Once Upon A Highland Christmas

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  Except the room wasn’t dark at all.

  It was bright and beautiful, more wondrous than Breena would’ve believed possible.

  Broad beams of moonlight fell through two of the window arches to gleam back off the bare stone walls and floor so that the room appeared to be made of polished silver. And rather than the musty smell of the turnpike stair, the little chamber was filled with clean cold air. Better yet, the night wind whistling past the windows carried the heady scent of the nearby pine wood.

  “Oh, my!” Breena stopped just inside the threshold, her jaw slipping.

  “I knew you’d approve.” Beside her, Grim inhaled deeply, his face relaxing.

  She couldn’t know for sure, as she wasn’t looking at him. But she’d felt the transformation in the warmth of his tone. And in how slowly he released his breath, as if he appreciated this place.

  He thrust the rush-light in an iron ring on the wall and then strode deeper into the room. “A great shame it’s no’ used, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes!” Breena glanced about the perfectly round room, words failing her. She pressed a hand to her breast, awe filling her as she took in more of the chamber’s magnificence.

  Empty of furnishings and adornment, the moon-silvered stone truly did appear smooth as a looking glass. Before Duncreag, she’d never been in a castle or even a lesser chieftain’s tower hall, but she knew that the room’s stones bore the noble gloss of great age. Only long centuries of loving use could create such a patina, and that awareness humbled her.

  Heart thumping, the night’s chill not bothering her at all, she breathed deep of the crisp, pine-scented air and imagined the fine ladies who’d sat on the stone benches of the chamber’s six window embrasures. Cut deep into the thickness of the tower, the alcoves circled the room, two of them flanking a small fireplace with a cone-shaped hood, the stone of which was carved with soaring birds.

  “I have never seen anything so lovely.” She went to stand beside Grim, lightly touched his arm. “It is like stepping into the realm of a faery queen.”

  “So it is.” Grim’s voice held a husky note that made her senses spin. Equally disquieting, the same moonlight that silvered the room also shone on his mail shirt and glinted off his beard rings, letting him look not just big, bold, and roguish, but almost mythical.

  So easily, he could pass for a legendary hero come to life, straight from a bard’s fable.

  Breena knew her eyes were widening in wonder, so she glanced aside, biting her lower lip.

  To her surprise, Grim leaned down and pressed a kiss to her brow. “This room should be well tended and enjoyed, by all. That is certain.

  “And you have no’ yet seen its finest feature.” He caught her wrist, led her into the nearest embrasure. “It is said one can see all of Scotland from up here. Though”—he slid his arm about her waist, drawing her near as they approached the tall window arch—“I’ll own that’s stretching the truth a bit. Even so, the views are splendid.”

  “I have no words.” Breena set her hands on the cold stone of the ledge, stunned by the snowy expanse before her. The soaring peaks that surrounded Duncreag, cutting off the stronghold from the rest of the world, glistened with the sheen of ice crystals. In the distance, other hills, moorland, and glens stretched blue-white in every direction, each ripple of the land sparkling, the whole of the Highlands kissed by a light haze of frosty mist.

  But it was the glitter of stars that took her breath.

  “The stars.” She glanced up at Grim. “They’re everywhere, more than I have ever seen.”

  He nodded, looking pleased. “Indeed. And the crescent moon is allowing them their glory.”

  Breena turned back to the window. “It’s almost too beautiful.”

  “Lady Rosalie called this chamber her ‘room of stars.’ ” Grim’s voice was low, almost reverent. “ ’Tis easy to see why she chose the name.”

  “She must’ve loved the room very much.”

  “I have heard that she did.” Grim’s arm tightened about her waist, drawing her closer. “I can see you enjoying such a place. Watching the sun rise from one window and then later embroidering at another as the midday sun warmed you.” He paused, the magic he was spinning making her heart flutter. “Perhaps you’d admire the sunset from the west-facing alcove, a lover at your side. Then you could return here at midnight to drink mead and count the stars.

  “Lady Breena, I can see you here so clearly.” His words flowed through her, sweeter than the honeyed mead he’d mentioned. He had the most beautiful voice, deep, smooth, and so richly burred.

  Unfortunately, he’d said “lady” again. And worse, he was using his big, strong hand to trace delicate circles on her hip, a maddening distraction that sent the most delicious shivers all through her. His touch felt more searingly intimate than if she stood before him naked, a thought that excited her when such a wanton notion should shame her.

  Her pulse leapt and exquisite, languorous heat swept across certain unmentionable parts of her, rousing and melting her.

  Perhaps she was wicked?

  In truth, she didn’t care. Not when it was Grim who made her feel that way.

  But she did have other concerns.

  “Grim.” She stepped away from him, speaking as resolutely as she could. “You mustn’t call me ‘Lady Breena.’ I am not a gentle-born lady and will not assume to make any such claim to the status.”

  She held up a hand, stopping him when he started to object. “It makes me uncomfortable when you address me so. Simply Breena is fine, truly.”

  “Aye, well, Breena.” He frowned on her name. “I am no’ a man to deny a lady her wishes. And you are a lady, whate’er you say.”

  “My father was a woodcarver.” Breena’s chin came up, her sire’s hard-featured, ever-closed face rising in her mind. “He fed us by making plates, bowls, cups, and the like. He supplied rougher ware for villagers and townfolk, and finer goods for knightly households and other gentry. My brothers cut wood for him and brought him bog oak when they could find it. They also plowed fields.

  “And I helped my mother with whatever chores needed doing.” She straightened her back, held his gaze. She raised her hands, palms outward so he would see her work-roughened fingers, the results of a lifetime of toil. “I can sew homespun, but have never embroidered, my lord. Suchlike is a lady’s pastime, as well you know.”

  “I ken more than you allow me, lass.” He held his own hand out to her, his steady gaze commanding. “Come here, I’ve something else to show you.”

  “There is nothing else in here.” Breena was sure he must hear the thundering of her heart. It roared in her ears, wild and dangerous.

  “Did I say it was something in here?” He lifted a brow, looking amused as he waited.

  “No…” Breena stared at his hand. Like the rest of him, it was large and strong-looking. Faint scars crisscrossed the skin, testament to his warrior background. His fingers were long and well made, and they bore calluses, showing he trained hard and wasn’t a man to shun work. Breena was sure she’d never seen a more perfect hand. Or a man she could love more deeply.

  She hoped she didn’t already do so.

  She feared she did.

  “We should leave.” She found herself putting her hand in his, not quite sure how that happened. “It’s late and—”

  “We are no’ finished here, my lady.” He squeezed her fingers and then bowed over her hand, lightly brushing his lips across her knuckles. When he straightened, his gaze was warm. “Come with me again into the embrasure.”

  Giving her no choice, he tucked her hand in his arm and led her there. He took her back to the broad window ledge where she’d looked out upon the snowy Highlands with such rapture. The stars, if it were possible, seemed to have multiplied. They were even more brilliant now, twinkling so brightly she wouldn’t have been surprised if a spellcaster had enchanted them all, binding them to shine down on this beautiful land she now thought of as her home.

&nb
sp; “You see the stars, aye, lass?” Grim looked at them, too, his profile silvered by their light.

  “How can I not?” Breena felt a shiver move through her, the night’s beauty gripping her. “They are a river of stars. No, a sea of them, a whole wide ocean, and they take my breath with their loveliness.”

  “You are the lovely one.” Grim placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I wanted you to see the night sky from here, from Lady Rosalie’s ‘room of stars.’ I wished that because you should know that if every one of those stars were to fall from the heavens, their brilliance could not outshine you, my lady.”

  “You do not know what you’re saying.” Breena kept her gaze on the night, not trusting herself to look at him.

  “I ken fine what I say and ne’er waste a word, lass.” He leaned down, angling his head round to catch her eye. “All the noblewomen in the land could snatch up such stars, if indeed they fell. And they could have glittery gowns made of them. But even wearing such splendor, they’d be cast into shadow just by the light in your eyes when you smile at Archie. I’ve also seen you stop and pet the older castle dogs when you pass through the hall. I’ve watched you drop to your knees beside them to rub their bony shoulders and speak softly to them. Did you ken they stare after you when you walk away, their milky gazes bright as puppies’?

  “That you do, lass.” He straightened, stood silent a moment. “You bring joy where’er you go.”

  “Archie has been good to me. And I’ve always loved dogs.” It was all she could think to say.

  “Dinnae e’er again object to anyone calling you lady.” Grim slid his hands down from her shoulders and along her arms to her hands, linking their fingers. “I have ne’er met a greater one than you, Lady Breena.”

  “Oh, dear.” Breena glanced aside, blinking furiously against the stinging heat at the backs of her eyes. She didn’t cry, never.

  Yet now…

  She swallowed hard, her heart nearly jumping from her chest when Grim released her hands to cup her face and look deeply into her eyes.

  “Do you miss Ireland?” His question surprised her.

  “Of course, I do.” Breena didn’t lie. She felt at home here now. But she’d always miss Inishowen and Donegal. That would never change.

  “And your family?” Grim had angled his head, his beard rings clacking softly in the room’s stillness. “I know you lost them in the raid. Do you still grieve for them sorely? Is there anyone else you mourn?”

  “I…” Breena glanced aside, guilt and shame sweeping her. She felt her face coloring and couldn’t stop the rush of heated embarrassment to her cheeks.

  “Forgive me, lass.” Grim released her, stepping back. He looked more unhappy than she felt. “I didnae mean to distress you. That was the last thing I—”

  “You didn’t upset me.” Breena closed the distance between them, lifted a hand to touch his mailed chest. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was trembling. That his words stirred memories, making them twist so tightly inside her that she could scarce breathe. “It’s not what you said, but me.

  “You see”—she rushed the words, feeling a need to speak true—“I do not miss my parents. I grieve for them, of course. But my heart does not long for them. And that fills me with a terrible guilt.”

  Grim’s brow creased, but rather than condemn her, he placed his hand over hers, his strength and warmth so comforting tears again stung her eyes.

  “I vow you will have your reasons.” He nodded as if she hadn’t just revealed herself cold and unfeeling. “If ever you wish to speak of them, I have good ears, I’m told, and broad shoulders.”

  His kindness was too much.

  A terrible thickness rose in Breena’s throat, hot and burning, making it hard to speak. But she must, wanting him to know the truth.

  “There isn’t much to say for I scarce knew them.” She raised her chin, meeting his surprised gaze. Her heart started to thump painfully, her parents’ faces flickering across her mind only to be swiftly replaced by two other faces, ones she’d miss all her days. “I had eight brothers, and my father never let me forget that he’d rather have had a ninth son than a daughter to clothe and feed. My mother was a silent, long-suffering woman who only did her chores and found other work for me to tend.” She glanced aside, blinking. “Neither were caring or affectionate and my brothers were aye too busy to notice me.

  “The only family I truly ache for were my aunt and uncle.” Now Breena did have to dash aside a tear as memories of the beloved pair squeezed her heart. She still saw their dear faces before her, their eyes so filled with love that it hurt to remember. “Uncle Dermot was the village blacksmith, and his wife, my Aunt Mell, was more a mother to me than my own. They weren’t blessed with children and so they—”

  “Showered their love on you.” Grim finished for her, pulling her against him as he closed his arms around her, holding her tight. “I can see how you’d mourn their loss, lassie, and I’m sorry for it.”

  “You are kind.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as choked as it did to her.

  He harrumphed, the sound coming from deep in his great chest, and oddly soothing. “You’ll no’ think so when I ask if there’s no’ anyone else you may be longing for? Someone back in your Ireland?”

  She blinked, confused.

  Then heat began inching up her neck, onto her cheeks. Surely he didn’t know she’d told some of the garrison lads she was spoken for? The look in Grim’s eye warned that he’d heard. And she should’ve realized such an untruth would circle back to haunt her.

  But she’d only wanted to be left in peace.

  And truly, she had given someone her heart.

  He stood before her now.

  “Someone in Ireland?” She repeated his question, sure her face glowed like a candle.

  Grim set her from him then, his gaze locking on hers. “A man, sweet. I’d know if there’s a lad waiting for you in Donegal?”

  Breena swallowed, her uncaring parents and even poor Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell gone from her mind as the portent of Grim’s question filled her with such hope that she was sure her heart would burst.

  “No, there isn’t anyone.” She shook her head, not caring what he might’ve heard from the other garrison men. Her spirits rose at the relief she saw on Grim’s face. “I am not a maid, but that you know, being aware of Ralla and his band as you are. But no Irish lad ever spoke for me, nor did one ever capture my interest.”

  “Has anyone done so?”

  “Perhaps…” She glanced aside, unable to voice that particular truth.

  “But you are no’ promised to anyone?” Grim persisted, turning away from her to brace one hand on the edge of the window arch as he stared out across the snow-covered landscape. “No one holds a claim o’er you?”

  “No one at all.”

  “Then it is settled.” Grim straightened and dusted his hands, seeming much larger than usual in the narrow window alcove. “As there is no one to object, you shall ride with me on my quest to bring Yule gladness to Archie and Duncreag.”

  Breena blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “A quest?”

  “Indeed.” Grim reached for her, pulling her closer to the window ledge. “Look there”—he raised his arm, pointing at a single star glittering just above the far horizon—“do you see that Yule beacon?”

  “I thought it was a star.” Breena looked again, narrowing her eyes this time.

  The twinkling light still looked like a star.

  “That’s no star, my lady.” Grim flashed her one of his crooked smiles. “It only appears that way because it’s so distant. A Yule beacon is what it is, a balefire that’s kept burning every night and day to mark the path to Greer MacGregor’s door.”

  Breena frowned, not sure. “I’ve never heard of a Yule beacon.”

  “Aye, well.” Grim glanced back at the far-off light. “They’re a tradition hereabouts where folk live such great distances from another. At festive times, the fires are lit s
o all comers can find the way to a man’s keep, assured of a warm welcome when they do. There are other such Yule beacons, beyond thon horizon. I mean for us to visit each one.

  “We’ll rally folk far and wide, from all the glens.” He looked at her again, his smile widening. “I can be persuasive when I must. Men will come, and they’ll bring good cheer and gifts for Archie. Greer MacGregor will be among them. That’s why”—he winked—“I couldn’t let Archie’s damage to the Old Christmas Wife go unaddressed. It wouldn’t do for MacGregor to see his own face looking back at him from Duncreag’s Yule Log, now would it?”

  “Greer MacGregor is one of Archie’s worst enemies.” Breena felt her brow pleating. “He’d never agree to come here for Yule.”

  Grim didn’t look concerned. “You have much to learn of warriors, lass. For now, it’s enough to tell you that I have fought many men, battling with them fiercely and them no less with me.

  “Yet times can change and do.” He glanced again at Greer MacGregor’s Yule beacon. “I have gone on to fight at the sides of the same warriors I once faced as bitter foes.

  “So it will be with MacGregor, and others.” He wrapped his arm around Breena, settling her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair. “I am sure of it. If”—he dropped a kiss on the top of her head—“you will go along with me, plying your feminine charm to convince them.”

  “I’d love to.” She would. Since the raid on her beloved home and, especially, the loss of her dear uncle and aunt, she knew that hell wasn’t just a place that existed in the afterlife. Through being at Duncreag, she’d also learned that goodness, when it’s true and real, can never be destroyed. And from her memories of Christmases at home, at her uncle’s hearthside where the entire village gathered to celebrate, she was aware that wonders did happen at this most blessed time of year. She’d seen the power of holiday joy.

  Perhaps a journey with Grim would gift them both with the miracle of love?

  There was just one thing that worried her.

  Before she could voice it, Grim spoke against her hair, his voice low. “We’ll travel as a betrothed pair. I’ll no’ have anyone wagging tongues o’er you.”