Sweet Home Highland Christmas

by May McGoldrick

  “Only if you act your age.”

  Freya frowned at her own expression mirrored in the little face. The tall gentleman stood over them. She cringed at what he must think, having heard their conversation. She took Ella’s hand firmly in her own and sent her a warning glare before turning to him.

  The man’s broad, scarlet-coated chest nearly blocked her view of the rest of the dining room. Her eyes focused momentarily on gold lace, the blue facing, and the glinting epaulettes.

  “My sincere apologies, Captain, for intruding on you.”

  She was suddenly caught up in the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a man. They were a deep shade of blue and were fringed with long dark lashes.

  “I . . . we shouldn’t . . . we didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Fie never stammers,” Ella said matter-of-factly to the tall stranger. “She’s embarrassed.”

  “I am not embarrassed,” Freya said to her niece. “I’m apologizing.”

  “Then do it,” the rascal said. “We’re listening.”

  Who was the adult here? she thought. Freya turned her attention back to the gentleman who continued to stand there, the hint of a smirk on his face. He was handsome in a way that unsettled her. Dark brown hair curled neatly around his ears. The strong square chin and chiseled cheekbones made her want to pause and appreciate the perfect arrangement of his face. The small scar above his eyebrow did nothing to lessen his handsome looks. He was a man from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels come to life, a man whom a woman dreamt of and never imagined meeting.

  “Please forgive our rather forward disposition. If you’d be kind enough to return to your—”

  “The gentleman is finished with his dinner, Fie,” Ella whispered loudly. “He’s waiting for an introduction.”

  A smile pulled at the man’s lips. “The young lady is correct. I am, if you’d not be offended by my forwardness.”

  Freya’s mouth went dry. Whatever objection she was about to voice deserted her at once. Her lack of social interaction—outside of their small country circle—was no excuse for her foolish response to the gentleman, though it was true that their life in the Highlands had limited her acquaintance with such men.

  “I think he’s far more suitable than Colonel Richard.”

  Ella’s loud whisper had to be heard by everyone in the coffee room.

  “That will do,” Freya said firmly.

  The little imp shrugged and then looked at the captain.

  “May I present Miss Freya Sutherland,” Ella announced.

  His surprised look moved from Freya’s face to her niece and back. She could perfectly understand the confusion. Ella understood it, as well.

  “I’m an orphan. Fie is my aunt and my guardian,” the girl explained. “Grandfather also looks after me, but he threatens to use me as fish bait when I’m behaving like an eldritch creature.”

  In spite of her mortification, Freya had to stifle a laugh. She could hear her father saying exactly those words.

  Without a pause, Ella continued her introduction, “And this is Captain Penny . . . Penny . . .”

  “Pennington,” he contributed with a bow.

  Freya curtsied, but she knew the name. The Dowager Lady Dacre’s letter had mentioned that her friends, the Pennington family, would make the arrangements for their transportation to the Borders. Her gaze fixed on the stranger.

  “You’re the person we’re to travel with.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Ella announced, smiling.

  “I hope your trip here was uneventful.” His gaze moved to the table behind her. “I was informed that I would be accompanying four adults and a child.”

  “At the moment, we are a party of three adults and a child,” Freya corrected. “Ella’s nurse, a manservant, and the two of us. I’m afraid my cousin . . . my intended . . . has been unexpectedly detained. I’m certain he’ll catch up to us at one of our stops.”

  “But maybe he won’t,” Ella added, leaning against her aunt’s legs while eyeing the captain.

  The little girl had a habit of speaking what was on Freya’s mind, but it wasn’t quite so cute here in the presence of this stranger.

  “Where is he coming from?”

  “Fort William. Perhaps he’ll meet us at Inverness.”

  “You said Dundee,” Ella chirped.

  “What is your cousin’s name?” the captain asked.

  Freya hesitated for a moment as she tried to decide on how much she wanted to disclose to their escort. As a Pennington, he was a friend of the Dacres. In her exchange of letters with the dowager, she’d informed the woman that she’d be bringing her fiancé, even though the understanding with her cousin wasn’t exactly official.

  “Colonel Richard Dunbar,” she said.

  The captain furrowed his forehead as something registered.

  “Do you know him?” Freya asked.

  “I know of him.” The man glanced away.

  As Ella took Freya’s hand, the words they both uttered were exactly the same. “Is something wrong?”

  His gaze rested on Ella for a moment before coming back to Freya’s face. He shook his head. Something was wrong, but Captain Pennington was not about to discuss it before the child.

  “Privacy, sweetheart.”

  Ella stamped her foot once, but then wordlessly retreated to her nursemaid. Some people thought Freya was too lenient with her niece, but it wasn’t true. When it mattered, when it was time, Ella understood and reacted appropriately to her aunt’s wishes.

  Freya moved in the direction of the fireplace and their escort followed. “What is it, Captain?”

  “You have an understanding with Colonel Dunbar?”

  She did, but she didn’t. Freya didn’t know how much of her situation she cared to explain. “Why do you ask, sir?”

  “The officers here in the Highlands are a fairly close-knit group, Miss Sutherland.”

  He hesitated, clearly weighing his words.

  “And?”

  “Word has been circulating for a fortnight or more that Colonel Dunbar is to be married to an heiress, a Miss Katherine Caithness. The wedding was to take place today.”

  Chapter Two

  There had to be a mistake. Her cousin wouldn’t abandon her at the last minute.

  As the carriage rolled along the frozen road, gusts of wind buffeted the sides of the vehicle. Freya thought back. His last letter had been addressed to her less than a fortnight ago. He said he was eager to accompany her to Baronsford for the Christmas Ball. Meeting Lady Dacre would be an honor, he wrote. He was delighted that Freya had finally come to her senses regarding his offer of marriage.

  Freya was certain he understood what was at stake.

  She wouldn’t lose Ella. Giving her niece over to the Dacre family was not an option. Freya’s late brother-in-law had twelve brothers and sisters, and not one of them had reached out to her sister when she was alive. And in the five years since Lucy’s death, not one of them had shown any interest in even meeting Ella.

  It was only in the wake of her husband’s death that Lady Dacre had felt any remorse over ignoring her granddaughter. Suddenly, she was filled with concern about Ella’s future. She said proof was needed that the Sutherlands of Torrishbrae were fit to care for a member of her family. And in referring to the Sutherlands, she meant Freya, who’d taken responsibility for Ella from that first dark day.

  Back at the inn, when Captain Pennington told her the rumor about her cousin, Freya had asserted that he was misinformed. What he’d heard must have been a mistake. She desperately hoped she was correct.

  Emotions clawed at her heart before knotting into a fist in her throat. Freya clenched her jaw and focused on the wintry countryside outside of the carriage window. The ice-covered tops of Craig Riasgain and Beinn Mhealaich stood silent and formidable against the steel blue sky and the encroaching clouds. She had to stay strong. Never give up. It was up to her to secure her niece’s future. Ella belonged with her.

  Despit
e the icy ruts and dips in the road that jarred them occasionally, they were moving steadily southward. Her manservant, Dougal, was riding up top with the captain’s men. She was relieved that her niece at least for now had abandoned the idea of a marriage of convenience between the captain and Freya. Exhaustion had claimed the five-year-old and, some time after setting out, Ella had put her head down in Freya’s lap and gone to sleep. Shona, bundled in a blanket across from her, was blessed with a similar ability to ignore the discomforts of travel. Freya watched the maid unconsciously wedge her head into the corner of the carriage, and it wasn’t long before a soft snore escaped her.

  Freya’s gaze shifted to the man sitting next to Shona. With Ella curled up on the seat, Captain Pennington had plenty of room for his long, muscular legs. He’d stored his sword and black bicorne hat in a compartment beneath the seat, where she saw a brace of pistols. As he looked out the window, her eyes lingered on his strong hands. She knew little about his character, except that the dowager had entrusted their care to him. Whatever Freya thought of Lady Dacre, that spoke highly of the captain.

  Her gaze drifted upward over his gray kersey greatcoat to his handsome face. His head rested against the back wall of the carriage. She stared at the cleft in his chin and sensual lips, and for an insane moment her thoughts flickered back to that time years ago when she’d dreamed of attending her first season and her first ball. Her imaginings had never been about a full dance card or a dozen young men standing in line vying for her attention. Her dream had always been to go and meet the one. The strong, decisive gentleman who would fight anyone who slighted her in the most casual manner. The hero who would steal her away from the crowded ballroom to a lamplit garden where the two of them would . . .

  Freya’s wandering thoughts came to a crashing halt. His eyes were open. He was watching her. Feeling a blush warm her cheeks, she tore her gaze away and looked down at the tangle of Ella’s hair resting on her lap. She touched the softness of it. A stray curl wound around her finger, just as the very essence of the child had long ago wound inextricably around her heart.

  “Are you really engaged to Colonel Dunbar?”

  She wasn’t about to lie and make the arrangement more than it was. Theirs was no love match. The fact that Pennington was acquainted with the Dacres made no difference.

  “We have an understanding. The colonel is my cousin. After my father is gone, he’ll be the next Baron of Torrishbrae. For years, it’s been expected that we shall marry.”

  “But for years, you haven’t done it.”

  “I’ve never been faced with marriage as a deciding factor in my niece’s future.”

  There . . . she’d said it, Freya thought. It was out. And she knew she might just as well tell him because if she didn’t, Ella would. The little imp asleep on her lap had already decided Captain Pennington was a catch.

  He was a catch. But only for a young woman with a good name and whose life wasn’t a tangle of complications.

  “Are you saying that Lady Dacre has demanded that you marry in order to keep your niece?”

  “The dowager wants assurance that once my father is gone, I have the protection of a husband as well as the means of supporting Ella,” she explained. “I have a small fortune of my own, but much of the Sutherland worth is tied up in our land. The estate and all the property that goes with it will be inherited by my cousin.”

  “So you’re marrying him to keep your own property.”

  “I’ll do anything to keep Ella.”

  The child stirred. Freya looked down, making sure that their conversation hadn’t awakened her. The little girl’s steady breathing told her she was still asleep.

  “She’s right. You are a bloody martyr.”

  Freya’s gaze snapped up to his face and she frowned. “How can you say that when you don’t know me?”

  “I can say that because I know that family. My parents have an estate in Hertfordshire. They’re neighbors, in a sense,” he explained. “It was in the duke’s character to control and manipulate lives. He required martyr’s blood. Lady Dacre’s demand sounds very much of the same style as her late husband’s: Do what I say or else.”

  Freya now realized his words had been spoken out of sympathy, and a sense of relief flowed through her, knowing his opinion of the dowager.

  “Is she Fredrick’s daughter?” he asked softly, his gaze falling on the tousled head in her lap.

  Unexpectedly, relief turned to warmth. It wasn’t so much his words, but the tone in which he delivered them.

  Freya knew very little about Ella’s father. Apparently, he cut a dashing figure in his company regimentals. Her sister fell in love with him after the two met at a ball in Edinburgh. Less than a month later, they eloped and were married at Gretna Green. It was all very romantic. Unfortunately, his family had other marital plans for him, but he didn’t care. He sent his bride home to Torrishbrae when he returned to fight the French on the Peninsula. And the product of their passionate love affair now lay curled up in her arms.

  “She is his daughter,” Freya whispered before meeting his gaze again. “Did you know him well?”

  “Well enough,” he said. “I was a year or so older, but we spent time in each other’s company growing up.”

  “My father and I never met him. Not even once. Nor did Ella,” she told him. “I’d love to hear any stories that you could share. She has so many questions, and I don’t know how to answer her.”

  “I’d be happy to, if I can.”

  The captain’s gaze dropped to her lap again, and she looked down and found Ella’s eyes open.

  Freya wasn’t her mother, but she’d been right there with Lucy when Ella entered into the world. From that first day, she had cared for the infant, loved and celebrated every step, worried over every bump and bruise. She didn’t know if she was capable of putting into words how much she loved Ella.

  “Did you have a good sleep?” she asked, caressing her niece’s silky cheek.

  “Can I look out the window?”

  There was no gradual waking up. From the moment Ella opened her eyes, regardless of where and when, she was an unleashed storm. She scrambled over Freya’s lap to the window. But that wasn’t good enough. Squirming and using her arms and legs, she pushed and made more room for herself.

  Her intentions were immediately clear, for Freya found herself sliding along the seat until she was directly across from the captain.

  “I apologize,” she whispered. “When you agreed to escort us to Baronsford, you couldn’t have known you’d be conveying a kraken and its minions.”

  His smile made her stomach flip deliciously. The confined space of the carriage left nowhere for either of them to go.

  “Kraken?” he replied. “I would have said she’s a very different mythic creature . . . a winged one generally armed with a bow and arrow.”

  A bump on the road pushed his long legs against hers. They each tried to adjust their seats, but the only choice was tucking her feet in next to his.

  “Does your brother, the lord justice, make a habit of assigning you such difficult tasks?”

  “No more talk of this trip being a hardship,” he said softly, his striking eyes surveying her face. “I’m extremely pleased that I’m able to be of service.”

  His charm was more lethal than his looks. Freya felt her cheeks warm and tried to slide back toward Ella with no success.

  She searched for something to say. Anything to ease the tension gripping her.

  “You’re stationed in the Highlands?”

  “This past year I’ve been attached to the 93rd Regiment of Foot.”

  “The Sutherland Highlanders?” she asked, knowing a bit about them. They were located in a wild region of mountains north of Torrishbrae. Most of the soldiers and officers came from the lands of Sutherland, Ross, Caithness, the Orkneys, and Shetlands.

  “I’m an officer in the Royal Engineers, building roads and bridges. My orders there are temporary.”

  �
�A necessity . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence as a bump and a leap of the carriage pressed her leg intimately against his. They were far too close. “As you can see, we desperately need someone of your talent here.”

  A woolen shawl she’d draped on her lap fell to the floor. He fetched it and spread it over her knees. She whispered a word of thanks at the considerate gesture, but their eyes met and a riot of butterflies swarmed within her, banging against her ribs.

  She turned her attention quickly to her niece. Sitting cross-legged on the seat, Ella smiled back at them.

  “All of this is boring. Can you please continue with the conversation you were having about my father while I was pretending to be asleep?”

  * * *

  Cupid could take a lesson or two from this little one, Penn thought.

  Sitting in that coffee room before he’d been introduced to them, he’d already been formulating what he was going to say to his brother, but any complaint regarding this trip to Baronsford was now forgotten.

  These two fascinated him. The older one, in particular. Penn contemplated the curve of Freya’s lips and the dimple in her cheek as she played a game of push and shove with her niece to win more space on the seat. For the briefest of moments, while she was distracted, he gazed at the delicate line of her jaw and the slant of her dark eyes and the soft curls that invited touching.

  A true beauty. But what made Miss Freya Sutherland even more striking was her complete lack of awareness of just how alluring she was.

  “You are taking too much room, fairy child.” She tickled her niece. “Move over.”

  “I need this much space,” Ella complained, swinging her legs around and taking control of most of the seat.

  Freya’s laughter was as natural as a spring-fed brook. “And I need you to ride up top with Dougal. You’ll get so cold that you’ll be begging to come inside again for just a wee wedge of space on this seat.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “She might not, but by Saint Duthac, you know I would, Miss Ella Dacre,” Shona growled, having been awakened by the commotion.

  As the nurse and the child engaged in their own battle of wits, Penn watched Freya try to adjust her legs to avoid the constant contact with his body. But it was no use. There was nowhere to go. And frankly, he had no complaints.