Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  After all, she and Colmac had danced first.

  She remembered how she'd felt in his arms. One moment it had been normal. They had laughed and chatted like the good friends they were. Then the rowdy crowd had pushed her into his arms, and everything changed.

  In that singular moment, the second he pulled her against him and their gazes locked, she went from seeing the world through a girl’s eyes to viewing it through a woman’s.

  “’Twas more!” Suddenly so angry she couldn’t see straight, she spun in front of the door to the great hall and pointed her finger at his chest. “Ye felt it.” She pressed her palm against her own chest. “I felt it.” She shook her head, releasing all her pent up frustration. Not just at him, but all the death. All the loss. “’Twas there…” She glared at him in disbelief. “And ‘twas something so much bigger than us!”

  Colmac clenched his jaw, his gaze thunderous and emotional for a moment before he breathed deeply and gathered himself. He shook his head in denial and set the torch in a wall bracket. “Nay, ‘twas betwixt ye and my brother.”

  “Eventually.” Though shocked by the words pouring from her mouth, there was no stopping them. “But not initially and well ye know it.” She leaned against the door and whispered, “I just let myself forget because of yer hateful behavior every day after that.”

  “Hateful?”

  “Aye, ‘twas awful and ye know it.”

  “I know nothing of the sort.” He shook his head and shifted closer. “A lad would have to be around a lass to be considered any which way, let alone hateful.”

  “True enough.” Something occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes. “But ye were never around much after that night, were ye? Nay, ye wanted nothing to do with me. Instead, ye chased after lassies ye had not looked twice at before!”

  “Ye dinnae know who I did, and didnae look at,” he scoffed, just as upset. He shifted even closer. “How could ye when ye only had eyes for my brother, aye?”

  “Nay,” she exclaimed, cursing the word the second it came out.

  “Aye!” Though by no means a punch, his fist landed on the door beside her. He came so close she could smell the torch smoke on his fur. Feel the heat of his large body. She closed her eyes, realizing how horribly wrong this was.

  What were they doing?

  What was this awful repressed anger between them?

  It felt like the years since that dance crumbled down around them. As if all the things they never said to each other were roaring up in this singular moment. But how could that be? For her, it made some sort of sense.

  She had loved him prior to Bróccín.

  So very much.

  But where did his anger come from? And was she truly ready to find out?

  “Aye,” she whispered, then clenched her teeth, and dropped her head, ashamed.

  She wanted to know if what Aunt Brighid said was true.

  If Colmac had cast her aside so that his brother might love her.

  “Aye, what, lass?” He rested his forehead against the door, so close that if she shifted forward a mere fraction, their bodies would touch.

  She turned her head, putting them nearly cheek to cheek. His warm breath fanned her neck. A tremor rippled through him while he worked to regain composure. She could touch him. Right here. At this very moment. She could rest her palm against his chest and finally tell him how strongly she had felt back then.

  How she had gone to sleep that very night and dreamt only of him despite what his brother had told her. Because at that point, she had not returned Bróccín's affections. Nay, her heart belonged to Colmac. Only he was in her dreams.

  “Again and again for far too long,” she whispered, her words spilling out once more.

  “What, lass?” He tilted his cheek enough that their lips were inches apart. “What did ye do for far too long?”

  She shifted her head ever-so-slightly, catching the warmth of his breath on her lips. Strangely, it felt like the echoes of a kiss they never shared. Of the one they might have had that first dance if he’d just leaned his head down…had she just tilted her mouth up.

  “Rona?” he said hoarsely, his lips even closer. “What did ye do?”

  “I dreamt.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she’d held her tongue. What she spoke of was inappropriate, was it not?

  “Of whom?” The corner of his mouth hovered over the corner of hers. “Tell me.”

  Struggling for breath, she planted her palms against the door and drowned in the feel of him so close. Of the way, his very presence gave her a sense of home and peace that no other could. His scent filled her nostrils. His heat warmed her every pore.

  Dinnae kiss me, she pleaded inwardly even as she prayed he finally would. That they might close the distance for but a moment. Mayhap just the once then he could walk away.

  She would go home.

  He would stay here.

  Life would go on.

  Unfortunately or mayhap, fortunately, the matter was taken out of their hands a moment later.

  Chapter 6

  “’Twas probably for the best Brighid and Aaron came looking,” his mother said softly on a sigh. “’Tis a rare day ye lose control and pound on a door like that.”

  As he did at least once a day, Colmac sat beside Mórag in her chamber and visited. “Aye, Ma, ‘twas poor of me.”

  “’Twas human of ye,” she corrected, leaning her head back. As always, she gazed out the meager window with longing. “I willnae ask what ye were doing on the other side of that door. ‘Tis none of my business.” Her far-too-thin hands remained folded on her lap. “I can only hope ye found what ye were looking for.”

  His mother tended to speak in riddles of late, so she could mean anything. What was certain, however, was that he had found something. Rona. Time and time again. Not just in his memories but in his dreams all these long years, playing that moment she spoke of over and over again.

  They had connected that first dance.

  So much so that he had wasted no time racing to MacLomain Castle the next morn to speak with Laird Adlin. Only he could help him. And he had. He’d helped Colmac and in effect, Bróccín.

  He had given Colmac something that brought both joy and heartache.

  “I did find what I was looking for,” he replied in answer to his mother’s question. He tucked her plaid blanket more securely around her and crouched in front of her. “My friend has returned home and wishes more than anything to be amongst her clan again for Hogmanay. To be where she would have been with Bróccín had we not lost him.”

  “But we did lose him,” she whispered, her unseeing gaze on the window. “Did we not?”

  “Aye, Ma,” he said gently, taking her hand in his. For a moment, he thought she was having one of her lucid moments, but it seemed not. “Bróccín is no longer with us. But Rona is again. She is here.”

  “Is she?” Her brows jerked up then flattened, her gaze still faraway. “Aye, mayhap she is. Did I not see her in the hallway earlier?”

  “Ye did,” he confirmed, hopeful until his ma continued.

  “She couldnae have been much more than fifteen winters when she first found love, aye?” She rubbed her lips together. “I told yer da ‘look at that! Look at the way they gaze at each other. ‘Tis true love that!’” She pressed a hand to heart, her gaze misty. “God knows, I loved yer da, but I am nae sure even our love could rival what we witnessed that eve. And with the whole clan watching!”

  “Aye.” He was glad she remembered the love that blossomed between Rona and Bróccín. “’Twas true love.”

  “Aye,” his mother breathed, her gaze still dewy and faraway before it sharpened on him. “So ye must do as she asked. Ye must see her to MacLomain Castle for Hogmanay so she can be with her beloved.”

  “Ye mean say farewell to her beloved.”

  “I mean what I said.” She cupped his cheek, her gaze so direct and tender it caught him unaware. “Ye will escort her and be the man yer brother expects ye to be
, aye?”

  “I will,” he vowed and meant it. Rona deserved to be home for the holidays. She deserved to be where she ultimately wanted to say farewell to his brother.

  Later that day, while preparing to go down to the great hall, he again wondered what he was doing. Despite his mother’s request, he could just as easily have Stuart escort Rona to the MacLomains. Yet every time he mulled it over, he shook his head. He would not let her carry on alone during this difficult time. He would stand by her.

  Not because he desired her but because he owed his brother that.

  He felt ashamed for his behavior earlier in the hallway. He should have never behaved that way. Rona was better than that. He was better than that. Yet to see the anguish in her gaze when she spoke of them dancing. That they had, without doubt, shared an untouchable moment. But what to do with such? It was a moment in time.

  A moment that became obsolete once Bróccín declared his love for her.

  He recalled it clearly. How his heart seemed to stop beating when his brother told him. To Colmac’s mind, he had no choice but to become someone else to ensure Bróccín’s dreams were not dashed. He turned from Rona, ignoring her where before he had longed to be around her. Did his heart ever resume beating after that? Hard to know. But it never mattered.

  Not until now.

  He entered the festive hall and realized it very much mattered. She was here, and his brother’s words haunted them both. One way or another, Bróccín’s memory forced them to face things they thought behind them. Things, it appeared, they assumed they had long conquered.

  Yet he had not any more than she had.

  Their eyes met when she appeared in the great hall. Wearing a blue woolen dress and a festive green ribbon in her long, flowing hair, she was beautiful. So said all the admiring gazes that turned her way as she joined the festivities.

  The sound of fiddles, pipes, and merry people dancing faded away while he tried not to watch her out of the corner of his eye. Determined to give her peace, he stared at the fire or spoke with clansmen, anything to distract himself. But his gaze always drifted back to her.

  He wanted her.

  Just like he had since that first dance…before that even.

  “Well, then, m’Laird.” Brighid eyed him with a curious frown when she joined him. “Seems the pipe is merry and our lass is too.”

  “Aye, ‘tis good.” His gaze went to the clansmen flirting with Rona. They urged her to dance, but she kept shaking her head. “But is she merry enough, I wonder?”

  “I imagine she will be if ye save her from the buzzards swarmin’ her, aye?” Brighid’s voice went from curious to stern, her gaze pinning him in challenge. “So what say ye?”

  Recognizing a worthy adversary, he cocked a brow. “I suspect it willnae matter what I say.” He tipped his ale to her and admitted defeat before the war began. “But what I do, aye, Mistress?”

  “Aye, laddie, ye’re a quick study.” Instead of tipping her cup against his, Brighid took his mug, downed a solid swig and kept it, winking. “And ye’re right, what ye say matters little.” She gestured in Rona's direction, her gaze never leaving him. “What ye do, though, makes all the difference.”

  When Rona at last relented to a lad’s advances and twirled away in a jig, he knew Brighid was right. At least about him keeping a close eye on the lass. That’s what she meant, right? He drifted forward, watching Rona swirl in the firelight, laughing as she once did.

  Just like that, he was in the past again.

  The night they first danced.

  “Come then, Colmac!” Rona pulled him up from the bench, her gaze wondrous as she scanned the merry crowd. She focused on the couples before she looked at him again. “I want to dance like that!” She spread her arms and twirled. “I want to feel the passion!”

  He enjoyed her enthusiasm and allowed her to pull him into the crowd. They chatted as they always did, but all he could see was her laughing and dancing. That was all he could ever see lately. She had no idea, though, did she? Nay, she was a few winters younger and just coming into understanding what could be. The passion lads and lasses could feel together. A passion igniting in her eyes while she spun.

  She was no longer a bairn.

  They were no longer bairns.

  Nay, they were on the precipice of something so much greater.

  That’s when it happened.

  The pipes grew merrier, the crowd more rambunctious and she was shoved right into his arms. It should have been but a blip in time. They should have laughed and stepped back a wee bit.

  But they did not.

  Instead, they were caught in an unforgettable moment as he kept her close. Everything dwindled down to just them. His heart pounded, and his chest tightened while their gazes held. He never forgot the way she looked at him nor what he suddenly realized.

  He was in love.

  He had been for some time.

  Colmac had never felt lighter than he did after that dance. Something almost magical had happened to him. Something that surely only came along once in a lifetime. So he raced to MacLomain Castle that very night and sought out what he needed.

  Something that would show her everything he felt.

  “Colmac?”

  He snapped to awareness at the sound of Rona’s voice not in his past but right here in front of him.

  “Aye, lass,” he managed, jarred because he stood just beyond the dancing clansfolk and barely remembered moving.

  Seeming to understand the source of his stupor, her hand slid into his, and she pulled him to nearly the same spot they had their first dance. “Do ye remember, then?” She squeezed his hand. “Do ye remember what happened here?”

  “I do,” he whispered, tempted to pull her into his arms. Eager to relive the moment. To at long last hold her in his arms again and never let go.

  It seemed she spoke of something else, though.

  She nodded in the direction of the hearth. “Shall we look now? Surely that is what Bróccín referred to.”

  His gaze followed hers, and he realized what she meant. Before Colmac left for MacLomain Castle that eve his brother had told them he found another hideaway.

  “The rock that came loose from the hearth when Bróccín and I were dancing,” she said. “He kicked it aside then later discovered there had been a wee crevice behind it.”

  “Would that be big enough for a scroll?”

  “There is only one way to find out.”

  She started to pull him that way, but he stopped her, remembering his brother’s request of her in the last letter.

  “Nay, not yet lass.” He knew he should leave this alone but could not help himself. “He said ye were to dance again first.”

  “But I just did.”

  “Aye.” He pulled her into his arms. “But not with me.”

  Chapter 7

  The moment Colmac pulled her into his arms, Rona knew they were on a slippery slope that only led in one direction. How else could it be when her heart raced and her breathing shallowed? Her eyes met his, and she was right back there.

  Back to the night, they had first danced.

  Everything she’d felt back then came rushing to the surface. The extraordinary sensation of floating in his arms. The surreal feeling that she was more whole at that moment than she had ever been before.

  Almost as if he completed her.

  “Ye really do look verra bonny this eve, lass,” he said softly. Just like he did that eve so long ago, his gaze roamed her face with admiration.

  Desire.

  Need.

  Most especially, love.

  Which meant it had been there back then. How could she have ever doubted she saw it? Worse yet, this meant Aunt Brighid was right.

  Colmac had turned from her so Bróccín could love her.

  Her vision blurred with tears, and she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was too overwhelmed with emotion.

  “’Tis all right.” He seemed to understand what she was going t
hrough. “Ye dinnae need to say a word.”

  She managed a jerky nod, rested her cheek against his chest, and held on to his tunic for dear life as tears slipped free. She closed her eyes and drowned in the feeling of being in his arms. Of knowing that he had once cared for her. Yet with that certain knowledge came sadness and the same anger she had felt earlier.

  How could he have so easily turned from what existed between them? She understood he loved his brother and certainly did not fault him for that, but to turn from what had blossomed between them? To set it aside as if it meant so little? That hurt deeply.

  Then, on the same token, had he not, she never would have shared such a wonderful connection with Bróccín. She had truly loved him. Was their love different than what she felt for Colmac? Possibly.

  But it was love all the same.

  “Are ye all right, Rona?” Colmac eventually rumbled.

  “I will be.” She wiped away tears, and met his eyes again, determined to finally get to the heart of things once and for all. To actually hear him say it. “Did ye love me, Colmac? Did ye love me and turn from me all those years ago?”

  For a moment, she did not think he would answer then anguish flashed in his gaze and he, at last, gave her the truth. More of it than she expected.

  “Aye, lass, I had been admiring ye for some time, but that eve, I knew it to be true.” He cupped her cheek tenderly. “I loved ye with my whole heart.”

  “Och,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut briefly before she opened them again. “Why did ye turn me away?” She tilted her head in question. “Why did ye push me into yer brother’s arms if ye felt that way?”

  “Because I was a fool,” Colmac ground out. He shook his head, clearly conflicted. “Or so it seems now, but the truth was, as ye well know, there wasnae anything I wouldnae do for Bróccín. He loved ye something fierce, and I couldnae take that from him.” Sadness flickered in his eyes. “Not after all the suffering he went through in life. The many illnesses.”

  While she admired his devotion, it still hurt.

  “And what of yer suffering turning from me?” she asked softly. “Or was there any?”