Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  “Where are you traveling to from here, Miss Ella?” he asked.

  “I don’t think it would be quite proper for me to answer, do you?” She didn’t wait for his answer and shrugged. “Fie says we must be on our best behavior during this journey. Grandfather told her that’s not bloody likely.”

  “Your grandfather said that, did he?”

  The girl bobbed her curly head once.

  “Perhaps if I introduced myself, we could converse more properly,” he said. “My name is Captain Gregory Pennington, but to my friends I’m just Penn.”

  “Well, I’m Ella, which is what everyone calls me. Except Grandfather. He has a number of names for me that Fie says I mustn’t repeat.”

  Remembering that she needed to curtsy, she did so. As a smile pulled at her lips, two dimples formed in her cheeks.

  Before he could respond, the door to the coach yard opened and a taller, older version of his miniature inquisitor sailed into the coffee room. Brown eyes that matched Ella’s swept the crowd and the woman’s hood fell back, giving Penn a clear view of the red-cheeked beauty. He had no doubt to whom the little girl belonged.

  Cloaked in a blue greatcoat, the woman paused inside the door and pulled gloves from her hands as she looked for her party. From the balanced stance to the set of her jaw, everything about her indicated strength and confidence, and only served to enhance her beauty. A high forehead and clear eyes dominated her perfectly symmetrical features. Her full pursed lips stirred something in him that he preferred not to be entertaining, considering the circumstances.

  Aware that Penn’s attention had been diverted, Ella turned and saw the woman by the door.

  “That’s Fie,” she told him, running between tables toward her.

  “Fie” lifted the child as small arms wrapped around her neck. The two presented a mirror image. A quick kiss, and then matching dimples formed in their cheeks as they looked into each other’s eyes. The woman whispered a few words to Ella and pressed a kiss on her forehead. The little one planted a return kiss on her forehead. Kisses were required on each cheek, and returned in kind. Penn recognized a ritual when he saw one. They made a beautiful pair, and he realized others were staring at the two, as well.

  As he watched her put the child down, Penn waited to see the lucky bastard who was due to follow Fie in from the yard. No one came in. So where was the husband? The two came hand in hand to the table where the nursemaid waited.

  Penn couldn’t help himself. His attention was riveted to their table.

  “Cá bhfuil sé?” the nursemaid asked in Gaelic. “The colonel isn’t here?”

  There was a slight shake of the head as the younger woman tried to encourage Ella to sit at the table.

  “What’ll you do, mistress?”

  Fie sent another silent plea to the nursemaid to divert the conversation, but it appeared to be too late.

  “He’s not here?” Ella blurted, looking up.

  “No, my love,” Fie responded. “But don’t worry. We have to make many stops along the way. He has ample opportunity to catch up to us.”

  “But that won’t do,” Ella said, raising her voice and scrambling off the bench.

  “Don’t worry yourself, sweetheart. Why don’t you—”

  “No, Fie. No. We have a great deal to worry about.” She glanced at Penn and tugged on her mother’s arm. “But I can fix this. Come. Come with me.”

  He watched as the young girl tried to turn the woman toward his table.

  “He’s thirty years old, not married, and not a pauper. And I like him better than Colonel Richard.”

  The woman leaned over the child. “Honey, you have no reason to fret. We’ll be—”

  “No, Fie! Listen to me!” Stamping her foot, she pointed at Penn. “You have to ask him to marry you. Please. Then you can keep me.”

  * * *

  Then you can keep me.

  The sudden shock of embarrassment before this stranger was immediately replaced by the clawing pain she felt at Ella’s unhappy outburst. Freya Sutherland had made every effort to shield her niece from the potential outcome of this trip, but the lassie saw and heard everything. She was everywhere. And she was a five-year-old going on twenty-five.

  For over a month now, the Sutherland household had been in an uproar regarding the Dowager Lady Dacre’s request and how it would affect all of their futures. She realized now it was foolish to think the anxiety they were feeling would go unnoticed by the child.

  Freya crouched down until she was at eye level with Ella and placed the tip of her finger on the girl’s trembling chin. Brown eyes met hers, and Ella reached out, replicating the gesture. Freya hadn’t realized that she herself was on the verge of losing control.

  Neither of them was prone to shedding tears. They were aunt and niece, but they could as well have been mother and daughter. Ella was only a week old when Freya’s sister, Lucy, died of complications after childbirth. The infant’s father was off fighting Napoleon on the battlefields of Spain. On her deathbed, Lucy had entrusted her bairn to her sister, and Fredrick Dacre was more than amenable to the arrangement, having been cut off by his family at the time of his marriage. It still bothered Freya that he’d never lived to see his own daughter.

  For five years, the Sutherlands had lived in peace, thinking the final letter from the child’s father was enough to assign the guardianship of Ella to them permanently. But now, everything was about to change, one way or another. Fredrick’s mother, widow of the late Duke of St. Albans, was insisting on the assurance that her granddaughter’s future was secure with Freya and “those Scotch people.” Courts sided with wealth, so Ella’s future needed to be decided through diplomacy and not legal battles.

  “You won’t let me go, Fie, will you?” the child asked.

  “Never,” Freya whispered, pulling Ella tightly into her arms.

  “But you need to marry to keep me.”

  “I’ll marry,” Freya whispered against the soft curls. “You’re staying with me.”

  “But Colonel Richard isn’t here. He was supposed to meet us, wasn’t he?”

  “He’ll join us in Dundee,” Freya lied, hoping the weather and the condition of the roads were the cause of Dunbar’s delay. “The colonel is very excited that I’ve finally accepted his offer. He’ll join us, and I’ll marry when the time comes.”

  Ella pulled out of her arms. “But you don’t like him.”

  “Of course I like him,” Freya lied again, upset that her feelings were so transparent.

  She had to marry. There was no other way. Even though her father, Sutherland of Torrishbrae, was in perfect health, he was getting older. With no son, the estate she’d spent her entire life on was destined to go to a distant cousin, Colonel Richard Dunbar, a conceited, arrogant, military commander. Everyone in Scotland knew the colonel’s interest in Freya lay mainly with her own fortune, and she’d been putting off responding to his offer of marriage for years. But now, with the dowager’s stipulation that Ella must have a permanent and stable home, as well as secure provisions for in the future, Freya had no choice.

  “I like him well enough,” she said again, trying to sound more definite.

  “You’re being a bloody martyr,” Ella said.

  “What did I tell you about using your grandfather’s bad language?” Freya scolded, pushing to her feet.

  “You said I had to stop talking like Grandfather when we get to Baronsford.”

  In the periphery of her vision, she saw the red-coated officer at the next table stand and approach.

  “I meant now, forever. You very well know you need to act your age.”

  “Only if you act your age.”

  Freya frowned at her own expression mirrored in the little face. The tall gentleman stood over them. She cringed at what he must think, having heard their conversation. She took Ella’s hand firmly in her own and sent her a warning glare before turning to him.

  The man’s broad, scarlet-coated chest nearly blocked her vie
w of the rest of the dining room. Her eyes focused momentarily on gold lace, the blue facing, and the glinting epaulettes.

  “My sincere apologies, Captain, for intruding on you.”

  She was suddenly caught up in the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a man. They were a deep shade of blue and were fringed with long dark lashes.

  “I . . . we shouldn’t . . . we didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Fie never stammers,” Ella said matter-of-factly to the tall stranger. “She’s embarrassed.”

  “I am not embarrassed,” Freya said to her niece. “I’m apologizing.”

  “Then do it,” the rascal said. “We’re listening.”

  Who was the adult here? she thought. Freya turned her attention back to the gentleman who continued to stand there, the hint of a smirk on his face. He was handsome in a way that unsettled her. Dark brown hair curled neatly around his ears. The strong square chin and chiseled cheekbones made her want to pause and appreciate the perfect arrangement of his face. The small scar above his eyebrow did nothing to lessen his handsome looks. He was a man from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels come to life, a man whom a woman dreamt of and never imagined meeting.

  “Please forgive our rather forward disposition. If you’d be kind enough to return to your—”

  “The gentleman is finished with his dinner, Fie,” Ella whispered loudly. “He’s waiting for an introduction.”

  A smile pulled at the man’s lips. “The young lady is correct. I am, if you’d not be offended by my forwardness.”

  Freya’s mouth went dry. Whatever objection she was about to voice deserted her at once. Her lack of social interaction—outside of their small country circle—was no excuse for her foolish response to the gentleman, though it was true that their life in the Highlands had limited her acquaintance with such men.

  “I think he’s far more suitable than Colonel Richard.”

  Ella’s loud whisper had to be heard by everyone in the coffee room.

  “That will do,” Freya said firmly.

  The little imp shrugged and then looked at the captain.

  “May I present Miss Freya Sutherland,” Ella announced.

  His surprised look moved from Freya’s face to her niece and back. She could perfectly understand the confusion. Ella understood it, as well.

  “I’m an orphan. Fie is my aunt and my guardian,” the girl explained. “Grandfather also looks after me, but he threatens to use me as fish bait when I’m behaving like an eldritch creature.”

  In spite of her mortification, Freya had to stifle a laugh. She could hear her father saying exactly those words.

  Without a pause, Ella continued her introduction, “And this is Captain Penny . . . Penny . . .”

  “Pennington,” he contributed with a bow.

  Freya curtsied, but she knew the name. The Dowager Lady Dacre’s letter had mentioned that her friends, the Pennington family, would make the arrangements for their transportation to the Borders. Her gaze fixed on the stranger.

  “You’re the person we’re to travel with.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Ella announced, smiling.

  “I hope your trip here was uneventful.” His gaze moved to the table behind her. “I was informed that I would be accompanying four adults and a child.”

  “At the moment, we are a party of three adults and a child,” Freya corrected. “Ella’s nurse, a manservant, and the two of us. I’m afraid my cousin . . . my intended . . . has been unexpectedly detained. I’m certain he’ll catch up to us at one of our stops.”

  “But maybe he won’t,” Ella added, leaning against her aunt’s legs while eyeing the captain.

  The little girl had a habit of speaking what was on Freya’s mind, but it wasn’t quite so cute here in the presence of this stranger.

  “Where is he coming from?”

  “Fort William. Perhaps he’ll meet us at Inverness.”

  “You said Dundee,” Ella chirped.

  “What is your cousin’s name?” the captain asked.

  Freya hesitated for a moment as she tried to decide on how much she wanted to disclose to their escort. As a Pennington, he was a friend of the Dacres. In her exchange of letters with the dowager, she’d informed the woman that she’d be bringing her fiancé, even though the understanding with her cousin wasn’t exactly official.

  “Colonel Richard Dunbar,” she said.

  The captain furrowed his forehead as something registered.

  “Do you know him?” Freya asked.

  “I know of him.” The man glanced away.

  As Ella took Freya’s hand, the words they both uttered were exactly the same. “Is something wrong?”

  His gaze rested on Ella for a moment before coming back to Freya’s face. He shook his head. Something was wrong, but Captain Pennington was not about to discuss it before the child.

  “Privacy, sweetheart.”

  Ella stamped her foot once, but then wordlessly retreated to her nursemaid. Some people thought Freya was too lenient with her niece, but it wasn’t true. When it mattered, when it was time, Ella understood and reacted appropriately to her aunt’s wishes.

  Freya moved in the direction of the fireplace and their escort followed. “What is it, Captain?”

  “You have an understanding with Colonel Dunbar?”

  She did, but she didn’t. Freya didn’t know how much of her situation she cared to explain. “Why do you ask, sir?”

  “The officers here in the Highlands are a fairly close-knit group, Miss Sutherland.”

  He hesitated, clearly weighing his words.

  “And?”

  “Word has been circulating for a fortnight or more that Colonel Dunbar is to be married to an heiress, a Miss Katherine Caithness. The wedding was to take place today.”

  Chapter Two

  There had to be a mistake. Her cousin wouldn’t abandon her at the last minute.

  As the carriage rolled along the frozen road, gusts of wind buffeted the sides of the vehicle. Freya thought back. His last letter had been addressed to her less than a fortnight ago. He said he was eager to accompany her to Baronsford for the Christmas Ball. Meeting Lady Dacre would be an honor, he wrote. He was delighted that Freya had finally come to her senses regarding his offer of marriage.

  Freya was certain he understood what was at stake.

  She wouldn’t lose Ella. Giving her niece over to the Dacre family was not an option. Freya’s late brother-in-law had twelve brothers and sisters, and not one of them had reached out to her sister when she was alive. And in the five years since Lucy’s death, not one of them had shown any interest in even meeting Ella.

  It was only in the wake of her husband’s death that Lady Dacre had felt any remorse over ignoring her granddaughter. Suddenly, she was filled with concern about Ella’s future. She said proof was needed that the Sutherlands of Torrishbrae were fit to care for a member of her family. And in referring to the Sutherlands, she meant Freya, who’d taken responsibility for Ella from that first dark day.

  Back at the inn, when Captain Pennington told her the rumor about her cousin, Freya had asserted that he was misinformed. What he’d heard must have been a mistake. She desperately hoped she was correct.

  Emotions clawed at her heart before knotting into a fist in her throat. Freya clenched her jaw and focused on the wintry countryside outside of the carriage window. The ice-covered tops of Craig Riasgain and Beinn Mhealaich stood silent and formidable against the steel blue sky and the encroaching clouds. She had to stay strong. Never give up. It was up to her to secure her niece’s future. Ella belonged with her.

  Despite the icy ruts and dips in the road that jarred them occasionally, they were moving steadily southward. Her manservant, Dougal, was riding up top with the captain’s men. She was relieved that her niece at least for now had abandoned the idea of a marriage of convenience between the captain and Freya. Exhaustion had claimed the five-year-old and, some time after setting out, Ella had put her head down in Freya
’s lap and gone to sleep. Shona, bundled in a blanket across from her, was blessed with a similar ability to ignore the discomforts of travel. Freya watched the maid unconsciously wedge her head into the corner of the carriage, and it wasn’t long before a soft snore escaped her.

  Freya’s gaze shifted to the man sitting next to Shona. With Ella curled up on the seat, Captain Pennington had plenty of room for his long, muscular legs. He’d stored his sword and black bicorne hat in a compartment beneath the seat, where she saw a brace of pistols. As he looked out the window, her eyes lingered on his strong hands. She knew little about his character, except that the dowager had entrusted their care to him. Whatever Freya thought of Lady Dacre, that spoke highly of the captain.

  Her gaze drifted upward over his gray kersey greatcoat to his handsome face. His head rested against the back wall of the carriage. She stared at the cleft in his chin and sensual lips, and for an insane moment her thoughts flickered back to that time years ago when she’d dreamed of attending her first season and her first ball. Her imaginings had never been about a full dance card or a dozen young men standing in line vying for her attention. Her dream had always been to go and meet the one. The strong, decisive gentleman who would fight anyone who slighted her in the most casual manner. The hero who would steal her away from the crowded ballroom to a lamplit garden where the two of them would . . .

  Freya’s wandering thoughts came to a crashing halt. His eyes were open. He was watching her. Feeling a blush warm her cheeks, she tore her gaze away and looked down at the tangle of Ella’s hair resting on her lap. She touched the softness of it. A stray curl wound around her finger, just as the very essence of the child had long ago wound inextricably around her heart.

  “Are you really engaged to Colonel Dunbar?”

  She wasn’t about to lie and make the arrangement more than it was. Theirs was no love match. The fact that Pennington was acquainted with the Dacres made no difference.