Christmas in the Scot's Arms (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 3)

by Julie Johnstone

  A few moments later, she sat squashed in a carriage between her mother and Aila as they raced, on Cecelia’s command, toward the dueling green.

  Cecelia took her mother’s hand in hers. “Did you tell Liam—”

  Her mother gasped at Cecelia’s use of Liam’s proper name.

  Cecelia just grinned. “Did you tell him how terribly I feel for being so cross and ridiculous and how I went to see him?”

  Her mother shook her head. “I thought perhaps it might be best coming from you. I know, if it were me, I would want to hear such wonderful news from the lips of the lady who had my heart and not her mother, who had been so horrid. I did tell him not to give up hope, though.”

  The heaviness in her chest lifted as she leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. Not only had Liam given her love but he had given her mother—the wonderful, caring, thoughtful lady she had once been—back to Cecelia.

  Defeating Tarrymount in the duel was not satisfying in the least. Perhaps because the man had cried like a wee babe the entire time and blubbered that Hawkins had threatened to expose Tarrymount’s own gambling debts if he had not helped Hawkins besmirch Cecelia’s name, but more likely it was because Liam feared nothing would bring Cecelia back to him. He felt nothing but darkness. Despite Cecelia’s mother telling him not to give up hope, he worried his withholding the truth from her was an unforgivable breach of her trust.

  As Tarrymount climbed into his carriage with the aid of Hawkins—who had been too afraid to get out of the carriage, though he was supposed to be Tarrymount’s second—Liam bent down and wiped his blade against the grass to clean it. Immediately after the duel was over, he had sent Alistair away, when his younger brother had told him that he should just forget Cecelia, so when Liam heard carriage wheels turn behind him, he assumed Tarrymount and Hawkins were now departing.

  Liam squatted there and thought upon if he should go to Lady Burton’s home today. Perhaps it was too soon. He did not want to push Cecelia further away, but he missed her with an ache that throbbed in his chest. As a bird call filled the silent glade, Liam squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Cecelia standing there in front of him. He thought about what he would say to her if she were here.

  “I’m a fool,” he said aloud. “I listened to my head when I should have heeded my heart. I love ye. I love ye, and I cannot imagine life without ye. I want to wrap ye in my arms and carry ye away to my home where I will keep ye hidden away in our bedchamber, worshipping yer body until I know every curve, every dip, every gentle swell of ye by heart.”

  “Oh, that sounds perfectly wonderful,” a soft voice said.

  Liam’s eyes flew open, and he glanced up at Cecelia, who was standing not a few steps from him. The sun shone down upon her, almost drawing a bright halo over her head.

  As he stood, his heart thundered. “Cecelia, I am verra sorry.”

  She rushed to him and wrapped her arms about his neck. It was all the invitation he needed. He held her tightly to him and buried his face in her fragrant hair. “I love ye, I love ye. I was a fool. Please say ye will marry me.”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. She pressed her mouth to his to claim a kiss as only his bold, bonny future bride would dare to do. He took advantage of the moment to show her, through his kiss, the hold she had upon his heart. When they parted, he felt smugly confident that he had succeeded by her lovely, disheveled state. Her rosy, swollen lips and slumberous eyes made him quite happy.

  She raised her hand to his cheek and cupped it. “I came to see you yesterday to tell you what a fool I had been, but I saw you entering the Rochburns’ home with Miss Dentington on your arm, so I fled.”

  His chest squeezed mercilessly that she had been caused more pain by such an innocent thing. Francis had caught him unaware as he had been going up the steps to the townhome, and she had slipped her arm in his. “Cecelia, I assure ye—”

  She pressed her finger to his lips. “There is no need to assure me of your love. I know it’s mine, Liam, and I have never had a greater treasure in all my life. I will never doubt you again.”

  “Nor I ye,” he vowed and sealed it with a kiss that left them both gasping.

  Cecelia splayed her fingers over his heart. “Now that,” she said with a devilish grin, “is a kiss worth having one’s reputation destroyed.”

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Dunvegan Castle

  Christmas Day

  “Darling,” Cecelia murmured as Liam showered delicious kisses over her belly, now swollen with child, and all the way up to her neck. He nuzzled her there and then moved onward to her lips, which he claimed in a passionate kiss that made her toes curl and stole her good sense. They really must get out of bed, get dressed, and go to the great hall to celebrate Christmastide with their guests. Her mother would be terribly cross that they were holding up the festivities, and it really was quite rude to keep Aila, Elizabeth, Aldridge, and Blackmore waiting. They had, after all, graciously traveled from London to Skye to spend Christmastide with them.

  Yet as Liam lavished her with slow, drugging kisses, her body came alive with the need to respond. Her husband, knowing her so very well, gave her all that she needed and more, so that it was not until much later that she could think past anything other than how he made her skin tingle, breath catch, and heart flutter, and how he gave her such happiness that she thought she would burst.

  As he threaded his fingers through her hair, she knew there was something she was forgetting, but she could not remember what. When her stomach growled, she gasped and immediately sat up. “You devil!” she exclaimed playfully. “You knew you would make me forget the festivities, but you cannot make me forget the feast!” She giggled. “Everyone must be starving!”

  “Nay,” he said, plating a kiss first on her forehead, then her nose, and finally her lips. He grinned at her as he stood, strode to the table in the far corner of the room, and came back holding the book of poetry he had purchased for her the previous year. “I told them to start without us. I wanted to read to the wee babe before we went down as ye said he’s been kicking a lot of late. And I knew ye would not take the time for yerself if I was not verra persuasive.”

  “You know I cannot argue with such a sweet gesture,” she replied, taking the kiss he gave her as he sat beside her.

  He put his hand on her belly and read a bit of Byron aloud. As he did so, the baby kicked as if to say he heard Liam, and then settled down and was still.

  She smiled at her husband. “How did you know it would calm him?”

  “He’s yer son, aye? Poetry calms ye, so I assumed it would him, as well.”

  “You know me so well, my love,” she replied, brimming with happiness. It was the simple truth, and it was all she needed.

  Also Available

  When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book 1)

  Chapter One

  England, 1357

  Faking her death would be simple. It was escaping her home that would be difficult. Marion de Lacy stared hard into the slowly darkening sky, thinking about the plan she intended to put into action tomorrow—if all went well—but growing uneasiness tightened her belly. From where she stood in the bailey, she counted the guards up in the tower. It was not her imagination: Father had tripled the knights keeping guard at all times, as if he was expecting trouble.

  Taking a deep breath of the damp air, she pulled her mother’s cloak tighter around her to ward off the twilight chill. A lump lodged in her throat as the wool scratched her neck. In the many years since her mother had been gone, Marion had both hated and loved this cloak for the death and life it represented. Her mother’s freesia scent had long since faded from the garment, yet simply calling up a memory of her mother wearing it gave Marion comfort.

  She rubbed her fingers against the rough material. When she fled, she couldn’t chance taking anything with her but the clothes on her body and this cloak. Her death had to appear accidental, and the cloak that everyone
knew she prized would ensure her freedom. Finding it tangled in the branches at the edge of the sea cliff ought to be just the thing to convince her father and William Froste that she’d drowned. After all, neither man thought she could swim. They didn’t truly care about her anyway. Her marriage to the blackhearted knight was only about what her hand could give the two men. Her father, Baron de Lacy, wanted more power, and Froste wanted her family’s prized land. A match made in Heaven, if only the match didn’t involve her…but it did.

  Father would set the hounds of Hell themselves to track her down if he had the slightest suspicion that she was still alive. She was an inestimable possession to be given to secure Froste’s unwavering allegiance and, therefore, that of the renowned ferocious knights who served him. Whatever small sliver of hope she had that her father would grant her mercy and not marry her to Froste had been destroyed by the lashing she’d received when she’d pleaded for him to do so.

  The moon crested above the watchtower, reminding her why she was out here so close to mealtime: to meet Angus. The Scotsman may have been her father’s stable master, but he was her ally, and when he’d proposed she flee England for Scotland, she’d readily consented.

  Marion looked to the west, the direction from which Angus would return from Newcastle. He should be back any minute now from meeting his cousin and clansman Neil, who was to escort her to Scotland. She prayed all was set and that Angus’s kin was ready to depart. With her wedding to Froste to take place in six days, she wanted to be far away before there was even the slightest chance he’d be making his way here. And since he was set to arrive the night before the wedding, leaving tomorrow promised she’d not encounter him.

  A sense of urgency enveloped her, and Marion forced herself to stroll across the bailey toward the gatehouse that led to the tunnel preceding the drawbridge. She couldn’t risk raising suspicion from the tower guards. At the gatehouse, she nodded to Albert, one of the knights who operated the drawbridge mechanism. He was young and rarely questioned her excursions to pick flowers or find herbs.

  “Off to get some medicine?” he inquired.

  “Yes,” she lied with a smile and a little pang of guilt. But this was survival, she reminded herself as she entered the tunnel. When she exited the heavy wooden door that led to freedom, she wasn’t surprised to find Peter and Andrew not yet up in the twin towers that flanked the entrance to the drawbridge. It was, after all, time for the changing of the guard.

  They smiled at her as they put on their helmets and demi-gauntlets. They were an imposing presence to any who crossed the drawbridge and dared to approach the castle gate. Both men were tall and looked particularly daunting in their full armor, which Father insisted upon at all times. The men were certainly a fortress in their own right.

  She nodded to them. “I’ll not be long. I want to gather some more flowers for the supper table.” Her voice didn’t even wobble with the lie.

  Peter grinned at her, his kind brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “Will you pick me one of those pale winter flowers for my wife again, Marion?”

  She returned his smile. “It took away her anger as I said it would, didn’t it?”

  “It did,” he replied. “You always know just how to help with her.”

  “I’ll get a pink one if I can find it. The colors are becoming scarcer as the weather cools.”

  Andrew, the younger of the two knights, smiled, displaying a set of straight teeth. He held up his covered arm. “My cut is almost healed.”

  Marion nodded. “I told you! Now maybe you’ll listen to me sooner next time you’re wounded in training.”

  He gave a soft laugh. “I will. Should I put more of your paste on tonight?”

  “Yes, keep using it. I’ll have to gather some more yarrow, if I can find any, and mix up another batch of the medicine for you.” And she’d have to do it before she escaped. “I better get going if I’m going to find those things.” She knew she should not have agreed to search for the flowers and offered to find the yarrow when she still had to speak to Angus and return to the castle in time for supper, but both men had been kind to her when many had not. It was her way of thanking them.

  After Peter lowered the bridge and opened the door, she departed the castle grounds, considering her plan once more. Had she forgotten anything? She didn’t think so. She was simply going to walk straight out of her father’s castle and never come back. Tomorrow, she’d announce she was going out to collect more winter blooms, and then, instead, she would go down to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. She would slip off her cloak and leave it for a search party to find. Her breath caught deep in her chest at the simple yet dangerous plot. The last detail to see to was Angus.

  She stared down the long dirt path that led to the sea and stilled, listening for hoofbeats. A slight vibration of the ground tingled her feet, and her heart sped in hopeful anticipation that it was Angus coming down the dirt road on his horse. When the crafty stable master appeared with a grin spread across his face, the worry that was squeezing her heart loosened. For the first time since he had ridden out that morning, she took a proper breath. He stopped his stallion alongside her and dismounted.

  She tilted her head back to look up at him as he towered over her. An errant thought struck. “Angus, are all Scots as tall as you?”

  “Nay, but ye ken Scots are bigger than all the wee Englishmen.” Suppressed laughter filled his deep voice. “So even the ones nae as tall as me are giants compared te the scrawny men here.”

  “You’re teasing me,” she replied, even as she arched her eyebrows in uncertainty.

  “A wee bit,” he agreed and tousled her hair. The laughter vanished from his eyes as he rubbed a hand over his square jaw and then stared down his bumpy nose at her, fixing what he called his “lecturing look” on her. “We’ve nae much time. Neil is in Newcastle just as he’s supposed te be, but there’s been a slight change.”

  She frowned. “For the last month, every time I wanted to simply make haste and flee, you refused my suggestion, and now you say there’s a slight change?”

  His ruddy complexion darkened. She’d pricked that MacLeod temper her mother had always said Angus’s clan was known for throughout the Isle of Skye, where they lived in the farthest reaches of Scotland. Marion could remember her mother chuckling and teasing Angus about how no one knew the MacLeod temperament better than their neighboring clan, the MacDonalds of Sleat, to which her mother had been born. The two clans had a history of feuding.

  Angus cleared his throat and recaptured Marion’s attention. Without warning, his hand closed over her shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “I’m sorry te say it so plain, but ye must die at once.”

  Her eyes widened as dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “What? Why?” The sudden fear she felt was unreasonable. She knew he didn’t mean she was really going to die, but her palms were sweating and her lungs had tightened all the same. She sucked in air and wiped her damp hands down the length of her cotton skirts. Suddenly, the idea of going to a foreign land and living with her mother’s clan, people she’d never met, made her apprehensive.

  She didn’t even know if the MacDonalds—her uncle, in particular, who was now the laird—would accept her or not. She was half-English, after all, and Angus had told her that when a Scot considered her English bloodline and the fact that she’d been raised there, they would most likely brand her fully English, which was not a good thing in a Scottish mind. And if her uncle was anything like her grandfather had been, the man was not going to be very reasonable. But she didn’t have any other family to turn to who would dare defy her father, and Angus hadn’t offered for her to go to his clan, so she’d not asked. He likely didn’t want to bring trouble to his clan’s doorstep, and she didn’t blame him.

  Panic bubbled inside her. She needed more time, even if it was only the day she’d thought she had, to gather her courage.

  “Why must I flee tonight? I was to teach Eustice how to dress a wound. She might serve as
a maid, but then she will be able to help the knights when I’m gone. And her little brother, Bernard, needs a few more lessons before he’s mastered writing his name and reading. And Eustice’s youngest sister has begged me to speak to Father about allowing her to visit her mother next week.”

  “Ye kinnae watch out for everyone here anymore, Marion.”

  She placed her hand over his on her shoulder. “Neither can you.”

  Their gazes locked in understanding and disagreement.

  He slipped his hand from her shoulder, and then crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that screamed stubborn, unyielding protector. “If I leave at the same time ye feign yer death,” he said, changing the subject, “it could stir yer father’s suspicion and make him ask questions when none need te be asked. I’ll be going home te Scotland soon after ye.” Angus reached into a satchel attached to his horse and pulled out a dagger, which he slipped to her. “I had this made for ye.”

  Marion took the weapon and turned it over, her heart pounding. “It’s beautiful.” She held it by its black handle while withdrawing it from the sheath and examining it. “It’s much sharper than the one I have.”

  “Aye,” he said grimly. “It is. Dunnae forget that just because I taught ye te wield a dagger does nae mean ye can defend yerself from all harm. Listen te my cousin and do as he says. Follow his lead.”

  She gave a tight nod. “I will. But why must I leave now and not tomorrow?”

  Concern filled Angus’s eyes. “Because I ran into Froste’s brother in town and he told me that Froste sent word that he would be arriving in two days.”

  Marion gasped. “That’s earlier than expected.”

  “Aye,” Angus said and took her arm with gentle authority. “So ye must go now. I’d rather be trying te trick only yer father than yer father, Froste, and his savage knights. I want ye long gone and yer death accepted when Froste arrives.”