Brenna's Yuletide Song: A Scottish Yuletide Novella

by Cathy MacRae

  With a wave of his hand, he was gone.

  Uilleam wrapped an arm around Brenna’s waist. “Are ye warm? Is there aught I can bring ye?”

  Brenna shook her head. “I feel much better, though I cannot say I recommend swimming this time of year.”

  “I will agree ’tis nae the best idea. I’m sorry I flung ye into the Clyde.”

  “Ye did, did ye not?” Her lips, now a more normal pink and losing the last hint of blue, curved upward. “Mayhap we can keep it a secret.”

  “Och, ye believe so? I’d wager yer ma will notice ye arenae wearing yer own clothes.”

  Brenna glanced down. “I’d hoped to slip back inside without being caught.”

  Uilleam snorted. He had to admit his bride had a lively sense of optimism. A thought struck him.

  “What, by the name of all that’s holy, were ye doing here?”

  She arched a brow. “I wished to see the ships.”

  Her quiet voice drew him up short.

  “See the ships? Is this something ye do often? Alone? Shite! What were ye thinking?”

  “I did not mean to cause alarm,” she began, then bit her lip. “I would have returned anon.”

  “Ye could have been kidnapped. Killed by a runaway horse. Sold into slavery. Drowned!”

  “I was fine until ye came along. Ye’re the one who tossed me into the river,” she reminded him, her tone accusing.

  She had a point, though she clearly hadn’t the good sense to share his fears. He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “Tell me why ye wished to see the ships.”

  A tentative smile tugged at her lips for a full minute before expanding to include her eyes. She took another sip of the ale, peering at him over the rim of her mug. Her green eyes beguiled him with their intensity.

  She set the mug aside. “Papa used to tell the most marvelous stories about his ships. Where they’d been, where they were going. Tales of people like the man the innkeeper’s wife met—the one who gave her the false teeth.” She sighed. “I can see the masts from my bedroom. They bob up and down, but do not pass by. The Clyde is too shallow for most ships to travel upriver past Corbie’s Burn. If the wind is just right, I can hear the chants of the sailors and the flap of the sails.”

  “Have ye nae been down here before?” Uilleam’s alarm subsided into a sense of concern. He couldn’t imagine living cooped up in the manor house—luxurious as it was. All the gilded splendor, elegant clothing, and French cookery could not convince him a life within the manor was better than one lived freely. The truth of her life struck him anew. She and her sisters might be known as intolerable chantie-beaks—as well as angelic songbirds—but he’d soon be completely lacking his wits did he not have leave to move about as he pleased.

  She shook her head. “Nae. Papa deemed it unsuitable to mingle with . . ..” She gestured about the cozy cabin with its narrow bunk and pierced lantern hanging from a rafter in the ceiling, swaying gently as the ship rode the light swell.

  “A ship at anchor is nae more than a piece of the world, its story begging to be told. How do ye value what ye have if all ye know is second-hand information, filtered through yer da’s opinion of what is best for ye?”

  Brenna released a short breath then shrugged. “I thought I was safe at home. I was afraid to do things unchaperoned. That is, I was afraid. Until ye.”

  “Me?” Uilleam blinked. He’d known the lass for scarcely a pair of days. How could he possibly have influenced her? “What have I done?”

  A grin softened her mouth and she poked his ribs with an elbow. “Ye took me to an inn.”

  Chapter Ten

  Uilleam’s blue eyes sparkled. Did laughter lurk there? His eyebrows—oh, how they reflected his thoughts—rose. A peculiar sensation of longing and excitement swelled inside Brenna and she realized—despite her dunking—she was happy.

  How odd to take such pleasure in his presence. ’Tis how I always thought I’d feel around the man I fell in love with. Her heart fluttered and she sighed with contentment. She did feel safe with him. Safe and cosseted. Did he know how his concern melted her heart?

  Expressions of disbelief and alarm crossed his face, fading into humor. “I admit the events at the inn gave us an interesting interlude, but what particularly changed yer thoughts?”

  How to explain her feelings of awe, dismay, envy, delight—and the wonderful sense of freedom she’d experienced? She rose to her feet on a long sigh and spread her arms wide. Pirouetting slowly, she encompassed the entire village with her gesture.

  “Everything,” she pronounced. “Acrobats weaving among the villagers. A tumble amid the baker’s cart. Eating pies beneath the trees. Dancing through the streets. Having to pay to take a piss.” She clapped a hand over her mouth then drew it away, unwilling to stifle her laughter.

  “Ye are guilty of teaching me some new—scandalous—words, Sir Uilleam,” she scolded on a soft laugh.

  His eyes darkened. A shiver flitted down her spine and she halted her twirl. “Are ye vexed with me?”

  He shook his head, gaze as steady as a fox’s on a hare. “I’m nae vexed with ye.”

  “Yer eyes. They’re dark. Intense.”

  His pause set her heart to racing. Why had his smile vanished?

  “I’ve taught ye new words?”

  Brenna gave a hesitant nod as the rumble of his voice slid through her with the rasp of silk samite—heavy, luxurious, and with the shimmer of gold.

  Uilleam rose. His hand hovered near her cheek until his fingers at last lay gentle upon her skin. Heat burned where he touched, darted through her, tightening her chest so her breath came swift and shallow.

  “I will be the one to teach ye much more,” he murmured.

  Brenna closed her eyes, unable to bear the import of his words. What could he teach her? Maman’s short speech the night before after sending her sisters from the room had been unsatisfyingly vague and completely mystifying. She could not believe Maman had fluttered so when attempting to describe something so . . . so enticing.

  Her legs trembled.

  Uilleam’s palm cupped her head below her ear, fingers twined through the hair at her nape. The sensation of a thousand pinpricks rippled beneath her skin with unexpected pleasure. Her eyelids popped open.

  A ghost of a smile tilted his lips, flickered in his eyes. “Do ye know what that means?”

  She shook her head, careful not to shake his hand free for she would surely float away if he released her. “Nae.”

  He lowered his face to hers, lips touching hers so lightly she wasn’t certain if she’d dreamed it or not.

  “We’ll start with this.”

  This time, it wasn’t a dream.

  His lips slid across hers, testing, tempting, thrilling. She pressed upward on her toes, her palms cradling his warm cheeks. Uilleam’s arms swept about her, pulling her body against his, all muscle and hard planes. Her breasts crushed against his chest.

  His tongue pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth, her body heated beyond bearing as he swept inside, filling her, moving with urgency.

  He tasted of ale and sunlight, and smelt of wool and . . . something she could not identify. His breath rasped hot against her cheek. Brenna wrapped her arms about his neck, craving closer contact. A growl rumbled in his chest.

  Uilleam lifted his head, his eyes fierce on hers. Possessive. Brenna swayed against him. Dizzy. Weightless. Her thoughts as distant as the stars yet brilliant as sunlight as she marveled at what had transpired.

  “We . . . ye . . . oh là là!” Her eyes widened. “We have done . . . ye know . . ..” She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. “Here!”

  One hand drifted to her lips, torn between shock at abandoning her careful upbringing, and the new knowledge Uilleam’s passion had given her.

  I’m no longer a virgin.

  This is what Maman tried to describe? Oh là là! What will Maman say?

  Her heart quickened at the thought of facing Maman, but ela
tion swept through her. She was no longer a child, but a woman! ’Twas no duty to share an intimacy with Uilleam—though why Maman had insisted there was a bed involved, Brenna did not know. This had surpassed the fondest hopes of her innocent childhood, and she could not wait to tell her sisters.

  She beamed at her betrothed, ignoring the slight narrowing of his eyes. A bit of dismay tweaked her sense of accomplishment, for it was clear he’d done this before.

  She lifted her chin. Well, she’d be the last one he kissed in such a manner, that much was certain!

  “Ye approve?” One of his expressive eyebrows dipped, his tone wry.

  “’Twas not quite what I expected,” she teased, fingering her lower lip with the tip of one finger. There’d been no pain—quite the opposite! She’d been swept away by a sense of elation and a willingness to be in his arms and welcome his touch. Her mouth seemed swollen, sensitive—would anyone notice? Did she look different? Or only feel different? Elated. As if an entire world had been opened for her alone.

  “’Twas rather fantastique, actually.” She sent him a look from beneath her lashes that had nothing to do with remorse for granting him such liberties before their wedding.

  Uilleam’s lips lifted in a very self-satisfied way, and she was delighted to note he was also pleased with their intimacy.

  “There’s more, sweet Brenna. Much more.”

  She stared at him. “Truth?” It did not seem possible, though, if true, was a good enough reason for mamans and papas to insist on keeping their daughters and suitors separate until marriage. She could not prevent the grin that stole across her face. She would not be dismayed if he wanted to do it again very soon.

  She plucked at the front of his tunic, her attention distracted by the warmth rising from beneath the cloth. What did he look like—underneath? Would she find out this very night when they were alone? The thought reignited her body.

  His breath hitched and a wave of pure pleasure swept through her. I did that? I caused a crack in his calm, confident façade?

  She flattened her palm against his chest and slid her hand upward, intent on provoking another unguarded reaction.

  He caught her wrist and moved it away.

  “I, er, have a gift for ye.” His voice growled in a most interesting manner, but Brenna was captivated by the thought of a present.

  “Ye do?” She smiled then gasped in dismay. “Oh, I have none for ye.”

  He shook his head and released her before taking a step back. “I dinnae purchase it so I might receive a gift from ye. ’Tis nae the way of things. Gifts are from the heart, nae from a sense of duty or expectation.”

  Deprived of the warmth of his nearness, she grabbed the front edges of his cloak and tugged them closed. “I . . ..” Her fingers encountered a firm, rounded object. She patted the wool. “Is this it?”

  “Ah . . ..”

  Her fingers slipped inside the cloak then beneath the flap of a small pocket.

  Uilleam cleared his throat. “’Tis nae . . ..”

  She pulled forth a golden brooch set with rubies and sapphires. “Oh là là! Uilleam, ’tis beautiful!”

  He stared at the reliquary in her hand. Bright dots of gold from the pierced lamp overhead danced across the heavy gold and its cabochon-cut rubies and sapphires. Brenna’s gaze wandered over the priceless brooch, her lips round with awe as she tilted it first one way then the other. The sturdy chain slipped between her fingers in a ripple of costly gold.

  “I’ve never seen the like.” Her gaze slid from the brooch to him. Her teasing manner had fled. “Thank ye.”

  Maggie will kill me. I should have left the brooch with her last we met. Yet, he could not find the words to recall the reliquary from Brenna’s hands, even to exchange it for the silver brooch in his sporran. How to tell her—when she clearly loved the piece—that it was not hers?

  Or was it? A peculiar legend had sprung up regarding the brooch. He’d lost it once, only to find it in the hands of a wee lass credited with saving the life of her baby brother when he fell into the loch. Uncaring of the brooch’s value, she’d given it back to him, saying it had led her to the small inlet where she’d discovered her brother in time to pull him from the water with little more than a mouthful of mud and a—hopefully—lingering respect for the loch.

  How was it the brooch found its way to those in need? Would it protect Brenna from the possible effects of her dunk in the Clyde? For that, he would risk his sister’s displeasure.

  A knock sounded at the portal. Uilleam gave the brooch in Brenna’s hand one last look before stepping to the door. Grasping the latch, he opened the door and peered through the opening. Captain Graham grinned at him.

  “I dinnae mean to disturb ye, m’lord, yet the hour of yer wedding draws nigh and if m’lady is recovered . . .?”

  Uilleam swore under his breath. How could he have let the hour slip past? One look at Brenna’s bright eyes and rosy lips as she slipped the brooch’s chain over her head was enough to remind him. And send his cock into a twitch of anticipation.

  There would be time for more than kisses soon enough. Time enough to show her what existed beyond a simple kiss, though his body rebelled at naming that act simple. Her reaction mirrored his, and it would take quite a bit of cold air to subdue his randy cock into compliance for the remainder of the day. If the winter air did not suffice, ’twould be a long, awkward walk back to the manor.

  “Are ye ready?” he asked, eying her still-damp hair. “Yer bonnet . . .?”

  She clapped a hand to the top of her head. “Oh là là! It must have fallen off in the river.”

  “Never mind. Ye can pull the hood of my cloak over yer head to keep ye warm.”

  “But, Uilleam, how will ye stay warm without your cloak? ’Tis very cold.”

  Her brilliant green eyes—eyes which seemed to have bewitched Uilleam—stared at him earnestly. Her black hair shimmered over her shoulders, one curling strand draped over her shoulder to sprawl invitingly across her breast. Lips he’d just kissed—which had kissed him back in a most satisfying manner—parted slightly as she awaited his answer.

  Och, he didn’t think he’d be cold at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brenna’s heart raced. Her wedding would take place in less than an hour! She wiggled her toes beneath the steaming water in the tub and grinned, then reached for the goblet of wine perched on a small table beside her. The wine warmed her further and she signaled Alish to replenish the cup.

  Kari zipped about the room, chasing Poppy who had snagged a mouthful of ribbons from an open chest. Maman stood in the center of the room, managing the maids, seamstresses, and serving girl from the kitchen with consummate ease—and an increasing amount of noise as the rising clatter threatened to overpower her ringing tones.

  Elesbeth and Jennet huddled on cushions next to the great wooden tub, feet tucked beneath their skirts. Jennet leaned closer.

  “Do ye not wonder . . ..” She hesitated, cheeks flaming.

  Brenna reached for the goblet in Alish’s hands. “Wonder? About what?”

  Elesbeth snorted. “Ye know. Our sister wishes to know if ye are nervous about your wedding night.”

  Brenna glanced over her shoulder to ensure both Kari and Maman remained out of earshot then leaned forward, her face next to Jennet and Elesbeth.

  “I’ve done it!” she whispered. With a nod of triumph, she took another sip of wine.

  “Done what?” Jennet asked, her brow furrowed.

  Elesbeth leaned closer, eyes wide. “When? This morn? Whilst ye and Sir Uilleam . . .. Is that why ye were so late coming home? And wearing another’s clothes?” Her mouth fell open. “Tell us!”

  Brenna rested her forearms along the rim of the tub, feeling much like a cat stretching languidly in the sun. The goblet dangled from her fingers. “It was wonderful!”

  Her sisters gazes turned skeptical.

  “But, Alish always warns us . . ..” Jennet appeared perplexed.

  El
esbeth frowned. “Maman ran us out of your room last night—and I daresay ’twas not to tell ye how wonderful it would be.”

  “I speak the truth,” Brenna insisted. “He held me oh, so tight, and I could not catch my breath. So large and strong, so hard. I feared I would faint, and I felt as though I was completely aflame. His kiss nearly made me swoon, and I tell ye, he compromised me right there in . . ..”

  Jennet squealed. “Oh, Brenna! Will ye have a child soon?”

  “Brenna!”

  Maman’s shocked gasp broke the three girls apart as abruptly as if a large, hairy spider had landed in their midst. Brenna slewed about in the tub. A bright red spot flared on Maman’s pale cheeks, her eyebrows completely vanished beneath the embroidered trim of her veil which fluttered across her forehead.

  She raised a hand to her face. “Tell me ye did not . . ..”

  Brenna shook off her mother’s horrified question with a blithe wave of her hand as she took another sip of wine and rose from the tub.

  “Et alors?” She shrugged into her heavy wool robe, passing the goblet to Alish for safekeeping. The silk lining slid smooth against her skin. “So what if we did?” She sent Jennet and Elesbeth a wicked look. “’Twas wonderful!”

  Maman moaned and her eyes rolled upward. Brenna bit her lip. Would Maman faint?

  Her mother’s beringed hand clutched the finely wrought, jeweled cross pendant at her breast.

  Brenna crossed the room with only the slightest concern for her balance and retrieved the brooch Uilleam had given her. It’s importance had been lost in the uproar over her disappearance and subsequent reappearance wearing men’s garb—belonging to someone else—no cap on her head, minus her boots, and dripping wet on what Maman was certain was her last day on earth. But she remembered it now.

  Fingering the smooth stones reverently, she held it aloft. “Look! A gift from Uilleam to mark the event.”