A Highlander's Christmas Kiss

by Paula Quinn

  “That’s what lasses do to ye, Cailean. I sometimes wonder if ’tis worth all the worry,” he went on, despite the smack to the back of his head given by the man she’d shot with her arrow.

  “Darach,” the bigger one with blood soaking his calf said. “When we get home, I’ll ask Janet if she thinks ye’re worth the worry ye cause her.”

  “Certainly not as much as ye cause Emma.”

  Temperance glanced at Cailean and smiled when he rolled his eyes heavenward. This was his brother, the lord of Ravenglade, and his cousin, whom he’d told her about.

  They’d come to Linavar, and just in time. She wasn’t sure if Cailean, in his current condition, and Patrick, who liked the mercenaries too much to kill them, could have triumphed over all.

  “He knew you would come,” Temperance told Cailean’s brother. She smiled. It was difficult not to. Goodness, but he was handsome, with beguiling dimples and cerulean eyes eclipsed by bolts of chestnut hair shot through with sheets of gold. “Thank you,” she told him softly as he limped forward. “And forgive me for shooting you.”

  He smiled and shrugged his wide shoulders. “’Tis nothin’.”

  “He’d likely say the same if ye shot him in the heart.”

  Darach winked at her when Malcolm tossed him a dark look.

  The door opened and another Highlander entered the room with Gram. This one was as glorious to behold as the rest, with soft golden curls falling over his gentle gaze.

  “I’ve just come from Lyon’s Ridge. The lord of Glen Lyon lives. He was shot, it seems by a shaky hand. He will recover. Patrick and one named John Gunns are with him.”

  He found Temperance staring at him and came to the edge of the bed. “Edmund MacGregor at your service, lady.”

  She blushed, then stopped when she met Cailean’s gaze.

  “Glen Lyon should have a new lord.” Malcolm poked his brother in the shoulder. “Take the castle. I’ll speak to the queen aboot it and gain her support.”

  “You know the queen?” Temperance asked him, wide-eyed.

  “She’s kin on our grandmother’s side,” Darach told her.

  Temperance’s head was spinning. They… Cailean was kin to the queen? She closed her eyes to take it all in.

  “All right, everyone oot!” Cailean rose from the edge of the bed and pushed them toward the door. “We can discuss the future of Lyon’s Ridge later.”

  When they were alone, he returned to the bed and lay in it beside her. He released TamLin and gathered Temperance carefully in his arms. She could feel his heart racing. She swore she could hear his blood rushing through his veins. She knew what it must have been like for him to hold her in his arms and fear she was dying there. Her heart broke for him.

  “Gram says the dagger just broke through my skin. I’m well, my love,” she said, trying to make him feel better.

  It didn’t help. He looked more pained than the night he’d first opened his eyes in her bed. “Temperance, fergive me fer lettin’ harm come to ye last night.”

  “Don’t you dare say that, Cailean Grant!” She pinched him on the arm hard enough to widen his stare. “Not when I was just remembering how completely valiant you looked to me. Your determination to win was fierce. You did not fight for my sake alone, but for the entire village. You are courageous and heroic in my eyes, a breed of man all your own, and you are mine.”

  He dipped his head to kiss her but she pushed him away. If he started kissing her she would never let him stop. “Go. Go see to Lord Murdoch. I am fine. And will rest, I promise. I have plans to discuss with Gram and Marion about the celebration tomorrow.” She sat up to show him she was well, then pushed him away when he tried to kiss her again.

  “Cailean?” she called to him before he left. “Will you do it? Will you take on the role of lord of Glen Lyon?”

  He shook his head. “Nae, love. I dinna want to be lord. I want to learn how to farm.”

  Cailean woke up the next day facedown in a tangle of sheets and with a cat purring close to his face. Opening his eyes had been a mistake. The bright sunlight pouring forth from four open shutters in Temperance’s room stung. He remembered when the sun had been the thing he hated about her room. He’d wanted only darkness but she’d set him in the light, like a wilting plant.

  “Good morn, Temperance!” someone called from outside. “Are you ready for your vows today?”

  “I am eager to make them, Anne.”

  Cailean pushed himself up on his palms and turned to smile at her while she continued to fold fresh bed linens beside the window.

  “How is yer back, love? Are ye up to foldin’?”

  She smiled at him, but he knew she was trying her best to be patient. Since Duncan Murdoch had put his blade to her back Cailean had doted on her, mayhap overdoing it a bit.

  “If I’m up to marrying you today then I can fold fresh bedsheets.”

  She was going to marry him today. She’d agreed to be bound to him in the sight of God and their kin. How could one man be so fortunate?

  “How is Mr. Grant?” Anne Gilbert called out.

  Temperance looked at him and glanced heavenward while he sat up and swung his legs, encased in his knee-length trews, over the bed.

  “He just came awake and already he’s trying my patience, Anne.”

  He looked up at her and filled the room with his laughter. “She’s fortunate I’m not carryin’ her around, Miss Gilbert,” he called toward the window. “She’s stubborn, ye know.”

  A few of Miss Gilbert’s companions giggled something that made Temperance scowl.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked from the bed, where he stretched his sinewy arms and long tight torso.

  Her gaze spread over him, warm, but still a bit brooding. “I think they’ve been watching you for a while now.”

  He looked at the stream of sunlight bathing the bed from the second window from the right. She could have been correct. He slipped his gaze to hers and smiled. “Are ye jealous?”

  She opened her mouth to protest but then with a sigh gave up trying to fold the linen. “I don’t want to begin the day of our vows by being untruthful. You are pleasing to the eye, my love. If women stare at you overlong, I understand what they see. But I don’t like them seeing you in bed all stretched out like a languid prince. That is a sight for my eyes alone.”

  He leaned forward and snatched the linen from her hands. “So what ye’re tryin’ to say is, ye’re jealous.” He pulled her between his thighs and smiled.

  “And you’re not?” she asked, trying to save her dignity.

  “Who do I have to be jealous of? No one stares at ye but me. No if they want to keep their eyes.”

  She laughed, setting his nerve endings aflame, then let out a little moan when he kissed her neck. He was a man of many passions. Was her joy becoming one of them?

  “We’ll have to nail the shutters closed tonight after we’re wed.”

  “I’ll build a second floor,” he promised, muffled in her hair.

  She withdrew long enough to look into his eyes. “You can do that?”

  “Of course. Remember I told ye m’ faither is a builder. M’ brother Malcolm is better at it than I, but I know what I’m doin’.”

  “More rooms would be ideal after we have our bairns.”

  “Oh?” He pulled her back and dipped his head to nibble on her ear. “How many are we havin’?”

  “I would like five or six. I don’t want them to be lonely growing up.”

  “They’ll never be lonely,” he promised. “M’ kin will visit often.”

  “So I am to wed a Black Rider.”

  “Ye canna back out now. Gram cooked enough food to last a fortnight.”

  “I suppose I must if she cooked so much food.” She bit her lip, dragging his gaze there. “You don’t have to look like one, do you?”

  He smiled, a bit confused by her query, and shook his head.

  “Good, because I’ve been sharpening my father’s straight razor this morning
.”

  His smile deepened. He closed his hands more securely on her hips. “That sounds rather ominous.”

  She ran the backs of her hands over his cheeks and jaw. “Your face is too beautiful to keep covered by this bristle. Your eyes too expressive to hide behind long hair.”

  What did he care about hair? He would get rid of it all if it pleased her.

  When she broke away, he reached out to catch her again. She laughed and hurried to the small table at the other end of the room, where she prepared a small array of blades, soap, a bowl of water, and some rags. He watched her backside, not that he could see much of it beneath all the layers of her skirts. The soft bump swaying ever so slightly while she worked was enough to make his muscles taut.

  When she turned on her heel, a large tray in her hands, dark hair tumbling around her intimate smile, he pushed his palms into the bed, ready to leap to his feet and meet her halfway.

  The bedroom door opened, keeping him still where he sat.

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  “Gram.” Temperance greeted her grandmother with a much brighter smile. “I was just about to give him a shave.”

  Gram looked them both over with a half-stern leer, and then nodded. “All right, then. I’ll leave ye to it.” She left, closing the door behind her, without another word.

  “Don’t question it.” Temperance laughed at his stunned disbelief when he stood to take the tray from her hands. “I’ve told her,” she said while he set the tray on the bed, “that you are the one my father and my mother would be happy I chose. As for Gram”—she pressed her hands to his chest when he faced her again, and then pushed him back down on his arse—“she has been waiting for you longer than I have. She’s happy for me and will not disturb us again.”

  He didn’t know what to say after such grand compliments. He lowered his gaze and felt his face grow a shade warmer. He didn’t like them. Compliments. Her mother. How was one supposed to respond to that?

  Except by asking her why they’d waited two days if Gram was so happy for them. He ached for her and it was driving him mad.

  She stepped between his thighs and leaned over to reach for the rag and the bowl.

  He closed his eyes and dipped his nose to inhale the scent of lemons and ginger. He wanted to eat her alive. He opened them again in time to look down the back of her and let his gaze settle on her rump. He didn’t reach for her the way his mind was shouting for him to do, but kept his hands on the bed. The sooner they got the cutting done with, the sooner they could wed, and she would be his.

  She straightened and handed him the bowl. She took the rag next and wrapped it around his neck, answering his warm smile so close to her own.

  How long would a kiss take?

  She dipped her hand in the bowl and wet his face with the water warmed by the sun, scattering his intimate thoughts of her.

  She did it again. This time she let her fingers linger over the line of his jaw, and her eyes fasten on his until he could count the different shades of blue he saw. There were four.

  Finally she blinked. “Hand me the soap, please.”

  He leaned back and took the soap and the straight razor too.

  She took the blade and held it up to the sunlight.

  “Are you afraid that I might cut out your heart?”

  “That is entirely unnecessary,” he told her, lifting his chin to her and exposing his neck. “Ye need only ask fer m’ life, and it is yers.”

  Her eyes lit on him and then she smiled. “I don’t want your life, only your heart.”

  “That is yers already.”

  She swept her finger over his lips and then teased him some more with the briefest of kisses.

  “Trust me, aye?”

  “I do, lass.”

  She held the sharpened blade to his cheek, in front of his ear. She used one hand to pull his skin taut and the other to begin shaving. Using very little pressure, she brought it down at an angle that cut his bristles and not his flesh. She knew what she was doing.

  He watched her coming close, her gaze intent on what she was doing. He studied the thickness of her lashes, the soft contours of her face. He relished in her sweet breath falling on his face. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to close his arms around her and pull her in. But after the second pass over his chin, he lost the battle.

  He touched her slowly. After all, it was his face under the blade. She closed her eyes at the feel of his fingers along her thigh.

  When she opened them again, he was smiling at her. “Lass, ye’re goin’ to kill me yet.”

  He took the opportunity when she removed the blade to rinse it, and closed his hands over her buttocks and squeezed. He gritted his teeth and shook his head at himself because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  “Almost done.”

  Her whisper sounded like a purr in his ear.

  Almost done, and then what? His hair, bath, breakfast, dressing… all while the priest waited.

  He sat quiet, but his heart betrayed him while she went over him a third time, changing direction for a closer cut.

  “Temperance, ye’re so bonny, m’ love,” he told her softly while she moved in close to his chin. “I canna look at ye withoot wantin’ ye, every part of ye. I canna wait to have ye in m’ arms, m’ bed, to be inside ye.”

  She stopped shaving and gazed into his eyes. “I feel the same way.”

  “Then let me cut m’ own hair and meet ye in the hall in an hour. Aye?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The double ceremony went quite smoothly, though it took a bit longer than Cailean would have liked. His marriage to Temperance and Will’s to Marion ushered in Hogmanay. With its many traditions, the night was going to be a long one. He knew he couldn’t take his wife to bed while the celebration was going on, so he drank and sang songs and built bonfires in the fields with the villagers. They dined on venison pie, shortbread, clootie dumplings, and beef and haggis with whisky sauce, and washed it all down with Athole brose, a drink made from oats, honey, water, and whisky.

  Sometime before midnight the villagers returned to their homes, but only to await their firstfoots. Traditionally it boded good fortune if a tall, dark man was the first to cross one’s threshold after midnight.

  Cailean gathered gifts of black buns, salt, and coal and set out with Temperance to knock on doors and share goodwill as the midnight bells were rung throughout the hamlet.

  Later the villagers lit torches and marched back to the house singing old songs for a prosperous new year.

  Temperance followed him back to the dining hall, where he stopped at the entrance, beneath the drying mistletoe, and finally kissed her.

  Ah, he could live and die just like this, kissing her, tasting her warm, sweet breath, feeling her glorious curves against him.

  Hell. He’d had enough celebrating. He didn’t care if the merriment was over.

  He wanted to celebrate his wife.

  He carried her to the bed, their bed, and laid her down tenderly in it. He ignored the sounds of the last of the holiday revelers in the hall. Doors and shutters were shut and bolted. They were alone. Finally.

  “How is it,” Cailean asked, looking astounded for a moment before he ran his hand through his shortened locks, “that a simple man like me has wed the bravest, loveliest maiden in the kingdom?”

  “My darling,” she said, letting her gaze take in every taut inch of him, “there is nothing simple about you.” Her breaths were short and shallow while he unwrapped his plaid above her. His shirt came away next, billowing to the floor.

  “It leads me to consider”—her breath stole over his bare shoulder when he bent his body to hers—“how such a magnificent man is now my husband.”

  He kissed her throat and tugged at the neckline of the glorious cornflower-blue woolen gown Gram had given her. Another thing to love about him was that he didn’t know how to get a woman out of her dress.

  “The laces are in the back,” she offere
d.

  He flipped her over on her belly, surprising and thrilling her at the same time. She giggled at the thousands of emotions he awakened within her and lay still while he pulled on her laces, setting her free from the confines of her gown.

  He worked slowly, taking his time to press a kiss to every inch of her spine that he exposed. She shuddered at his tongue, at his teeth scraping tenderly over her. She imagined how his succulent lips looked pursing to devour her.

  When he reached the rise of her rump, he traced his fingers over her lower back.

  “Ye are sublime,” he told her in a low throaty whisper that set her nerve endings on fire. “The sight of ye enraptures me.”

  He tugged on another string and she gasped as he pulled her gown free and tossed it in a pile on the floor.

  “The sound of ye gives m’ heart flight, and it soars because of ye, Temperance.” He moved over her and leaned down to run his tongue over her quivering flesh. “The taste of ye, so sweetly wanton, drives me mad with desire.”

  When he kissed her derriere, she held her breath. Was he going to kiss her there again? She hoped so. It was wicked and it made her feel wild.

  But not yet.

  She liked what he was doing to her right now. His palms were rough with calluses that felt particularly delightful while he ran a hand over her rump. When he moved to straddle her, she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

  His smile, so decadently masculine and hungry for her, made her turn beneath him, wet and ready for whatever he meant to do.

  He drew his lower lip between his teeth and then dipped his mouth to the tight buds of her nipples.

  She arched her back and raked her fingers through his hair. Her body ached for him. Her muscles tightened and then relaxed again as she cupped his face and drew his kisses to her mouth. He moved his plump mouth over hers, consuming her. She opened to his plunging tongue as fire coursed through her.

  “I love ye,” he whispered, leaving her mouth and blazing a hot trail down her throat, over her breasts, her quivering belly, to her hips.

  She closed her eyes, her body awash with sensations, knowing what was coming and aching for it.