Once Upon a Highland Christmas

by Lecia Cornwall

  “Iain MacGillivray,” he replied, and raised his brows expectantly.

  “Alanna McNabb,” she replied. “Where am I?”

  “Craigleith Moor. Where were you going?”

  She shrugged, and it hurt. “I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, just walking,” she said.. “I wanted to think, so I went for a walk. My mother must be wondering where—­” Her eyes widened. Her wedding. How could she have forgotten about that? She looked at him. “How long have I been here?”

  “Just the night,” he said. “Where did you come from?”

  “Dundrummie.”

  “Dundrummie?” He looked at her in stunned surprise. “That’s twelve miles away! That must have been some problem.”

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “You said you went for a walk to think. That usually suggests a problem that needs considering.”

  She tried to rise but sank back, gasping, her limbs refusing to obey.

  “Oh, lass—­Alanna—­you’d better take it slow.”

  He scooped a hand behind her shoulders and knees, and picked her up like a child. For a moment she was clutched against the broad warmth of his chest before he carefully set her on the bench by the fire. The room faded to spinning black dots, and he held onto her for a moment, his hand around her waist, steadying her.

  “I must get back to Dundrummie at once,” she managed.

  He poured hot water into an earthenware cup, added whisky from a flask, and pressed the cup into her hands. It was warm, and she wrapped her palms around it. “Not today. The blizzard has made Glen Dorian impassable. You’ll come to Craigleith Castle. Your knee needs proper attention, and Annie can see to it. We’ll get word to your family as soon as we can, let them know you’re safe, but not today.”

  Alanna felt tears fill her eyes. “But today is—­it’s my wedding day!”

  His brows shot up into his hairline. “Your—­” She saw the wheels turning inside his head. “You ran away!”

  She tried to straighten her spine, didn’t have the energy. Every inch of her body ached, and tears threatened. She clung to her unbuttoned bodice and glared at him. “Of course I didn’t.”

  “You walked twelve miles in a blizzard to think, and you very nearly—­” he began, but she sent him a fierce look.

  “I will disappoint my mother if I am not there.”

  His brows quirked again. “Your mother? What of your bridegroom?” he asked. His eyes roamed over her, his appreciation plain. “I mean, he’s sure to be eager—­that is, disappointed—­” He paused as she folded her arms over her breasts and gaped at him, felt hot blood creep into her cheeks.

  “You saw—­everything?”

  He flushed again and looked apologetic. “I only did what was necessary. You were ice cold, near to—­ I had to get you warm, my skin to yours. Nothing else occurred. Your bridegroom will have nothing to complain of, save the fact you’ll be late for your wedding.”

  She stared at him, her body tingling at the very idea that he, and she, had . . . oh dear. She felt her cheeks grow very warm. But he had saved her life. She raised her chin. “Thank you,” she said in a formal tone, wondering if it was the right thing to say under the circumstances. She stared at the spot on the floor where they’d spent the night. Together. Naked.

  He turned away and opened his saddle pack. “I’m afraid there’s naught for breakfast save an oatcake or two. I’ve a flask of whisky, if you want it for the pain, but Annie will have something better to give you.”

  “Who is Annie?”

  He grinned at her as he handed her an oatcake. “Auld Annie MacIntosh—­she’s been at Craigleith forever. She heals injuries and ailments, tells stories, and even keeps the laird in line.”

  “Muira,” Alanna murmured, taking the proffered oatcake, her fingertips brushing his, sending sparks flying up her arm. “We have Muira McNabb. She does the same for us.” He really did have a lovely smile. She looked away and nibbled on her breakfast, unable to manage more than a mouthful.

  “I’m sorry to insist on haste, given your injuries, but the storm has cleared for the moment, and the sky doesn’t look promising. We’ll have more snow before the day is out. We’d best get you back to Craigleith, where you can rest properly. You’ll be among friends, Alanna. There’s nothing to fear.”

  What choice did she have? She could hardly walk a dozen miles back to Dundrummie, even if she had any idea of the way. She watched as Iain MacGillivray shrugged into his coat and knelt before her. “May I?” he asked. He looked as if he were asking her to dance, his hands extended, his face expectant. Then he pointed to her chest. “Your buttons. It’s cold outside.”

  She blushed and dropped her hands, felt his fingers brush the skin of her chest and throat. It was a shockingly intimate sensation.

  “Not to worry—­I used to do this for my sister when she was small,” he said, giving her the kind of reassuring smile one gives a frightened child.

  “How old is she?” Alanna asked. His head was inches from her own, and she smelled the clean sweetness of the wind in his russet hair. It looked soft and thick, and if she leaned forward just a little, she could rest her cheek against it . . .

  “Fiona’s fifteen now, a woman grown,” he said, looking up from his task, bringing her back to the present. His eyes were gray, fringed with copper lashes. She pictured Sorcha, her own younger sister, just twelve, and not quite a woman grown. Sorcha would be worried. They all would be—­her mother, her aunt, even Graves, the English butler, and Jeannie, Aunt Eleanor’s maid. Guilt formed a ball in her chest. She should never have left Dundrummie at all.

  Iain MacGillivray turned away to pick up her boots. Her stockings lay inside them, and she noted the bloodstains and the gaping holes in them, remembered the violence of her fall, the pain of landing hard on her knee. She swallowed. She was lucky, then. The stockings were beyond rescue, but she had been much more fortunate. She let her eyes move over Iain MacGillivray yet again. If not for him—­ He must have seen her blanch, for he gave her a smile and stuffed her tattered stockings into his pocket, out of sight. She felt her heart thump against her ribs. He really did have a marvelous smile, was the kind of hero a lady dreamed about.

  “Can you wear your boots without your stockings?” he asked. “We’ll find you another pair at Craigleith.” He knelt at her feet, a knight-­errant, and cupped his warm hands behind her heels, setting each foot on his lap, one after the other. He grimaced as he pushed her boot onto her injured left side. She gritted her teeth, did her best to be brave, to stifle the cry of pain, but she could see by the way his eyes darkened that he knew it hurt, was sorry to cause her discomfort.

  He wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, fastened it, and scooped her off the bench. The world shifted as he lifted her. She tightened her grip on the lapels of his coat and met his eyes. A rush of breathlessness filled her, and she put it down to light-­headedness. No one had ever carried her before—­well, aside from Alec, her brother, when she was very small.

  Surely if Alec was here now, he would be as kind and as careful with an injured stranger as Iain MacGillivray was. Yet she could never mistake this man for her brother. His touch, as polite as it was, was different, made her feel unsettled, more aware.

  “You must be a wonderful brother,” she murmured, and his laugh vibrated through her chest.

  “You can ask Fiona about that.”

  The snow was blinding after the dark warmth of the cott. The cold sucked the breath from her lungs, flung it into the leaden sky in a cloud, and made her gasp.

  Iain MacGillivray set her carefully on the garron’s sturdy back, and she gripped the creature’s coarse mane, concentrated on holding on as the horse swung its shaggy head around to look at her with friendly curiosity. The beast made no complaint as Iain mounted behind her and settled the plaid around them both, binding her into a cocoon agains
t his body. It was warm and intimate.

  “Comfortable?” he asked as they set off, the snow squeaking under the garron’s hooves.

  “Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t. She had never been so comfortable, and yet uncomfortable too, in all her life. She was wrapped in a stranger’s plaid, her bottom resting between his thighs—­thighs that had been naked against hers throughout the night. She could feel his heart beating against her back, and his breath fanned over her cheek. Her knee ached like the devil was gnawing on it, but he held her safe, enclosed in the circle of his arms as he held the reins with casual ease. She had never been this close to any man before now—­not even Merridew, her bridegroom. But she had met him just twice, and since he had come to court her older sister on both visits, she wasn’t sure those meetings counted at all. He’d barely even looked at her, the second sister, the spare. . . . She felt her cheeks flame despite the cold. The garron trudged on across the blank white landscape, eager for home.

  “There’s Ben Laggan,” Iain said, pointing out a gray mountain wearing a thick shawl of fresh snow. “Glen Dorian and Dundrummie are on the other side. You must have come through the pass there.” He pointed again, but she could see nothing but snow. “It’s blocked now.”

  “How far is it to Craigleith?” she asked. She pictured a cottage like the one they’d just left, snug and warm, his wife at the door . . . and his sister, of course. Did he have bairns as well? Her cheeks flamed again at the thought of facing his wife, telling her that she had spent the night naked in her husband’s arms. Would she believe it had simply been necessary? Alanna wasn’t sure she’d believe such a tale, not when a man looked like Iain MacGillivray.

  “About four miles,” he answered her question. “It won’t take long. We’ll be there in an hour. Sleep if you want.”

  She sat up straight, as she’d been taught. She’d not give Missus MacGillivray anything more to fret about, and she most certainly could not sleep on a strange man’s chest, or on a horse. But perhaps she’d close her eyes for just a moment against the dazzling brilliance of the snow.

  IAIN FELT HER body relax into his as she fell asleep, warm this time, a soft, sweet weight in his lap, and he shifted her more comfortably against his chest so her cheek rested on his shoulder. He looked down into her face. Her lips and cheeks were pink now, but there were dark smudges under her eyes—­soft hazel eyes, he recalled, wary and wide and beautiful. She needed a bowl of Seonag’s nourishing broth, a comb, a bath, a proper bandage for her injured knee, and hours of sleep, but he’d still never seen a more beautiful woman. He might not have peeked beneath the covers, not even once, or looked above her knee, or below her shoulders, but his body knew what hers felt like, the slender curves, the softness of her skin. And now, the angle of her bottom against his groin and the movement of the horse were proving to be arousing in the extreme. He kept still, not wanting to wake her, or alert her to his condition. She belonged to another man, a man no doubt pacing the floor before the altar, burning to have her back again, to marry her and bed her properly before his own hearth. Iain felt a rush of jealousy and tightened his grip on her shoulder for a moment before reminding himself that she did not—­could not—­belong to him. Their paths led in different directions—­his to England, hers to Dundrummie village, and her wedding. He wondered about her husband. Was he a crofter, a blacksmith, a baker, perhaps? Whoever and whatever he was, he was a lucky man indeed.

  He turned his eyes up to the glowering sky and concentrated on counting the garron’s steps.

  They could not reach Craigleith quickly enough.

  Chapter Five

  Dundrummie Castle

  “WHAT DO YOU mean you can’t find her?” Lady Devorguilla McNabb, the dowager countess of Glenlorne, demanded, eyeing Dundrummie’s half-­frozen gamekeeper with suspicion. The man had been out for hours, was flushed with cold and exhaustion, but he hadn’t found Alanna. “She didn’t just disappear!” Devorguilla insisted.

  It was too soon to imagine that anything truly unfortunate had happened to her middle daughter, or to consider that Alanna might have run away, or even eloped to avoid her wedding. Alanna was sensible and obedient.. She wouldn’t do any such thing. Devorguilla bit her lip and looked at the clock. Still, Alanna had been gone all night, and it was nearly midmorning. Fortunately, Lord Merridew had not yet arrived, no doubt delayed by the weather himself. How could she explain that Alanna was missing on her wedding day, especially after Megan had eloped to avoid marrying his lordship only a few short months earlier? The poor man would begin to suspect that Devorguilla’s daughters weren’t grateful to be marrying an English marquess. Devorguilla clenched her fist. She would not let that happen. Alanna must be found.

  She watched as her sister-­in-­law, Lady Eleanor Fraser, pressed a dram of whisky into the gamekeeper’s hand. “Come get yourself warm by the fire, Jamie, and tell us what you know.”

  “No one saw her after noon yesterday, my lady,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “Jeannie said she saw Lady Alanna out in the orchard, dressed in that red cloak of hers, walking among the trees. That was before the snow began.” Devorguilla saw the worry in the man’s keen eyes as he shook his head. “There’s no sign of her now. The storm has covered any tracks she might have left. We’ve had a lot of snow, and there’s another storm coming.” He rubbed his elbow. “This one will be worse than yesterday’s—­I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Go out again,” Devorguilla insisted, ignoring the puddle the man was leaving on the floor as he thawed out. “She must be found. Did you check everywhere—­the lodge, the village inn, the old castle at Glen Dorian?” Was Alanna hiding somewhere, sulking?

  “Several times, my lady,” Jamie said. “We’ve got everyone in the village looking for the lass as well. We’re all worried about her.” He twisted his cap in his hand and looked at Eleanor.

  “Go and get some soup in the kitchen and warm yourself,” Eleanor said and sent him out.

  Devorguilla paced the carpet. “First Megan runs off and handfasts with Lord Rossington, and now—­” She felt a frisson of irritation replace concern in her breast. “It took me weeks to placate Lord Merridew, to show him that if he couldn’t have Megan, then Alanna would do just as well. And now this—­will all my daughters disappoint me?”

  Eleanor went to the window and scanned the orchard yet again before turning to face her sister-­in-­law. Devorguilla could see by her expression there was still no sign of Alanna, and her heart fell.

  “Well, since Merridew isn’t here, I have no doubt he has been delayed by the storm as well,” Eleanor said. “There’s still time to find Alanna before he arrives. I’m sure she’s safe. It’s the custom in the Highlands to offer welcome and shelter to travellers, and someone will have taken her in.” She met Devorguilla’s eyes. “Of course, this means there’s still time to invite Alec and Caroline to the wedding, weather allowing. Alec will eventually find out his sister is getting married, and he won’t be pleased that you left him off the guest list. If we delay the ceremony for a week or two, we can have a Christmas wedding. That, and it will give Merridew and Alanna a chance to get to know each other a little better.”

  Devorguilla frowned, twisted her fingers together under Eleanor’s scrutiny. “Alec is the Earl of Glenlorne now, and he has enough to do there without bothering with my affairs. Alanna is my concern.”

  “She’s his sister, and he loves her. He wants what’s best for her as much as you do,” Eleanor said. “He’d want to be here, you know that. And he is her guardian.”

  Devorguilla raised her chin. “And I’m her mother! Lord Merridew is what’s best for Alanna. He’s titled and willing, and Alanna agreed to his proposal.”

  Eleanor folded her arms over her chest. “She agreed to your proposal. You’re afraid Alec will refuse to allow the match, aren’t you? He’ll ask Alanna if she loves Merridew, and she’ll say no.”

  Devo
rguilla colored and turned to pace the floor. “Love! What difference does that make? Of course she loves him—­or she will eventually.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “That wouldn’t be good enough for Alec, and it’s not good enough for anyone else but you. Merridew is marrying Alanna’s dowry.”

  “So? She’ll be a marchioness, and then a duchess someday,” Devorguilla countered.

  “Does that matter to her? She’s a sensitive soul. A title won’t make her happy. She only agreed to marry Merridew because you insisted. She’s afraid of disappointing you.”

  “The way Megan did?” Devorguilla said. She knew what was best for her daughters—­English titles, power, position. They couldn’t have that in Scotland. Here, they’d always be second best.

  Eleanor grinned. “I’m proud of Megan. She chose the life she wanted, the man she loved. That’s exactly how it should be. She still married an English earl, and isn’t that what you really wanted?” Eleanor asked.

  “Not when she could have had a marquess!”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you just a little bit more concerned about whether Alanna is safe or not? She’s not stubborn and willful like Megan. Alanna wouldn’t run away. She may be in trouble.”

  Devorguilla shrugged and studied her manicured hands, clasped them to hide the fact they shook. “Of course I’m worried, but you said it yourself, someone will take her in if she needs help.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I hope you’re right. ’Tis a terrible thing to press a young girl so far that she’d run away into a snowstorm.” She headed for the door. “I think I’ll go and see if we can organize another search before the storm closes in again.”

  Devorguilla watched Eleanor go, then went back to the window, looking for her daughter among the bare trees of the orchard. She leaned her head against the glass and hoped Alanna was safe. Merridew would surely be here very soon, and he’d want to see his bride.