my hand,” Leslie argued with her family when they returned to their mother’s chambers later that night. “The chief has offered us permanent residency here. King William won’t send his armies so far north. You’ve nothing to fear,” she pleaded. “We don’t have to do what the Douglases say. We can live in safety here. We can—”

  “Camlochlin is not our home, sister,” Andrew cut her off gently from his place by the window. “Our roots are not here. Father would not have approved of—”

  “Father is dead,” she reminded him, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Yes,” Alan said. “Killed by a Catholic king to whom these Highlanders swear fealty.”

  “We’re not Highlanders,” Andrew said more gently when she glared at Alan, “nor are we fashioned for such an existence. The winter season is long here, and the days are brief. They rarely receive visitors. They do little more than work, eat, sleep, drink, and have more children.”

  “What more is there to do even in Dumfries?” Leslie asked him. “At least here they live and laugh with purpose and vigor. The women are happy and the children are well fed.”

  “Leslie—” Andrew tried to interrupt her.

  “I don’t trust the marquess.” At least not what she remembered of him. He had to be past his fortieth year. About the same age her father would have been had he lived. “The MacGregor doesn’t trust him either. You saw how angry he appeared when you told him the Douglases were on their way to Glenelg to escort us back.”

  “The MacGregors don’t trust anyone,” Alan interjected derisively.

  Leslie ignored him. “Why would the marquess do anything for us at all? It’s been many years since we saw him. What does he want from us that he’s being so helpful?”

  Andrew glanced up at her. “You.”

  Her spine quivered with a thread of revulsion. He didn’t even know her. “I wish to remain here with Finn,” she told Andrew before he had chance to say anything else. She didn’t care what he thought of her falling in love with a Highlander. Going home to Dumfries was bad enough, marrying an old man who had more up his sleeve than taking a young bride was too much. “Sarah can look after me—”

  “Look to your mother.” Alan rose from his chair. “She doesn’t want to stay here. Would you have her punished because Andrew broke his agreement with Douglas? Would you deprive her of returning to the home her husband built? What about Elizabeth and Margaret and our children? Would you put their lives in danger?”

  Leslie’s eyes fell to her mother, swallowed up in one of Camlochlin’s enormous chairs. She hadn’t thought about what her mother wanted in all this. She remembered how Helen Harrison constantly spoke of Dumfries after they had moved to England. She’d lost so much. First, her eldest daughter, Sarah, had married Captain George Gates and moved away to Essex. Then her husband was slaughtered on a field, where he’d been praying, unarmed. Finally, she had been forced to give up her home to keep her sons alive. Now they had a chance to go back. Was it fair to prevent her mother from having what she longed for?

  But what about what she longed for?

  “Mother, I thought you were beginning to care for Brodie MacGregor. You and he spent much time in each other’s company. You seemed happy for the first time since—”

  “Leslie,” Alan admonished before she went any further, “Brodie MacGregor is barbaric. You cannot possibly imagine that our mother would consort with him.”

  Leslie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. When had her brother become such a snob…and such an ungrateful one at that? She was about to ask him when her mother stood up from her seat.

  “Alan, Andrew, leave us. I wish a word alone with your sister.”

  Neither man protested, giving their mother the respect owed to her. When they were alone, Helen Harrison tossed her daughter a fretful glance and then looked away. “He asked me to marry him.”

  Leslie subdued the urge to fling her arms around her mother and congratulate her. “Is that why you ended things with him?”

  “Of course.” Her mother wrung her hands together and turned toward the window, away from Leslie’s knowing gaze. “I loved your father. How can I betray his memory?”

  “Mother—”

  Her mother drew out a long sigh and turned back to her. “Do you remember when Sarah was eight years old and she enlisted your aid in baking a shortbread for your father for Christmastide?”

  Leslie smiled with her, remembering. “I was three. She told me to add flour to the mixture so I hurried and retrieved the thistles that grew by the door. I thought Father would like the color.”

  Helen laughed softly. “He ate that shortbread and didn’t let on to either of you how he nearly choked to death.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “Yes. He was.”

  “He would want you to be happy, Mother. It has been almost seven years.”

  Helen’s smile faded and she shook her head. “Not with a Highlander, Leslie.” She walked toward the door to leave the room. “Not for me, and not for his daughter. We belong at home.”

  Leslie looked after her, refusing to let the tears forming at the rims of her eyes fall.

  When her brothers returned a few moments later, she had managed to compose herself. She didn’t care if her father would have approved of Finn or not. Let her mother run back to her past to avoid her future. Leslie wouldn’t do the same.

  “Has Mother talked sense back into you?” Alan asked, falling into the chair their mother had occupied earlier.

  “Nae, she hasn’t. I want to remain here.”

  “With your barbarian?”

  “Alan, they are not barbarians. Finn is a poet!”

  “Come now.” he said, the words rolling off his tongue. “Don’t appear so offended. You know as well as I that these people, the women included, would cut your th
roat and then go eat with their precious whiskey and song. Don’t think your poet is any different. You heard him well enough when he threatened Andrew.”

  “You know perfectly well, Finn would never harm any of us,” she argued.

  “We know nothing of the sort,” Alan told her, “which is why we let ourselves into Colin’s chambers and stole two of his pistols. Damn, but he had many to choose from. The man is a—”

  They would shoot Finn? “Alan, you would bring us to war with the MacGregors and the Grants! We would all be killed. Are you mad?”

  “It’s not something I want to do, sister. But we must defend ourselves should he come at us with a sword.”

  This changed everything. God help her, this was truly happening. “He won’t. He wouldn’t.”

  “Even for you?” Andrew asked her.

  Leslie turned to him. Yes, for her, he might.

  “Is there not another way?” she asked Andrew quietly. “I don’t wish to marry the marquess.”

  “You wish to marry Grant,” Alan said, sounding disgusted. “A Catholic Highlander.”

  Before she could tell him what she thought of him, Andrew stood up from his chair. “There’s no other way, Leslie. The marquess and I have been corresponding for more than a month about this. Prince William will be crowned soon and our lives can return to normal. The Douglases are almost as influential in England’s courts as the Campbells. With their support, none will dare voice accusation about us being anything but Protestant. We can go home and live in peace. If I go back on my word with him now, who knows what he will do. Think of Mother. Think of her safety. Surely she has voiced to you her desire to leave here.”

  Yes, because she’s running away from being happy again. Leslie’s stomach turned. Her heart pounded between her ears. It was all so extraordinary that just a few years ago they’d been hunted by a Catholic king, and now they had to trade off their own to keep Protestant tongues from sentencing them.