Christmas in the Highlands: Anthology with 2 Stories

by Madelyn Hill

  Fiona rose and moved to the fireplace. She held her shaking hands toward the heat.

  “I ken how you feel about Malcolm. He explained all after Mairi and I were rescued.”

  The scrape of a chair against the stone flooring alerted Fiona that Lady Rossalyn was moving toward her.

  “I’m sorry Mairi and I have upset your plans . . . your dreams.” She touched Fiona’s shoulder. “But—”

  Och, the woman was truly gracious. Beautiful and gracious, surely she deserved Mal more than Fiona. “Nay. No need to speak the truth. Malcolm does not love me as I loved him.” Love or loved, now her emotions hovered in between and sometimes leaned toward one emotion, then the other at any given moment.

  She covered her face with her hands. Blast it, ‘twas confusing.

  “He loves you,” Rossalyn said, her soft tone motherly. “He’s not in love with you.” The last words were a whisper and Fiona appreciated how gently she relayed the truth of the situation. A truth which was clear and had been clear from the moment Fiona had rode to greet Mal and his men and saw the lovely Lady Rossalyn.

  Emotion choked any response. Fiona merely shrugged and continued to stare at the fire. The orange and red flames blurred through her tears. Lady Rossalyn turned and left the chamber.

  As the door clicked shut, all Fiona could think was why the truth needed to hurt so much.

  Chapter 6

  The holiday was nearly upon them and there was no news as to the men who’d camped on Sutherland soil. They never returned to their spot in the woods and no other clues were found to determine their business. Cam and his men continued to patrol the area and follow any trails which weren’t created by the Sutherland clan. Yet, persistent squalls of snow rendered many of their efforts fruitless.

  They rode off once again as the early morning mist and snow swirled about the hooves of the steeds. Fiona kept watch from her chamber. A chill raced up her spine and she rubbed her arms to ward it off.

  “Such nonsense,” she said to herself. Her worries were baseless. Cam and his men were braw and well trained. Cam wouldn’t have it any other way. No doubt they’d dispatch any threat without an issue.

  Yet . . . fear still jangled her nerves. She grabbed her arisaid and headed to the bailey. Wrapping the woolen material tight around her, she kept warm as she strode to the palisade. Men protected the gate and stood before her as she attempted to step outside the keep’s wall.

  “No one is to pass.”

  She slapped her hands on her hips and the wind whipped her arisaid against her legs. “I’ll just be outside the wall.”

  “Nay, Fiona. I’ll not disobey Cam’s orders.”

  Cam.

  Of course he’d try to keep her inside the keep. She seethed as she turned on her heel and stomped back to the main hall. Mayhap Lady Rossalyn would like a bit of fresh air. Surely, Cam’s orders didn’t include her as well.

  The man seemed to want to vex her at every turn. They’d yet to speak since their discussion in the woods. His words haunting her, she worried for her battered heart and even a bit for Cam’s heart. He professed to have loved her since he could remember. How could she not have seen it? ‘Twasn’t as if he’d mooned over her. In fact, there were certain times she had suspected Cam didn’t care for her and found her a nuisance.

  He’d drag Malcolm away to train with swords or arrows, even when the man knew she couldn’t participate. And in the evenings when they gathered after a meal, Cam and Mal would sit with the rest of the lads and make it apparent they didn’t want her presence.

  “Stop vexing us,” Cam would mutter. “Go sit with the lasses.”

  But she didn’t. Instead, she’d go to her chamber and plot how to gain Mal’s attention.

  And now, now Cam claimed he’d always loved her.

  Fiona’s heart clenched as she remembered the look of admiration on his face. ‘Twas as if saying the words had set him free of every secret he’d held against his will. Such a braw man, confessing something so dear.

  And when she’d fled, when she said she didn’t love him, the enchanting smile had vanished and she feared . . . feared she’d hurt him beyond measure.

  She chewed on her lip, trying to think of something other than the shock on Cam’s face.

  The shock and hurt.

  She pulled up short and covered her mouth. ‘Twas the same shock and hurt she’d felt when Malcolm had announced his marriage.

  How could she make it better? She feared there was no way.

  Brae waved at her. “Fiona, come and aid with the shortbread.”

  Frowning, unwilling to spend time with anyone, still Fiona crossed to the table where many lasses were mixing the flour and butter. Shortbread was a clan favorite.

  The lasses chattered as they worked and gossiped about the upcoming dance, taking place on Christmas Eve. And many giggled about which lad they’d pin their sights on.

  “You’re a quiet one, our Fiona. No lad on your mind?”

  She glared at Brae who kenned the direction of her heart. Her throat scratched as she tried to think of a witty retort. All that came to mind was the woman had the right of it, she needed to think of something else and forget her affection for Malcolm.

  “Shortbread!” Lady Rossalyn exclaimed as she came to the table. “‘Tis our laird’s favorite.”

  Without thinking, Fiona rolled her eyes heavenward, earning a swift kick from Brae. She leaned down and rubbed her shin, thinking the lady had learned her husband’s likings very quickly.

  Lady Rossalyn chatted and even rolled some dough. Fiona tried to ignore her, but found it impossible not to allow a small grin at her energetic spirit. She already kenned everyone’s name and relationships. As much as Fiona loathed to admit it, she truly liked her.

  Then Lady Rossalyn came to her side and asked, “Fiona, would you mind helping me with Mairi?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Aye.” How could she possibly help? She worked with the elders of the clan. The children seemed to be leery of her and she was equally uneasy around them. When bairns were born, she’d ohh and ahh, but always fearful to hold their wee, squirming bodies. What if they cried? What if she dropped them? Yet, even with her uncertainty, Fiona longed for her own bairn and kenned her fears would melt away when she held a babe borne of her body.

  Lady Rossalyn immediately laced her arm through Fiona’s. “‘Tis no help needed, but I wanted to finish our conversation.”

  Och, ‘twas the last conversation she wanted to have, discussing the man she loved with his wife.

  Once again they headed toward the laird’s chamber.

  “Tea is being sent and then we shall not be disturbed.”

  As they entered the laird’s chamber, Malcolm was securing his tartan with a leather belt.

  “Ah, m’ladies.”

  Fiona looked everywhere except at Malcolm, suddenly shy and uncomfortable, when she usually tossed barbs or witty remarks at him.

  Lady Rossalyn released her arm and strolled to her husband. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He grinned and cupped her cheek, the action so intimate, Fiona felt like an intruder and shifted her gaze. Mostly, her heart pinged with loneliness.

  “I’m joining Cam today.”

  “Take care, my husband.” Lady Rossalyn kissed him again and he nodded at Fiona as he left the chamber.

  He paused in the doorway. His gaze met hers. Momentary regret seemed to fill them. “Anything you’d like me to say to Cam?”

  “Nay,” she replied. She had nothing to say to the man. At least nothing she’d tell Malcolm. Her next conversation with Cam would be in private and she hoped she’d be able to explain her feelings without damaging his any further.

  Mal sighed. “Rossalyn, love. Can I speak with Fiona alone?”

  Lady Rossalyn gla
nced her way, then said, “Aye.” She squeezed Fiona’s arm as she walked by.

  Fiona reached for her, sent her a pleading look to remain in the chamber. How was she going to face him alone? What could she say? There were no words that would allow her to fully express her regret.

  Lady Rossalyn shook her head. “I’ll be right outside.” She exited the chamber and shut the door.

  Fiona took a step as if to follow. Mal cleared his throat and she froze.

  “I want to apologize to you,” he said.

  She swung to face him. Had she heard him correctly? “Nay, Mal. ‘Tis me who should beg your forgiveness. What I have done ‘twas shameful. Horrible.” Tears filled her eyes and her stomach clenched when she recalled her actions.

  He came forward. “Look at me, Fiona.”

  She peered up at him. Stared at his handsome face. Those eyes of his—och, the tiny scar near his right brow. He’d fallen into the loch and skimmed his head on a rock. She swallowed a sigh.

  He gripped her hands within his large ones. “I love Rossalyn.” The way he spoke, so sincere and heartfelt, it was obvious he adored his new wife.

  Sharp pain pierced her heart. “Aye, she’s lovely.”

  His soft chuckle eased around her. “She is. And so are you. You’ve been a dear friend for many years. I want you to ken I treasured our friendship.”

  She shrugged, not certain what to say. The air in the room seemed to disappear and she had trouble breathing. Here Malcolm stood, professing his love of another woman. The keep didn’t crumble down around her. ‘Twas odd, truth be told. It hurt, but not as badly as she’d thought.

  “I was wretched toward Lady Rossalyn and Mairi.”

  His gaze turned grim. “They could have been hurt, Fiona.” He released her hands, then swept his through his hair. “What if they’d died?”

  Tears raced down her cheeks. “I ken. I—I just didn’t think.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She’d always been a messy crier.

  “You are impulsive and quick to anger. You put my wife in danger.” He crossed his arms before his chest. “What do you propose I do?”

  He was asking her? Surprised, she sat in the chair before the fire. “I don’t ken.”

  “There has to be a decision and I’d rather you and I determine one.”

  ‘Twas better, she agreed. But what would be the best choice? Surely, Mal wouldn’t punish her with a whip? “I could work in the kitchen.”

  Mal gave a bark of laughter. “That would be punishment for the rest of us.”

  She laughed along with him, then sobered. “I don’t ken what we could do.”

  “I’ll think of something. I promise you, it won’t be too harsh.”

  He was being magnanimous. “How can you not throw me into the dungeon?”

  “Och, Fiona. I’d never do that to you.” He peered down at her. “But this is serious. You ken?”

  She did. ‘Twas the worst thing she’d ever done. “I’m so sorry, Mal. I . . . I just don’t ken why I did it.” Aye, she did. She was jealous and mean. Mad at Mal and the rest of the people in the keep, but especially Lady Rossalyn.

  After wiping the tears from her face, she stood and walked over to him. “I promise I will not bring harm to Lady Rossalyn or Mairi. I promise on my life.”

  Mal pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head as one would a sister. He loved her but wasn’t in love with her. Wasn’t that what Rossalyn had said? She was the pesky sister trailing after him and Cam. A sigh shuddered from her.

  Malcolm released her, held her at arm’s length. “We will find a solution.”

  She offered a wavering smile. “Aye.”

  “May I enter?”

  They turned to the threshold. Lady Rossalyn peeked around the door with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

  “Aye,” Mal said as he held Fiona’s gaze. He gave an encouraging jerk of his chin.

  “Grand.” She swept into the room as if nothing untoward had happened. As if Fiona hadn’t tried to get rid of her and her sweet daughter. “Malcolm,” she began with a pinched brow, “why is Fiona crying?”

  Mal looked to heaven as if praying for strength. “I didn’t beat her, wife.”

  Fiona stepped forward and rested her hand on Mal’s arm. “Truly, Lady Rossalyn. M’laird was nothing but kind.”

  “M’laird,” she said with a snort. “Seems to be a brute, leaving a woman in tears.”

  “Truly, he was good to me.” She must make the lady ken just how wonderful Malcolm was being. The man could have had her whipped or sent to the dungeons. And here he was, showing infinite kindness and love.

  If she weren’t already in love with him—she’d fall in love with him.

  “See, I was nothing but a gentleman.”

  “Leave us.” Lady Rossalyn’s voice chimed musically. “We’ve much to discuss.”

  Mal kissed his wife on the cheek. “I’ve to see to Cam.” With a quick salute in Fiona’s direction, he left the chamber.

  “I’m glad you had a chat. Now you can forget what happened and we can move forward.” She looked pointedly at Fiona. “‘Tis what Mal wants. What I want.”

  There was nothing the lady could say that would make Fiona feel better. Right then, she pledged to strive to make up for her actions for as long as it took.

  A serving lass brought tea and they sat before the window for a few silent minutes.

  “Lady Rossalyn,” she said to break the silence. “‘Tis nothing more to discuss.”

  “Call me Rossalyn.”

  Och, and Mal would have her head.

  “Firstly, I don’t want you to discount Cam’s proclamation of love. He is a grand man and you’d do well together.”

  Before any words of protest even left Fiona’s mouth, Lady Rossalyn—nay, Rossalyn—shook her head firmly to stop her from speaking. Then reached out and clasped Fiona’s hands.

  The lady of the keep had a stronger grip than Fiona had originally thought. Strong enough to be lady of the keep, for when Fiona tried to pull away, Rossalyn held tight.

  “Tell me,” she began, “why do you think you’re in love with Malcolm?”

  Why ask such a question? Fiona’s stomach roiled. Searching her mind for an answer, she pulled her hand from Rossalyn’s tight grasp. Burying her face in her tea seemed to create a decent excuse not to speak. There were so many reasons, but none she could verbalize. To say the least, it would make Rossalyn uncomfortable.

  “Ah-ha!” Rossalyn clapped her hands. “See, you are not in love with Malcolm.”

  Fiona’s cheeks heated as her teacup clattered on the saucer. Her brow furrowed as she thought about the reasons she loved Mal.

  “Fiona, you can’t even give me one reason why you love him.”

  Springing from the chair, nearly knocking it backward, Fiona paced the chamber that used to be familiar to her. An extra tartan now draped across a chair. Mairi’s toys littered the floor before the hearth. Rossalyn’s chemise was folded neatly atop the chest of drawers.

  ‘Twas a family chamber, each contributing a bit of themselves so they could live happily together.

  For so long, she’d deemed this should be her chamber. Yet she couldn’t think of a compelling reason why she loved Malcolm. Aye, he was strong. But so was every other Highlander. They’d played and fought and enjoyed their youth. He’d been a loyal friend.

  In the past her heartbeat had nearly burst from her chest when he was near. Today, when she’d stood watching him fasten his tartan as he spoke with her, then after he hugged her and kissed her head, there was—

  Nothing.

  Not even a shimmer in her heart.

  Her eyes grew wide as she spun toward Lady Rossalyn. “Mayhap, you are right.”

  The lady
squealed, joining her in the middle of the chamber. “Now tell me, when you think of Cam, what does your heart say?”

  Fiona blinked and frowned. “He’s kind, gentle—”

  Kind. Gentle.

  She covered her mouth with her hand. Nay, she wasn’t in love with Cam.

  Lady Rossalyn cast her a speculative glance, crossed her arms over her chest; tapped her foot. “Truly, you are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.” She grasped Fiona’s elbows lightly. “Aye, frustrating.”

  With a wry smile, Fiona sighed, “So I’ve been told. Many times.”

  “Can’t you see? You love the man.” She shook Fiona lightly. “It’s as plain as can be.”

  Fiona twisted away and pinched the bridge of her nose. Confusion settled around her and she pressed her lips together to keep from agreeing. ‘Tis impossible.

  “I do not love Cam.”

  With that said, she left the chamber and a chuckling Lady Rossalyn whose parting words floated out the doorway.

  “We’ll see, Fiona. We’ll see.”

  Cam kept watch as Laird Sutherland and more men galloped toward him. His men craved relief and glad he was to see their laird anticipated those needs. He grinned as Mal and one of the other clansmen seemed to be racing. Always a competitive man, Mal had the edge by a horse-length.

  When Mal reached his side, he quickly dismounted and handed the reins over to one of the men. His chest heaved and he slapped his horse on the rear.

  “Cool him down,” he instructed Kevin.

  Cam lifted his brow. “He’s barely winded.”

  Mal flashed a grin. “Aye, ‘tis the best stallion in the stable.”

  ‘Twas the truth of it. Mal’s stable boasted many fine steeds. And as laird, Mal rode the strongest of the herd.

  “I’ve brought more men. And news.”