Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She stopped sniffling and cast him a smile. “I don’t think it took me longer than a minute to know I’d fallen in love with you. I was smitten by the time you pulled me out of the overturned carriage and helped me down.” She stared into his wickedly appealing eyes. “But I don’t want you to marry me out of pity or a sense of duty. It doesn’t matter what the yule bough says. It doesn’t matter that you fill my dreams. What does your heart say?”

  “Lots of things.” He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her shockingly close, but there was no one about, so she decided it was all right. Besides, she loved the seductively musky scent of his body and the protective strength of his muscled arms. “First, my heart is shouting that I’m the greatest fool who ever existed.” He bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. “Second, it’s berating me for behaving like a knave and a coward toward you. What I did to you last night was unpardonable, but in my own defense, you scared the hell out of me.”

  “I did?”

  He nodded. “My stubborn pride wouldn’t allow me to admit to you or myself how desperately I need you in my life. So I pushed you away and hurt you instead.”

  She nibbled her lip in thought. “Is that what you were doing? I didn’t understand. I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “In that moment, I didn’t like myself very much. But I knew that I would deserve to burn in the fires of hell if I let that bull’s pizzle Postings claim you for himself. I could go on listing all the mistakes I’ve made, but the point is that I love you and wish to spend the rest of my life proving it to you. What do you say?”

  She pinched herself to make certain she wasn’t dreaming.

  Desmond continued when she didn’t immediately respond. “You hit me like a bolt of lightning. I fell in love with you the moment you flew onto my lap as we journeyed to the inn that first day. I’ve been in agony over you ever since, fighting to deny my feelings and losing every damn battle.”

  He took her hands and drew her under the mistletoe. “Marry me, Sparkles. I love you.” He kissed her with all his heart and soul because nothing less would do. “I want you in my life. I want you in my arms for the rest of our lives. Will you have me?”

  “Oh, Des. Yes! You know you’re the man of my dreams.” She put her arms around his neck and simply melted against him. “This is where I want to be. With you. Always.” She gazed up at him and frowned lightly. “What’s a bull’s pizzle?”

  He grinned. “You’re still too innocent to know, but I’ll fix that as soon as we’re married.” He kissed her on the lips once more, his expression serious. “You’ll be my wife and under my protection. No one will ever hurt you again.”

  “Des, you’re the best Christmas present a girl ever had.”

  “You have it backwards, Sparkles.” They were still standing under the mistletoe, surrounded by red velvet bows and sprigs of holly in joyful display around the parlor. Snow began to fall outside the tall windows. The smell of hot cocoa wafted in from the dining room. Winter was upon them, but Desmond’s heart felt warm. He gave Adelaide a deep and tender kiss. “You’re the best gift a marquis ever had. I’m glad you love me.”

  THE END

  ABOUT MEARA PLATT

  Meara Platt is an Amazon UK All-Star and bestselling, award winning author. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story to be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series, which is set to debut in 2017. Learn more about Meara Platt by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com

  DESTINY’S KISS

  ELIZABETH ROSE

  DESTINY’S KISS

  CHAPTER ONE

  England, 1344

  Ross of Clan Douglas lifted his tankard, watching the English messenger of King Edward III with intent. Ross’ brother, Malcolm, and his two good friends, Breac and Niven, occupied a table at the Devil’s Eye with him. The Devil’s Eye was a border tavern run by the English who happened to befriend some of the Lowland Scots, Clan Douglas included.

  “I wonder what brings Edward’s men in here,” he said, setting down his tankard. His eyes were still fastened on the king’s messenger and two English guards sitting at a table across the room.

  “This could be our chance,” said Malcolm, leaning over and speaking to his brother in a low voice. The tavern was noisy and busy. A traveling musician plucked a lively tune on a lute from the opposite side of the room. Bonnie serving wenches hustled back and forth bringing customers tankards of ale, whisky, and wine.

  “Ye have been waitin’ to pay back Edward for what he did to yer family,” said Niven with a nod of his head. “Mayhap, this is yer chance.”

  “Go, find out,” said Breac.

  “Ye fools, I canna just walk up and ask them.” Ross studied the serving wench, Ella, who spoke to the Englishmen at their table, taking their orders. Ella was Ross’ favorite serving girl and he’d had her on several occasions. She was a Lowlander like him and not English. Ella would also do anything for Ross. Perhaps she’d overheard something at the Englishmen’s table. He had to find out.

  The Devil’s Eye was often inhabited by both the English and the Scots. Lowlanders had quite a different relationship with the English on this side of the border than the Highlanders who were not accepted in mixed company. Pushing up from his chair, he made his way over to the opposite end of the room where a kissing bough hung from a beam in the ceiling, being placed there in the spirit of Christmas, bringing joy to the patrons who had a chance to kiss a wench or two in fun.

  “Ella,” he said and the girl stopped beneath the bough. He glanced back over to the table with the Englishmen. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

  “Ross, no’ now,” she scolded. “I am workin’ or didna ye notice?”

  “I did,” he said, leaning over and whispering into her ear. “Tell me. Why is the king’s messenger here and where is he goin’?”

  “I overheard them sayin’ somethin’ about takin’ a missive to Hetherpool Castle,” she whispered back.

  “Hetherpool?” he asked, in confusion. “Why?”

  “I dinna ken,” she answered. “Now leave me be, Ross. I have to get the Englishmen their drinks.”

  Ross glanced over his shoulder, seeing the king’s messenger putting a folded parchment into a pouch that sat on the floor by his feet. He needed to know what the missive said and would do anything to find out. He’d spent too many years trying to avenge King Edward for the raids that took most the members of their clan as well as his family. The only blood relative that had survived was his brother, Malcolm, who hated the English just as much as he did.

  Ross strolled over to the drink board where Ella collected tankards of ale. “Keep the Englishmen’s drinks comin’ all night,” he said, tossing a few coppers onto the tray she used. “And bring them no’ only ale but also some of the finest Scottish whisky.”

  “That whisky is potent and the English dinna usually drink it,” exclaimed Ella. “Ross? What are ye doin’? And shall I tell them who sent them the drinks?”

  “Nay, dinna say a word.” He looked over to the Englishmen once more. “There is somethin’ I’d like ye to do for me, Ella.” He took another coin from the sporran tied to his waist and pushed it into her palm. “Once they are well in their cups, I need ye to steal the missive from the messenger’s pouch.”

  “Nay!” She pushed the coin back at him. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Taking his mouth from hers, he noticed she’d closed her eyes during the kiss and he knew now he could convince her to do anything. “I’ll make it worth yer while, Ella. I need to see what is in that missive.”

  “I could get killed if they catch me stealin’ it,” she protested, shaking her head at him.


  “I willna let that happen.” He reached for his sword fastened to his side to prove his point. “My brother and two of my friends will act on my orders. I’ll be sure to protect ye from the bastards if trouble arises.” He took the coin and placed it in her cleavage as her breasts were trussed up enticingly. If he didn’t have other things on his mind right now, he might have considered taking her out to the stables and rewarding her before she even accomplished the mission.

  “All right, I’ll do it for ye,” she said, letting out a sigh. “But dinna ever ask me to do somethin’ like this again.”

  “I promise. Never again.” He ran a finger over her cheek. “Thank ye, Ella.”

  Ross made his way back to the table where his friends waited anxiously. He never took his eyes off the Englishmen.

  “How much longer?” complained Niven.

  “Why dinna ye just go steal it yerself?” asked Breac.

  “Hush,” said Ross, silencing his friends. “If we get anywhere near their table, it’s goin’ to alarm them. Ella will deliver. Just give her time.”

  Sure enough, two hours later, the Englishmen looked to be well in their cups. He saw Ella glance back at him and Ross nodded, giving her the signal. She leaned over the table to collect the empty tankards and, at the same time, her other hand slipped down into the messenger’s pouch, snagging the missive. She cleverly hid the parchment in her hand that was holding the tray.

  “Here she comes,” said Malcolm, as if they needed the announcement.

  “Dinna raise suspicion,” Ross warned, just as anxious as the others to know what message the king was sending to Hetherpool. “All of ye, look away from their table.”

  “I canna believe what I do for ye,” complained Ella, walking over and dropping the missive onto Ross’ lap.

  “Ye are the best, Ella,” he said, fingering the parchment under the table. Ella scowled and headed away.

  “What is it?” asked Niven, trying to see the letter.

  “Look at yer drinks only,” he warned, glancing down to his lap to see the king’s seal embossed into the wax keeping the missive closed. He carefully used his fingernail to lift the wax on the edges, managing to open the letter without breaking the seal in the least.

  “Hurry up,” Malcolm told him. “We need to get out of here before they discover it is gone.”

  Ross’ eyes scanned the missive as he read the king’s words. A smile lit up his face.

  “What does it say?” asked Niven, his eyes skimming the edge of the table.

  “It looks like we’ve got our lucky break,” answered Ross. “The king’s mistress is about to give birth. Edward says he’ll be joinin’ her in Hetherpool soon and hopes to get there before the bastard is born.”

  “How is that lucky?” grumbled Malcolm. He reached around a burning candle in the center of the table to pick up a pitcher of ale to pour himself another drink.

  “We’re goin’ to alter this missive. When the Lord of Hetherpool receives it, it’ll say the king wants naught to do with his mistress and bastard and that he’s sent someone to marry the girl and make an alliance with her father, instead.” Ross felt satisfied with this idea, but he should have known the others wouldn’t accept the plan so easily.

  “What are ye sayin’?” asked Niven. “Who are ye talkin’ about?”

  “Me,” said Ross with a grin.

  “Ye’re addled, brathair,” grumbled Malcolm. “Ye’ll never get away with it.”

  “I will as long as I can convince Ella to find me a quill and some ink. The tavern owner should have some in the back room.”

  “If the king’s seal is broken, no one will believe the missive,” spat Breac.

  “I’ve learned to open a missive without breakin’ a seal,” Ross told them with pride, his eyes landing on the burning red candle in the center of the table and the wax dripping down over the edges of the bottle that held it steady. “I’ll just write a new letter and add more wax to hold the king’s seal in place. No one will even ken it’s been tampered with. I’ll have Ella sneak it back into the messenger’s pouch and he’ll deliver it for us. We’ll show up at the castle’s gate right afterward and be welcomed with open arms.”

  “What will ye write?” asked Malcolm. “I dinna understand yer fool idea.”

  “I will do all I can to get back at Edward. I will start by takin’ from him no’ only his mistress but his bastard child as well.” Ross folded the missive on his lap, running his finger over the wax seal in thought.

  Niven almost choked on his ale and Breac’s eyes opened wide at hearing Ross’ words.

  “Do ye think we can pull this off?” asked Breac.

  “I can and I will. I’ll tamper with Edward’s words to make it read that he no longer wants the wench and the bairn, and that he’s arranged for an alliance and husband for the girl, instead.”

  “And that would be ye?” asked Malcolm.

  “The one and only,” Ross answered with a devious grin.

  “It’s a suicide mission is what it is,” snapped Malcolm. “We’ll never get away with it and ye ken I’m right.”

  “It’s a chance I’m willin’ to take,” said Ross, feeling vengeance pushing through his veins, driving him forward. “Edward took everythin’ from us and we’ll just be repayin’ the favor. Now we just need to make sure we get Lord Ramsay Granville of Hetherpool to agree to the weddin’ as soon as possible. We’ll sweep the wench out of there as fast as we can and be halfway back to Scotland before the king even shows his face at the castle’s gate.”

  “I dinna ken about this foolishness,” said Niven.

  “Neither do I,” added Breac.

  “I’ll go alone if I have to, but I’d prefer if the three of ye were there with me to watch my back.” There was an awkward pause of silence before Ross’ friends answered.

  “All right,” Niven finally agreed, cradling the tankard in his hands. “I’ll do it.”

  “So will I,” added Breac, fidgeting nervously. “Ye’ve always been there for me, Ross, and I willna let ye down.”

  “What about ye, Malcolm?” Ross looked over to his brother who stared down into his tankard of ale in deep thought. He lifted it to his mouth, downed the contents, and slammed the vessel down atop the worn wood. His eyes traveled back to the table of Englishmen and, slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin.

  “I like it and am only angry I didna think of it first,” he said. They all started laughing. “I’m there for ye, brathair. Now, get that servin’ wench back here quickly. We have work to do. This is one mission I’m more than willin’ to risk my life for and only wish I could see Edward’s face when he finds out a Scot has stolen his mistress and his bastard!”

  DESTINY’S KISS

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lady Annalyse Granville was sure to go straight to hell. Clad in her plain, rough-hewn brown gown with her head covered by a white wimple, she clutched her long woolen cloak around her body, shivering from the winter cold. Purposely pausing in the entranceway of her father’s great hall, she’d stopped directly under the holy bough – or what was known to many as the kissing bough.

  Having been raised in the abbey although she wasn’t a nun, Annalyse shared the morals and customs of the women of the cloth but hated every minute of it. However, even with her sheltered life she was wise to the legends of the kissing bough and knew that any lady standing under it from Christmastide all the way to Twelfth Night would receive a kiss, or perhaps several, from any knight or passing lord.

  Most noblewomen her age were already married or at least betrothed. Annalyse was twenty years of age and, sadly, had never even experienced a kiss from a man. This was because of her curse of being born the second twin – a position that tagged her as a spawn of the devil. The consequences of her birth made her feared and undesirable to everyone. Of course, it was naught but an addlepated superstition, but her father believed it. That is why she’d been sent to live with the nuns. No one wanted their life cursed by an evil second-
born twin bringing them bad luck. Matter of fact, no one wanted a second-born twin at all.

  She hated superstition since it ruined her life. If it hadn’t been for her ill luck, she’d be here celebrating Christmas with the rest of her family, as was her right for being born a noble. But instead of being treated with respect and honor for being the noblewoman she truly was, others acted as if she had the plague and went out of their way to avoid her.

  If the nuns had known of her whereabouts tonight, they would tell her she had no right to be in a hall full of knights that were all well in their cups on this cold winter’s eve. Annalyse shook her head. It no longer mattered because she didn’t care. Her presence here tonight was for a reason. Her twin sister, Gabrielle, had sent her a missive and it had sounded so urgent that she’d daringly sneaked out of the abbey and traveled unescorted to the borderlands during the night so she wouldn’t let her sister down. Her actions tonight had been dangerous, reckless, and bold, and it hadn’t stopped with her journey here.

  Looking up to the kissing bough hanging right above her head, her heartbeat resounded in her ears so loudly she was sure others could hear it, too. Never had she thought she’d ever be standing under a kissing bough and the idea excited her. The bough was a ball interwoven with twigs and fir tree greenery, decorated with an apple, candles, and berries. The abundance of holly decorating it would surely bring good luck.

  Then she saw the ivy above her head and a knot formed in her stomach. Everyone knew ivy was supposed to be kept outdoors and not brought across the threshold because that meant death. Then again, perhaps that was naught more than a silly superstition. Dangling precariously from the bottom of the kissing bough was a fresh sprig of green mistletoe with several small, white berries. This was something she’d never seen at the abbey. The church didn’t allow mistletoe within its holy walls since it was associated with pagan customs and Druids.