Draycott Everlasting: Christmas KnightMoonrise

by Christina Skye

  “Hey, that’s cheating. No holding and no lifting,” she protested.

  He laughed as she stuck snow down the front of his shirt and smeared it over his chest. Another snowball, pulled from inside the tail of her cap, was ground over his face.

  “Come on, MacLeod. You’re losing here and you don’t even know it.” She sputtered as he scooped up snow in one hand and dangled it with silent menace over her head. “I don’t think you’re going to use that.”

  His smile grew. “No?” Snow sprinkled over her cheeks, sparkling on her eyelashes. “Do you still think so?”

  She glared, all warrior. “So you surprised me. Now I go to strategy two.”

  “Strategy two?”

  Her fingers burrowed beneath his jacket and sweater, aimed unerringly for his chest. “MacLeod, you’re soaked.”

  “It feels good.” His grin grew. “So do you.”

  “Don’t change the subject. A snowball fight is serious business.” A dimple flashed at her cheek. “Give up yet?”

  “Never.” His voice was grave, full of rough challenge.

  “And you still refuse to put me down?”

  His brow rose. “Is that a threat, Ms. O’Hara?”

  “Too bloody right it is.” She attacked in earnest, tickling every bare inch she could reach, uncovering ribs and chest and sides until MacLeod shook from the effort to hold back his laughter. He tried to catch her hands, but couldn’t without putting her down. His eyes promised retribution even as he twisted beneath her lethal fingers.

  “You’ll never win, MacLeod. Cry uncle.”

  “Why would I want to complain to a relative?”

  “Surrender, I mean.” She traced his sensitive ribs, besieging him with yet another attack.

  When his sides ached and her touch threatened to reduce him to lunacy, MacLeod launched a defense of his own. “One unfair tactic deserves another,” he muttered, then locked his mouth to hers and let the heat shoot through both of them.

  Over the hammer of his heart, he heard Hope’s little gasp settle into a sigh. He grinned as she wrapped her hands around his snow-covered neck. “Cheat. That was unfair tactics,” she protested. “And I was so sure you were a man of honor.”

  “I seem to forget all my honor around you,” he said gravely.

  “Good.” Her mouth softened and she skimmed his lips with her own, merciless and slow. He responded with dark urgency, trapping her for the touch he must have or die. He felt the thunder of her heart as he sank to his knees in the snow, keeping her locked in his arms.

  When had the night grown so still and his need so great? Why did the little star seem to wink and gleam at them from the tree?

  Then MacLeod simply didn’t care. He shoved off her hat, cursing. “Hope, sweet Hope.” His hands twisted in her hair as he scattered kisses over her face and neck. “I tried to stay away. By St. Julian, I tried to forget your scent and the feel of your mouth.”

  She wriggled closer. “Why?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do. I have nothing to offer, no worth and no future. All I have is a past too immense to share. In every way that counts I am a failure.”

  She trapped his cheeks, her eyes furious. “Now you’re getting me really angry. You can save a kitten, train a horse and repair the most wretched stove. Those figures you carved look like perfect historical replicas. You could probably be a millionaire inside of a year if you put your mind to it.” Her hands tightened. “So don’t tell me you’re a failure, with nothing to offer.”

  His jaw hardened. “I don’t have anything to offer. Not one shred of what you deserve. And any minute, time might shift and I might have to go—”

  “Go?” Her voice broke. “Go where? What do you mean?”

  He saw the loss in her eyes and realized it was too late for them. The line was crossed, whether he wanted it so or not. By some deep mystery, her heart was given, just as his was. Now they would have to bear the consequences, whether in joy or sorrow.

  “MacLeod, talk to me. What did you mean?”

  “Nothing, my heart. Not a thing that matters.” A lopsided smile twisted his mouth. “Can’t you do any better than that for a kiss, woman?”

  He winced as powder bombarded his head. Then they were tumbling over the new-fallen snow, giggling like noisy children. Neither could find bare skin fast enough. Her hands raced over his waist; his palm nudged her breast. And they froze.

  Snow drifted into their eyes and longing drummed in their veins. “This counts, Hope,” MacLeod whispered. “This will change things. So tell me what we’re doing.”

  “The right thing,” Hope answered, pulling him down for a searching kiss that left them both gasping.

  His jacket hit the snow with a hiss. Her scarf caught on his shoulders, then sailed through the air and dangled crazily from the fir tree. The night was breathless with need and dreams when he rolled to his back, cushioning her from the cold as he drew her down on top of him.

  “I’ve never wanted like this before, Hope. No woman ever.” He ran a line of soft kisses up her neck, delighting in her shuddered response as she arched against him.

  And I will never feel this way again, MacLeod knew with absolute certainty. There would be no pleasure in any other woman, no joy in any other’s kiss. Not after touching her.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, loving the feel of her body against him. Loving how she shifted restlessly, thighs to his thighs, wanting in her eyes.

  He covered her heart, feeling her pulse race, just as wild as his. She shuddered as he palmed her breast, sighed as he grazed the hardening nipple.

  MacLeod had never been a reckless man, but now he was. He wanted to look at her and then bring his mouth slowly everywhere his eyes had savored. He wanted to find her pulse points and leave her panting when he drove her over the edge of pleasure.

  Honor or not, he would have all those things from her now.

  Lights filtered through the dense snow. Blinking, he raised his head and gradually made out two fiery circles of light like torches. A car?

  He scowled at the noisy modern conveyance, an entirely unsatisfactory substitute for a horse. The lights drew closer. Whoever it was wasn’t stopping.

  “A car,” he rasped, shoving down Hope’s sweater, trying to straighten her clothes and order his ragged thoughts. “Someone—coming.”

  “Car?” She sat up, frowning. “But who—why—”

  Tires crunched over the snow, then skidded to a halt. A metal door creaked.

  “Good Lord, I almost didn’t see you there in the snow.” A man’s voice boomed out, hard with anxiety. “I’m bloody sorry to intrude, considering that you two were—” He cleared his voice. “We were supposed to arrive earlier, but I’m afraid we were lost in the snow. It was a hard drive through those last mountains. Bad timing, I’m afraid.”

  Terrible timing, MacLeod thought. He pushed to his feet, blocking Hope from view. “What town are you searching for?”

  The man in the parka brushed snow off his face, frowning. “The town of Glenbrae. We must have taken a wrong turn over the last ridge, because the place we want is supposed to be very near.”

  “What place is that?”

  “A historic inn, Glenbrae House. I don’t suppose you know it, do you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  HOPE STRUGGLED TO HER feet, brushing snow from her hair. “In that case you’re right where you’re supposed to be. I’m Hope O’Hara, the owner of Glenbrae House. This is my friend, Ronan MacLeod. But do you have reservations?”

  The man in the parka nodded. “We faxed them last week.”

  The snow was growing heavier, and Hope shivered. “I’m afraid we didn’t receive any faxes, but we do have rooms available.”

  “I’m delighted and relieved to hear it. My wife and daughter are still in the car. I think they’d given up hope of ever reaching Glenbrae.” The man smiled with devastating charm as he shook Hope’s hand. “I’m Nicholas Draycott. I did wonder when we didn’
t have a return confirmation from you. We tried to phone several times en route, but there seemed to be an electrical problem.”

  “The storm might have toppled the lines.” Hope shivered as snow swirled through the courtyard, eddying around the tree and manger. “I expect you’ll want to get inside and warm up.” She smiled awkwardly at Ronan as he draped her scarf around her shoulders. “Maybe we all should.”

  The car door burst open again and a small, muffled figure exploded over the snow. “Daddy,” she called anxiously, “is this the place at last? We’ve been driving forever over those mountains.” She held out a worn stuffed bear. “I can’t keep Mr. Gibbs awake any longer.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m feeling tired, too.”

  Nicholas Draycott swung his daughter up into his arms, making her squeal with delight. “Yes, it’s the right place, imp. Soon you and Mr. Gibbs will be tucked into a nice, warm bed before a roaring fire.”

  “With some cookies and a cocoa,” Hope suggested, after a questioning look at the child’s father.

  “I’m sure Mr. Gibbs would like that.” Nicholas Draycott tousled the blond hair spilling beneath his daughter’s cap. “I expect Miss Vee would enjoy it, too. Genevieve, meet Ms. O’Hara. She owns Glenbrae House.”

  Genevieve Draycott shook hands, gurgling with laughter, cut short by another yawn.

  “Are we at the right place, Nicholas?” A tall woman with shining blond hair and high, etched cheekbones stepped out into the snow. Her smile was genuine and her accent was distinctly American, Hope noticed.

  “It looks so, Kacey. This is Hope O’Hara. She has just promised Vee and Mr. Gibbs some cookies and hot cocoa inside.”

  “It sounds divine. Maybe they’ll share.” Lady Draycott’s laugh was engaging as she offered her hand to Hope. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms. O’Hara. We’ve heard such wonderful things about this house and how you’ve restored it. Nicholas’s estate is very old, so we have a fair notion of all the headaches of owning a historic house. Draycott Abbey has been in his family for generations, and though we both love it, at times it seems the house is conspiring to overwhelm us.”

  Draycott Abbey. The name was vaguely familiar to Hope, but she couldn’t say why. “You live in the Southeast, I take it?”

  “On the border of Kent,” Nicholas said. “But we had our hearts set on Scotland for Christmas, and we weren’t to be deterred.”

  Genevieve leaned forward in her father’s arms, her eyes wide. “We have a moat and swans. But best of all, we have a real live ghost.”

  “Now, that must keep you and Mr. Gibbs busy,” Hope said.

  “Adrian is a perfect friend. He tells us grand stories about kings and popes and armies. He talks about bad ladies, too.” She frowned. “He seems to know a lot of them.”

  Nicholas brushed her cheek. “Vee, I thought we talked about that subject already.”

  “No, you talked and I listened, Daddy. That’s not a talk, that’s a lecture. Besides, Adrian is real. I see him every day, so I don’t think I should lie and say I don’t.”

  “I believe it’s time for bed,” Nicholas said firmly.

  “Come on, love, let’s go sort out the bags.” Kacey lifted her wriggling daughter to the ground.

  “In a minute.” The girl looked out at the snow, frowning. “I saw something over there by the fence.”

  Nicholas glanced worriedly at his wife, who shook her head.

  Seeing their uneasiness, Hope gently intervened. “I’ll take Genevieve up to the house, if you like, and see to your rooms. Ronan, would you help them with their bags?”

  On their way back to the car, Kacey and Genevieve stopped to admire the manger. “These pieces are very unusual. You can see the faces in perfect detail. Are they heirlooms?” Lady Draycott asked.

  “Actually, Mr. MacLeod made them.”

  “Really?” Kacey studied the figures intently. “I’ve never seen anything like this outside a museum.” She started to say more, but her daughter clutched at her hand.

  “I saw him, Mama. Over there by the fence. He had gray fur and black paws. It was Gideon, just like I told you before.”

  “He couldn’t be here, darling. Not all this way from the abbey. You probably saw a rabbit.”

  Her daughter’s lip quivered and she lowered her head. “It was Gideon,” she said tremulously.

  Kacey pulled her close, straightening her cap. “Maybe we should discuss Gideon later, my love. It would be rude to keep Ms. O’Hara and Mr. MacLeod waiting, don’t you think?”

  After a last, longing glance out into the snow, Genevieve nodded, but her eyes were sad. When her mother and father moved around to sort through the suitcases in the car, she went to stand beside Ronan, who was staring north toward the cliffs. “Do you see something, too?”

  He looked down at the small figure with a worn bear clutched to her chest. His smile was swift. “Not really. I just…felt something.”

  “I did, too.” She pointed gravely. “Over there past the fence. Mother says it was a rabbit, but she’s wrong. It was a cat. A great gray cat with black paws, just like the one I see back home.” She frowned. “He follows us sometimes.”

  “Now, I wonder why a cat would do that.”

  Mr. Gibbs wavered and nearly fell before Genevieve caught him. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think he’s protecting us. At least, that’s how he makes me feel. He’s got very special eyes.”

  “Then you must be lucky.” He brushed snow gently off her cap. “I never had a cat to protect me when I was your age.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes unnaturally grave. “I don’t think you would ever need to be protected.”

  “Now, there you might be wrong.” MacLeod stared off to the north, where snow now veiled the high cliffs. “We all need protecting sometime or another.”

  She tucked her hand confidingly into his. “Then I’ll ask Gideon to protect you, too. He won’t mind.”

  MacLeod’s eyes crinkled as he grinned down at her. “Gideon? Is he a friend of Mr. Gibbs?”

  “No, Mr. Gibbs is my favorite toy, but Gideon is real,” she said firmly. “He can do anything.” She moved closer to MacLeod. “Is something wrong?”

  MacLeod had turned back to the cliffs. “For a moment, I thought I saw…” He shrugged. “Never mind. You had better bring Mr. Gibbs inside before you’re covered with snow. I’ll take in your bags.”

  After a quick smile, she ran to her parents, who were helping Hope close the lid of a wicker basket stuffed full of crayons, toys and coloring books. MacLeod waved once, watching them disappear into the house.

  After they had gone inside, his smile faded.

  He bent down, studying the snow. He’d been looking for human tracks, but instead he found a set of small, fresh paw prints moving delicately along the fence and across the courtyard, not three yards from the car. Then they circled the decorated tree, and strangest of all, they stopped in front of the manger.

  There they simply vanished.

  “DO YOU THINK she guessed?”

  Kacey Draycott paced anxiously, looking at her husband. Genevieve was sound asleep in her camp bed with Mr. Gibbs clutched in her fingers while the fire sent golden patterns playing over her cheeks. “Jamee will kill me if Hope guesses.”

  “You’re safe for now.” Nicholas Draycott, the twelfth Viscount Draycott, sank onto the bed and tugged off his boots. “But she soon will. The woman is no fool, nor is that friend of hers. MacLeod, wasn’t that his name?”

  His wife nodded sleepily. “Very odd, those wooden sculptures of his. I’ve seen similar pieces in museums, but nowhere else.” She slid beneath the lavender-scented sheets with a sigh of contentment.

  Nicholas grinned down at her, the faint silver flecks in his hair shining in the firelight. They made him look exceedingly handsome, his wife thought.

  “There you go, imagining another mystery. Just because he’s good at reproductions doesn’t exactly make him a thief, my love.”

  “I didn’t say he was a thief
, Nicholas, but there’s something strange there, all the same.” Kacey stared at the fire. “I think Jamee was right to be worried about Hope.”

  “She seemed happy enough to me. Rolling around in the snow certainly put a nice bit of color in her cheeks.”

  Kacey sniffed. “Spoken like a man. As if sex explains everything.”

  “It explains a lot, between the right people.”

  “Hmm.”

  Nicholas pulled off his heavy sweater. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means—hmm.” Kacey rubbed her forehead, frowning. “Genevieve is talking about Gideon again. She’s convinced that cat is real, Nicholas.”

  “Maybe he is.”

  “Then why haven’t we seen him?”

  “The abbey is a strange place, my love. The lighting plays tricks in those old stone halls, and things flit around the corner of your vision. You tell yourself they’re shadows, but one day you might discover they’re not.”

  Kacey sighed. “And does that explain the ghost?”

  “Nothing can explain the ghost,” Nicholas said tightly. “The less Vee says about him the better, believe me. I was hoping the trip up here might give her something new to talk about. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I agreed to come when Ian and Jamee phoned and asked for our help.”

  “Remember, we can’t mention Jamee’s name, no matter what.”

  The earl’s silver-gray eyes gleamed. “You might be able to buy my silence. For a price, of course.”

  Kacey glanced at Genevieve, then at her husband. “Is that so? And what would that be?”

  “One kiss. One long kiss. It will have to last me, I suppose. This whole trip is turning out to be a huge sacrifice.”

  “Liar. You were even more intrigued by this house than I was when Ian and Jamee called last week. You love nothing more than interfering in other people’s lives, and you know it, Nicky. It must be all those centuries of lordly privilege bred into your blue Draycott blood.”