Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  "Four."

  Killian flinched at the shrill giggles that followed the shuttlecock score that Percy Fitzsimmons had shouted out loud enough for a deaf man to hear.

  The peacock looked like an edjit, stumbling around, swinging his battledore in the air. Kathryn had explained the wood-framed racket was used to bat around a cork fitted with feathers to resemble a bird, hence the game name—shuttlecock. The player who kept the faux avian in the air the longest won. The prize? Percy slipped on a patch of mud and landed on his arse. Well, certainly not dignity.

  Killian strolled to one of the seven tables on the lawn and found a seat. Each was covered with fine linen, and centerpieces made from what to him appeared to be dead vegetation. A fall bouquet, Kathryn had called them.

  The gathering had been in progress since before noon. Devil of a long time to discuss such sundries as the weather, the latest fashions from London, or why someone's chickens had quit laying eggs. It was hard to stomach that this maudlin type of activity passed as amusement. Gah, that's why they needed his treasure. Killian tracked Kathryn as she flitted from guest to guest. But this sight was well worth the trouble.

  The past two days had been a maelstrom of insanity, and coming from a Fae who existed in insanity, that was saying quite a bit. Welcoming a friend home had gone from pleasure to what the feck in the blink of an eye.

  Colin thought he had a bad situation well in hand, playing superstition against his fellow mortals. Trouble was, the superstitions were all too real, and, after his meeting with Rua, could prove to be much more dangerous than losing a piece of land.

  Lives could be lost.

  "'Tis not yer problem," Brady had said when he'd shared Colin's plan with him. Aye, Killian could leave the mortals to their own devices. His kind had done so for centuries, and it would take less magic than it took to tie his cravat to fade off into the Fae realm.

  But then it went back to that matter of lives being lost.

  He idly watched Fitzsimmons and his gaggle of adolescent neophytes prancing around. Not a true reflection of life's joy, but it passed the time.

  "I'm quite the sportsman, eh?" Percy said on a spiral past the table.

  Shite, he was such an edjit. Killian lifted a finger, sent a stiff breeze in Percy's direction. The shuttlecock dipped and swirled on magical eddies, as the whole lot of them tried to hit it. They never gave a thought as to how the cork could stay airborne clear to the stream at the garden's edge. He heaved a sigh. Mortals.

  Another gust, not of his making, drifted across the gathering, the tablecloths lifting in response. Killian huddled into his wool day coat, sipped his hot tea. It was late fall, and damp chill would be the daily weather well up to Christmas. Why Kathryn had opted on an outdoor affair this time of year was beyond his reasoning.

  Still, it was well received, with gentry from all around the region in attendance. Not unusual, really, as Magistrate Smithfield was a highly regarded official. And that was a rare thing in Ireland. But the sole reason many had braved the miserable day was the rumor that Colin Hardwick, Lord Keshlea might attend.

  As if on cue, the earl appeared framed by the doorway of the house. All heads turned. His friend cut a fine figure. Tall, self-possessed, with a regal bearing innate to those of aristocratic bloodline. Rumor among the females who spoke of him suggested he was also considered handsome. Killian was not one to judge, but by the reaction of all the ladies who stopped mid-gossip to gape at him, there must be something truth to it. He scoffed into his cup. Kathryn would never be swayed by such superficial attributes, he thought, raising his eyes above the rim of the cup. And yet, he found her…standing stock still, staring at Colin.

  Killian waved off a footman who paused when he choked on his tea. She was the hostess. Of course, she would pay attention to the arrival of another guest. But then he shifted his gaze to the earl and saw that his eyes, too, were locked on Kathryn.

  A sizzling energy flowed between them that both irritated and confounded him. There was attraction, aye, but that was to be expected with a beauty like his lady.

  Yer lady?

  He pressed his lips against the nagging voice in his head and continued his assessment. A wisp of seeking magic brought more questions than answers. Both were experiencing memory, temper, longing, hurt, and quandary. It was a muddle of emotions that even with his powers, would be difficult to unravel.

  "Nor should ye be trying."

  Killian whipped his head around. Brady sat two chairs away, nibbling on a blackberry jam tart.

  "What the feck are ye doing here, and why are ye in my head again?"

  "These are marvelous," he answered, smacking his lips. A teacup popped onto the table at his elbow. He took a long drink then wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. He rolled his eyes toward Killian. "Patric suggested I stand by in case ye need some assistance."

  "Assistance? What the feck?"

  Brady shrugged. "Do I know the High King's mind? Ye know he's moody as seven hells. I agreed, as yer other choice was Michael."

  Michael. Talk about black moods. That Leithprachaun, was as social as a bag of peat mud. "I won't be needing any assistance. 'Tis just another mortal riddle to sort out."

  "That includes a beautiful, attractive woman that arouses ye."

  Killian fisted his hand. Secrets were hard kept in the Fae world. "Don't make it so vulgar. 'Tis not as if ye haven't had yer turn with a mortal."

  A shadow fell across Brady's face. He'd loved a mortal once. It had not ended well.

  Damnation, when would he learn to consider his words before blurting them out? "I spoke in haste, brother."

  "Ye spoke the truth." A tumbler of whiskey replaced the teacup. Brady downed it in one swallow. "We've not fallen far from our sire's tree."

  Aye, Finn was promiscuous, there was no denying. Procreation among any of the Fae clans was shrouded in mystery, but their father had set records. "We can't be blaming Da for all of it. 'Tis in our natures, this passion," replied Killian. "Passion in all things. But we are warriors, and warriors must wield control." From the corner of his eye, he spotted Colin strolling over to Kathryn. He near to gave his neck a whiplash, honing in on the couple.

  "Aye," drawled Brady. "Control."

  Oh, Killian had more control than his brother gave him credit for, or he'd be a flaming pile of stunned ash at this moment. He ignored Brady's snicker, and watched Colin bow over Kathryn's hand. He wove magic into the breeze so that he might hear what they were saying. Aye, 'twas rude, but who would know?

  "Kathryn, lovely as always." Colin said.

  Kathryn snugged her woolen wrap around her shoulders, though Killian could see the heat rise to her cheeks.

  "And you, charming as ever, my lord. But then I suppose when one practices as diligently as you, their skill would be of a high caliber."

  Killian frowned at the bite beneath her words, as did Colin, though he quickly masked it under a cool reserve. He thought the earl might speak again, but Kathryn dissuaded it by making introductions to a handful of guests who clamored for attention. He leaned back, watched Colin face the onslaught with the natural verve of a man of station. As the initial crew was placated with greetings and inane platitudes, it was replaced by another swarm.

  "I feel sorry for the poor bugger."

  Brady watched the scene with a sympathetic air that Killian himself was not sharing. He's yer friend. Why would ye not commiserate with him?

  Because he was showing too much interest in Kathryn.

  Aye, that was an adolescent view of it. Interacting at a social event did not denote anything more than politeness. He took a deep breath. Aye that was all it 'twas.

  A strong vibration tugged his attention back to the scene.

  Kathryn watched from the periphery of the buffet table as the crowd accosted Colin. Killian sensed a longing in her, a hurt that was so raw that he thought he could feel her tears. He shifted back to the earl, who was showing clear signs of agitation. His eyes shifted back and forth from
whomever he addressed to Kathryn. He pasted a smile on his face as he spoke to his latest admirer. "Your pardon, but I believe I will seek refreshment."

  The person twittered apologies for keeping the earl from starvation, and parted a path to the buffet. Kathryn's eyes widened, and she took a step toward the house. But Colin met her in three strides.

  "I would speak to you, Miss Smithfield," he said in a low voice that even Killian's magic had trouble hearing.

  "This is neither the time, nor the place, for any discussion," she whispered sharply. "Nor, in fact, is a discussion needed at all."

  "Oh, I disagree." Colin took her elbow firmly in his hand. "We have things to sort out." He glanced out into the far meadow, then said in a slightly louder voice, "Why yes, Miss Smithfield. I would love to see your stables."

  Kathryn's mouth firmed into an agitated line, but she did not resist as Colin led her to the gate.

  Killian leapt to his feet.

  "Calm yerself, lad," Brady said, joining him. "I believe the lord and young miss seek privacy."

  "Privacy? To what end?" Killian slapped his forehead at the stupidity of his question.

  "Don't imagine the worse just because yer horny."

  Brady laughed at the glare Killian shot him, then slapped him on the shoulder. "The mortals have a right to their free will, boyo. I sense those two have some old business to sort out and it just might not be any of yers to know."

  Killian watched the couple disappear into the barn. Aye, it might not be, but Kathryn seemed distressed and what kind of man, what kind of warrior would he be to stand by without offering his protection?

  "Have another tart," he shot over his shoulder to Brady. "I've a horse to see to."

  AN IRISH GIFT

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Remove your hand this instant."

  Kathryn's demand floated to Killian, even as his essence swirled through the loft window. His corporeal body landed on the wooden edge of the loft, feet braced in a fighter's stance, prepared to defend her honor. He began to spin his magic to show himself, but pulled back at the last instant when he saw Colin release her arm. The earl folded his hands at his back and stalked several steps away.

  "What ails you, Kathryn?" he asked with a voice filled with exasperation. "I've never known you to be so…so…"

  "What? Prickly?"

  He raised one finely arched brow. "Yes, to be matter of fact. You are being just that."

  She lifted her chin and mirrored his steps in the opposite direction. "I'm sorry if I offend your sensibilities. I'm sure there are many other ladies who meet your qualifications."

  Colin looked toward the ceiling then back to her. "What are you prattling on about?"

  Kathryn spun on her heel so fast, Killian thought she might slip on the straw strewn on the floor. Or set it ablaze, if the fire in her eyes got any hotter.

  "You know very well what I am talking about. The Duke of Chester's spring ball."

  Colin's mouth fell open and Killian had to resist the urge to go punch it closed. "A ball? What on earth has a ball to do with your temper?"

  Kathryn paced back and faced him. "You flirted with every eligible miss in attendance."

  "Flirt? With those simpering girls?" Colin waved her off. "For Christ's sake, that was eight months past."

  Killian sifted through the time frame. He recalled that Kathryn had traveled to London to attend an ailing relation. She was gone for several months. The gossip mill had quite the day on her return, speculating on the fine additions to her wardrobe, and the robust spring to her step. Could the young Kathryn be in love, it was wondered.

  Feck.

  He should leave. Slip out the way he'd come, leave them to their old business as Brady had said. To eavesdrop any further would be a leap past rude into unethical.

  He eased his legs over the edge of the loft and sat down.

  Colin blew out a harsh breath. "You are acting like the little girl I used to chase with a garden snake."

  "Little did I know that the young heir was going to turn into the snake," Kathryn replied in a clipped tone.

  Colin's jaw took on a stern line. "Oh, for God's sake. You prattle on about one frivolous ball, a ball that I recall you attended on my arm." He walked toward her, stopping a pace away from the squared line of her shoulders. His voice gentled. "Where is the woman who explored London with me? The one who appreciated the antiquities of the British Museum? The one who attended the Convent Garden and enjoyed the opera?" He reached out and lightly brushed her arm. "Where is the woman who marveled at the stars as we reclined in the meadow of my uncle's estate?"

  A knot in Killian's throat threatened to cut off his breath.

  "That woman is still present." Kathryn replied, her tone softened. "But she has doubts. For all of the wonderful things that were done, that were…said, she watched a different man emerge that night at the ball."

  Colin shook his head, his voice gruff with frustration. "Yes, I danced with other women, as is expected of gentlemen who attend. You know such affairs are rife with social expectations. It is the way of London and the ton, surely you realize that."

  "You think me dimwitted?"

  "Those were not my words." Colin was getting angry now, furrows creasing his brow.

  "No words are needed. I know I am a simple, country girl, Lord Keshlea, but I heard the talk around the room that night. That the attention you were paying Lady Farnsley could only mean an engagement was soon to be announced."

  Colin's look turned fierce and his lack of reply brought Kathryn's prideful shoulders down into a posture of defeat.

  He could bring Colin to heel with one magical orb, Killian thought, his desire to defend Kathryn overwhelming. Even as he considered it, an equally deep level of hurt wafted up from Colin.

  Colin seemed to consider his words. Killian watched with renewed suspicion as he took her hands into his own, holding them more firmly when she attempted to extract them. "Kathryn, I did bestow the lady with attention but there was no emotional intent."

  Bugger it. That was a well-played line used by scoundrels and rakes. No matter how much Killian wanted to squeeze his friend into that mold, he knew him to be a better man, a better mortal than that.

  But his Kathryn was smarter than that, and would quickly divest him of any excuse.

  "Really?"

  Feck.

  Colin smiled like a man who had won a chess game.

  "Then why were you with her through several dances and rounds of refreshments, while I cooled my heels with the wall of spinsters?"

  Killian snickered at Colin's incredulous look.

  The earl pressed his lips together. "I'll not play games with you, Kathryn. You will have to have faith that there was a higher purpose for my interest in the self-absorbed chit known as Lady Farnsley."

  "Must I, Colin?" Kathryn's voice was a whisper. "We talked of so many grand plans. For Keshlea. For Ireland." She bowed her head. "For us. Yet the reality became all too clear in London. We are not of the same social status. You are a peer of the realm, and I only a respectable member of the gentry." Her cheeks flushed red. "Though the respectable part may no longer hold true."

  Killian's temper spiked again. What had happened that Kathryn would make such a statement? He called his magic to dive into their thoughts, and met a barrier hard as stone.

  "Not today, brother."

  He stifled a growl. Brady stood behind him, prepared to prevent him from making a mistake he would regret. Killian searched Kathryn's face, saw the pain on her delicate features. Colin had hurt her, was hurting her, and the knowledge bored a flaming hole in his gut.

  "'Tis mortal business, aye?"

  "He's wronged her."

  He sensed Brady's shoulder shrug. "All of us have hurt those we love."

  Love? He fought rising panic as he glanced between the two, noticing for the first time that Colin's face reflected as much regret and sorrow as Kathryn's.

  Christ, he'd been a fool. Colin was speaking, dra
wing Killian out of the fog of despair that had overtaken his brain.

  "Don't, Kathryn. We did nothing amiss. If sharing a kiss beneath the moonlight stands as scandalous behavior, well, then it's a reflection of how maddening the whole of society has become. A pox on them."

  Kathryn was quiet and did not protest when he brought both of her hands to his lips.

  A gaping hollow opened inside Killian. He should have listened to Brady, should have stayed away, free of knowledge that crushed his fragile hope for happiness. Christ, but he should have known better.

  "There is a matter I must see to, a threat I must stop," Colin continued, his voice a ragged whisper. "Then we will sort out those very plans of which you speak."

  A small crease formed between her brows. "What sort of threat?"

  Colin shook his head, her hands still clasped in his. "A dangerous one. Keshlea Manor must be secured. It will be solved in short order."

  "The manor? The village is in peril?"

  "Do not be troubled. I have it well in hand."

  Kathryn tugged her hands free. "Do not patronize me Colin. This is my home as well as your estate. I care about the people. It is my right to see to their well-being."

  "It is my job, as lord." Colin's voice took on a tight edge. "As I have said, it is being handled."

  "Well. That's fine then," Kathryn said crisply, stepping away and adjusting the skirt of her dress. "Do you forbid me to become involved?"

  "I do," he answered, folding his hands behind his back.

  "As Lord Keshlea?"

  He hesitated before answering in a firm tone. "Yes. I forbid your involvement as your lord."

  Kathryn raised her gaze to Colin, her eyes sparkling like sharp gold, diamonds with the fiery spirit Killian so loved.

  "Ah, Christ, he's falling right into it again," Brady muttered.

  "And that, my lord, is another reason we would never suit."

  Bits of straw scattered, clinging to her skirt as she stalked from the barn. Killian could tell Colin wanted to grab her back, but pride stayed him.

  "Blasted woman," he snarled, raking his hands through his hair as he followed after her.