Once Upon a Highland Christmas

by Lecia Cornwall

  “I’ll see you at supper, Penelope,” he said instead.

  “Iain?” she called after him, and he stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “What would you like for a Christmas present?”

  A Christmas present? He turned to look at her. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “You’re a guest.”

  “Oh, but I could be more—­so very much more,” she reminded him again. “Did you know my room is just steps down the hall from the lord’s apartments?”

  She looked hopeful, her blue eyes wide. Another opportunity to propose dropped into the well of silence that yawned between them. “I’ll be quite comfortable in the tower,” he said and climbed the stairs two at a time, leaving her standing there watching him.

  Running away, perhaps, just like Alanna had. He tightened his jaw and kept going. Of course he wasn’t.

  No doubt his cousin would head straight for his aunt’s room. Together mother and daughter would plot the next step in his capture, decide how to bring him to his knees—­or one knee, he supposed. They’d think him stubborn, backwards, but he was in fact only careful, both of his feelings and Penelope’s. Still, he knew he must come to terms with it, find a way to speak the words.

  But not now—­In a day or two, perhaps. Once Alanna McNabb had gone.

  Chapter Eight

  “ELIZABETH, WAKE UP!” Fiona shook her cousin awake.

  “What time is it?” Elizabeth demanded. “It can’t be past dawn.”

  Fiona wondered if everyone in England slept so late. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. It’s just dark outside because of the weather. Iain’s back safely, but you won’t believe this—­we have a visitor, just like Annie said.”

  “Who? Is it your true love?” Elizabeth grunted, covering her head with the blanket. Fiona pulled it back again, all the way to the bottom of the bed, and her cousin curled into a ball and shrieked at the room’s chill.

  Fiona folded her arms over her chest. “Not my true love, but somebody’s, perhaps. She’s pretty, and young, and she’s an earl’s sister.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes opened at last. “Truly? Where on earth did she come from?”

  Fiona grabbed the pillow and hugged it to her breast. “She was lost in the snow, and Iain rescued her. Isn’t that romantic?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth sighed, sitting up, her eyes glowing now. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Alanna McNabb. Annie says she’s sure to set the cat among the pigeons,” Fiona said.

  Elizabeth frowned. “What pigeons?” Fiona raised her eyebrows and waited for her cousin to figure it out. “Oh! You mean Penelope. Penelope Pigeon,” she giggled.

  “Aye,” Fiona said with a sly grin.

  “She’s pretty?”

  Fiona sighed. “Yes, very.”

  “Dark or fair?”

  “Dark hair,” Fiona reported.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, well then. The English prefer blonds, or so mama says—­well, she tells Penelope that, since she’s the family beauty, and I have mousy hair. What about her eyes?”

  “She has two of them,” Fiona quipped.

  “The color, silly.”

  “The color of the Highland hills on a frosty morn, golden brown and silver all at once,” Fiona said.

  “Pen’s are plain blue. Is she plump or thin?”

  “Slender, but still—­” Fiona rolled her hands in front of her own flat chest. Elizabeth’s eyes popped. “She has pretty legs, too, well, the one I saw was pretty, despite the cuts and bruises. She got hurt in the storm, and Iain carried her all the way home, and—­”

  “He carried her?” Elizabeth clasped her hands to her breast. “How far?”

  “All the way, of course—­miles and miles, wrapped in his plaid and his handkerchief, the very one I made him last Christmas.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head. “His handkerchief? Is that some kind of a Scottish custom?”

  Fiona remembered the way her brother had looked at Alanna, his eyes soft. Her eyes had been soft too, and neither one of them seemed to be able to look elsewhere. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “If it is, I think I’m too young to understand the full importance of it.”

  “Oh, but we have to know!” Elizabeth got out of bed and hurried to the wardrobe. She pulled out the gown she’d worn the day before and rummaged through the pockets. “There’s still one left—­” She held out a bundle of herbs like the ones they’d thrown into the fireplace. “Can we get a lock of her hair?”

  Fiona stared at her cousin. “Don’t be daft. We can hardly go up to a guest—­an injured guest—­and ask her for a lock of her hair, now, can we?”

  “Why not?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps we could get it while she wasn’t looking.”

  “She’d think we were both daft!”

  “Don’t you want to know?” Elizabeth asked. “What if she’s Iain’s true love, sent by magic in time for Christmas?”

  Fiona felt a tingle rush through her body. Was she? She shook off the feeling. “If you’ll recall, the spell didn’t work for us, Lizzy. What makes you think it will work for her?”

  She recalled the roar of the sparks as they rushed up the chimney, the wind’s reply, the suddenness of the storm, and felt a tingle rush up her spine again.

  “What if it does work this time?” Elizabeth insisted. “Don’t you think it’s odd, the two of us casting spells, asking for a true love by Christmas, and then she appears, wrapped in your brother’s plaid—­and his handkerchief?”

  Fiona sobered. “And Annie did see that we’d have a visitor, and here she is. But what if we do see something in the flames? That will indeed set the cat among the pigeons.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “Yes, it will, won’t it? Penelope will be livid. It’s going to be such fun!”

  Chapter Nine

  “HERE’S THE CHICKENS, Annie,” Iain said as he laid three birds on the kitchen table. Sandy had caught a goose, which Iain had returned to the fold. Sandy crossed to the fire to light his pipe and settle by the hearth.

  Seonag crossed the kitchen, poked the birds, and grinned. “Fine and plump, too. How’s the goose fattening up? I trust he’ll be ready for Christmas dinner?”

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Iain said with a smile. Seonag looked ready to burst with her fourth babe. Annie predicted the child would come before Christmas, and there was a lively pool of wagers as to the exact date of the happy event. Logan was as proud as a father could be, and though Sandy complained that the cottage he shared with his son’s family would be even noisier with the newborn child’s cries than it was now, he too was delighted.

  Annie folded her arms over her chest and leveled a sharp look at Iain. “Do you mean to keep her?”

  “The goose?” Iain asked, though he knew well enough whom she meant. Sandy and Seonag looked at him with the same question in their eyes.

  “Not the goose—­the lass, Lady Alanna McNabb.”

  “Aye,” said Sandy from his seat by the fire. “In the old Highland tradition a stray cow or a stray lass is fair game. She’s a pretty thing, and when she’s back on her feet, she’ll make a fine and fetching wife.”

  Iain folded his arms over his chest and stared Annie down. “That she will, since she’s betrothed to someone else—­almost married, in fact.”

  “Almost is a long way from is,” Annie said and turned her hand to helping Seonag pluck the chickens.

  “We don’t steal our brides anymore. We’re civilized folk,” Iain reminded them.

  Sandy rubbed his bearded chin. “My grandfather stole his wife. She was a Fraser lass. He’d gone a-­reiving for a cow, but she wouldn’t let go of the beastie’s halter, so he brought her home right along with it. He would have returned her—­the lass, not the cow—­but she declared herself in love with him and insisted on staying. He handfasted with her to give her tim
e to think it through and change her mind, but then he fell in love with her too.”

  “The lass upstairs seems like someone a man could very easily fall in love with,” Seonag said, pulling feathers while keeping one eye on Iain. He kept his expression flat.

  “Och, aye. She’s a bonnie wee thing,” Sandy agreed. “I’d keep her.”

  Annie sent him a sharp look. “Not you—­Iain.”

  “I’ve told you that I intend to—­” Iain began, but Annie held up a feather-­covered hand.

  “Oh, I know, the Sassenach. She—­they—­expect you to marry her. But the omens aren’t favorable.”

  “What do the omens say about the McNabb lass?” Sandy said, leaning forward.

  Iain made a sound of frustration. Making a success of Purbrick was what mattered. Did they not understand? “Omens won’t build a new roof for this castle, or add new cattle to the herds in the spring,” he said.

  “They won’t keep you warm at night either,” Annie said.

  Iain swallowed, remembered the icy chill of Alanna’s flesh against his. She’d warmed, though, become a soft, warm, feminine weight in his arms. Every time he thought of her, tucked up in his arms, or his plaid, or his bloody bed, other images rose—­lusty, improper ones. He clenched his fists against such thoughts. “I will do what’s necessary,” he growled. “My duty is to this place and my ­people—­all my ­people.” Even so, the thought of Penelope in his bed, even warm and willing, left him cold.

  “Stubborn,” Annie muttered.

  “The lass is spoken for. It isn’t magic or omens that brought her here—­it was misfortune. When the weather allows, we’ll see she gets safely home for her wedding.”

  Annie reached into her pocket. “I forgot—­she wrote a letter, just in case it can be delivered. She said she couldn’t sleep until it was done, knowing her kin will be fretting about her.”

  “Is it a love letter?” Sandy asked.

  “It’s addressed to her brother, Glenlorne,” Annie said, dropping the folded note on the table. “Makes no mention of her betrothed at all. Odd she wouldn’t write to him, whoever he is, don’t you think?”

  Iain stared at the letter, the corners adorned with white feathers from the chicken, like an imitation of angel’s wings. Omens indeed. “You didn’t read it?”

  Annie shrugged. “I may have glanced at it. It isn’t sealed.”

  Sandy got to his feet and picked up the letter. “I’ll take it through to Jock MacIntosh’s farm. He’s planning to go and visit his daughter, storm or no, to see his first grandchild born. Her man Connor can take it on to his folks at Loch Rain when he goes with the news of the birth. Someone will take it on from there until it gets to Glenlorne. Her brother will know she’s here, and safe.”

  Iain nodded. “Good.”

  “You could ask a ransom for her. She’s bound to be worth a good number of cows,” Sandy suggested.

  Iain rolled his eyes. “We will tell Glenlorne that his sister is welcome here at Craigleith until the weather breaks—­no ransom.”

  “Perhaps she’ll be with us for Christmas then,” Seonag said eagerly. “The weather looks truly terrible.”

  “It will get worse as the days pass,” Annie said softly, as if she knew.

  Iain shook off the thought. “Christmas is still weeks away. No doubt she’ll be gone by then.” Gone, married, forgotten.

  Annie pursed her lips. “Maybe yes, maybe no. The signs suggest the snow will grow deeper still, keep us here.” The feathers floated around her head like a snowstorm, and Iain felt a guilty twinge of hope that neither he nor Alanna would be able to go anywhere. He was as bad as old Sandy.

  Annie pointed to the ceiling. “Will you go up and check on her, Iain? I don’t want to leave her alone too long, in case she needs something. She can hardly get out of bed and call down the stairs, now, can she? I’ve got the chickens to pluck, and the soup to make, and the bread won’t bake itself, and Seonag should stay off her feet.”

  Seonag cast a wide-­eyed glance at Annie. “Why? Is it time? I don’t feel anything yet . . .”

  Annie ignored her. “ ’Tis the lass I’m worried about. The babe will come when it comes.”

  Iain thought about opening the door of his room, looking down at Alanna in his bed—­not that he hadn’t been imaging that very thing all morning. “It’s hardly proper for me to go up,” he said stiffly. “What about Marjorie, or Penelope? Where’s Fiona?”

  Sandy snickered. “Proper? You spent the night in Ewan’s cott alone with her.”

  Annie cast the old gamekeeper a quelling look. “Proper or not, someone must look in. Lady Marjorie is still abed, and your Lady Penelope looked like she’d strangle the lass in her sleep if she got the chance. Fiona could go, I suppose, if I can find her, but she’ll drive Alanna daft with her chatter,” Annie said. “Just have a wee look, Iain, and I’ll be up as soon as I’m done here. It’s part of being a good host, and you said yourself you take your duties seriously.”

  “A quick look, then,” Iain said, feeling a very foolish and ill-­advised anticipation of seeing Alanna. “I’ll come back at once and let you know if she wants anything.”

  “Of course,” Annie said, waving him out of the kitchen. “Just do whatever you think is necessary, Laird.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE DOOR CREAKED as it opened, and Fiona stopped on the threshold and gripped Elizabeth’s arm, both of them wincing at the noise. They peered into Iain’s room—­well, Alanna’s room for the time being. Alanna didn’t move, appeared to be fast asleep.

  “There she is,” Fiona whispered.

  “I can see that,” Elizabeth said as she crossed the room on tiptoes. “Oh, she’s like the Sleeping Beauty, all pink and white and lovely,” she gushed. “That’s a story about a princess who is put under a terrible curse by an evil fairy. She must sleep until her true love comes to wake her with a kiss.”

  “Is that true, or is it just an English story?” Fiona asked in a whisper.

  “German, I think, and of course it’s true. Things like that happen all the time. Well, not to me, but to princesses.”

  “She isn’t a princess,” Fiona said. “She’s an earl’s sister.”

  “But perhaps she has noble blood in her veins, going back long generations, a connection to a king, and—­”

  Fiona pinched her cousin. “She’s sure to wake up if you keep prattling on.”

  “Did you bring the scissors?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I thought you brought them,” Fiona whispered back. “Shouldn’t we ask her first?”

  “She’s asleep, and it would be rude to wake her,” Elizabeth insisted.

  “But it’s fine to cut her hair off?”

  “Just a little lock of it. She has plenty.”

  Fiona sighed and handed her cousin the small pair of sewing scissors from her pocket. “Be careful,” she said.

  The two girls leaned over the bed, and Elizabeth raised the scissors.

  IAIN PAUSED OUTSIDE the door of his chamber—­Alanna’s chamber—­and listened for sounds inside. He raised his hand to knock, and paused. He pictured her in his bed, her dark, auburn-­streaked hair spread across his pillow, and remembered the way that hair had felt like silk against his naked chest. He swallowed, leaned his head on the door, and knocked.

  FIONA JUMPED BACK in horror as someone knocked. Elizabeth dropped the scissors and kicked them under the bed.

  “What are you two doing here?” Iain asked when his sister opened the door. He glanced at Alanna first, then at the two of them. Fiona held her breath. “Is she . . .”

  “Sleeping,” Fiona whispered. “We were just checking on her.” She watched as her brother crossed to the bed and put the back of his hand on Alanna’s brow, checking for fever. “Why are you here?” she asked him.

  “Hmm?” He seemed mesmerized by A
lanna’s sleeping face. “Oh, Annie asked me to see if she needed anything.” He withdrew his hand, clasped it with the other one behind his back. “She’ll be up directly, of course.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said.

  Iain turned away, went to the bookshelf in the corner, and took down a book. “If you two can stay, then I’ll go,” he said.

  “Oh, no—­I’ve got things to do, and Elizabeth does as well,” Fiona said quickly, and grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Come on.”

  She shoved Elizabeth out of the room and shut the door.

  “What did you do that for? We could have got her hair if you’d sent him away,” Elizabeth complained.

  Fiona set her hand on her cheek. “I don’t think we need the hair after all,” she said. “Did you see his face?”

  “His face?” Elizabeth scrunched up her own. “What was wrong with it?”

  Fiona sighed. “Never mind. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To see Annie.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ALANNA WOKE TO find Iain MacGillivray sitting by the fire again. This time he was fully clothed, and reading a book, as civilized and correct as you please, but the firelight still glinted off the copper of his hair and sculpted his cheeks to masculine perfection and outlined the breadth of his shoulders. What would it be like to always wake up and find him near? The idea made her breath catch and her stomach flip. “Will you always be here when I wake up?” she asked, and immediately felt foolish for voicing the thought out loud.

  He looked up and met her eyes, then set the book aside and rose. “I . . . Annie’s busy downstairs. She sent me to look in on you. Do you need anything?” He laid his hand on her forehead, then pulled back. “My apologies. I used to tend Fiona when she was sick as a child. Not that you’re a child, of course.” He sat down again, back by the fire. It was his room, his chair, yet he looked ill at ease there. That was her fault, she realized.