Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  Chapter 7

  The Gift of Love

  Malcolm slept the most restful, edifying sleep of his life beside his randy English lady, and woke to the beautiful vision of her smile.

  “You look happy,” he said.

  “I feel happy, though I’m not used to waking up like this.” Her smile deepened. “Next to a naked Scotsman with messy auburn hair.”

  “You’ll call my hair messy?” He tickled her side so she screeched and tossed herself against him. “Your hair looks like a tangled skein of wool.”

  “Because of you,” she shot back with good humor.

  They tussled, but he quickly gained the upper hand, pinning her beneath him.

  “Aye, my lady, and I would tangle it more, but it’s Yuletide Eve and we’ve festivities to attend. I promised you holiday joy, and I mean to make good on that promise.”

  He’d be hard pressed to match the joy they’d found the previous night, but she’d hopefully find joy of a different, more public sort amidst his countrymen and women. She groaned as they rose from the bed. He’d never admit it, but he felt a twinge of ache too after their prolonged physical introduction to one another, which had gone on for the greater part of the night.

  He sent her to her dressing rooms, where her ladies would be waiting. Per his instruction, they would clothe her in the pretty red holiday gown and matching tunic he’d had made especially for her. Well, for Lorna, but he was glad the dress was going to her instead. They’d drape the Cochrane plaid about Holly’s shoulders and offer other festive accessories—bracelets, earrings, and ribbons. They wouldn’t make her more beautiful, for she was already as beautiful as any wife might be, but he hoped the gifts would bring her pleasure.

  Ah, pleasure. How exquisite it had felt to finally press between his wife’s thighs and mark her forever as his. He’d made her bleed—a little—which he regretted, but he’d also brought her to ecstasy more than once.

  He walked to the window looking out over the front of his property. It was a fine day for a Yuletide celebration, as the sun shone amidst a light scattering of clouds. It was chilly enough that the great bonfire would warm outside revelers, while the Yule log could comfort those within the Great Hall. He could already smell delectable scents wafting from the kitchen, of smoking meats and spicy sauces. There would be gingerbread, cakes, and pies to enjoy throughout the day, so they’d be almost too stuffed to eat at dinner. Later, families would give one another gifts and good wishes for the upcoming year.

  He had been given a lovely gift this merry Yule. His gift had come wrapped in a package from England—a new wife with perpetually messy curly hair and curious, deep-blue eyes.

  He led Holly downstairs once she was dressed, so she could begin her life as Lady Cochrane and experience her first holiday in the busy keep. His people greeted her kindly, being patient with her lack of language. He translated many messages of welcome, teaching Holly some words along the way so she could begin to use them on her own.

  Those who regarded the stranger in their midst with suspicion were soon won over. Those that weren’t received stern glances from him, for he wouldn’t allow his countrymen to frown at her and allow conflicts of the past to ruin a peaceful future.

  By the time the sun began to set over the western Lowlands, the Yule log was burning bright, and the bonfire outside was sending flames toward the sky. He brought his wife to the clearing’s edge to watch the children dancing, holding their plaids between them as they wove back and forth beside the bonfire’s light.

  “They must be cold,” she said, huddling closer in his arms.

  “Not with the fire, lass. And they’ve been running about all day, fueled by cakes and sweets.”

  “Mmm. Cakes and sweets. Cochrane has talented bakers, for I ate too many myself.”

  He smiled down at her, pleased that she was enjoying her first Scottish Yule. In a few years, perhaps, their own children would join the games and dances and warm themselves at the bonfire. It was a stirring thought. He swallowed his groan of desire, not ready to steal her from the festivities yet.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Did I tell you the truth? Is it more fun to celebrate the holidays here in Scotland?”

  “I’ve never seen such revelry,” she returned with a grin. “Our rector in England would be frowning and calling an end to the dancing. He’d force everyone into church.”

  “We’ll save church for tomorrow. Tonight is for fun and spending time with friends and family.”

  “What are they doing?” she asked, pointing to the line of men and women next to a tall heap of rowan branches.

  “It’s a tradition in Scotland to burn rowan over the holidays for forgiveness and new beginnings. It’s a symbol of putting aside old grievances.”

  “Oh.”

  She watched as Old Man Martin choose a stout branch and dragged it toward the fire, then slung it forward with an attitude of surliness. The old landholder maintained a long list of grievances with everyone, but put them aside every year on this day. A moment later, one of the youngsters almost barreled into him, and he waved an irritated fist, charting a new grievance as soon as he’d discharged the old ones. He was just one of the characters Holly would come to know as she settled into Scottish life.

  “I’d like to join the line,” she said, taking his hand.

  “What?”

  “The line to burn the rowan branches. I want to burn one too.” She bit her lip, peering up at him. “I want to put aside old grievances and silly, ignorant beliefs. All my life, I’ve thought the Scottish a cruel and uncivilized people, but they’re not. Scots are kind, respectful, and faithful to their families. I didn’t understand.”

  Her words touched him. And ah, how he wanted to touch her, but instead he went with her to the group of people waiting by the rowan. When it was their turn, both of them chose branches to feed into the bonfire, for he, too, had held ignorant beliefs about his neighbors to the south. For peace, he’d taken an Englishwoman into his family, but he’d gained more than peace. He’d found enlightenment, and a bonny, sweet, brave lass he’d enjoy getting to know a bit more with each passing day.

  His friends and family smiled on them as they embraced beside the bonfire, watching the branches burn along with the misgivings they used to hold for one another. When he looked at his new wife, she appeared thoughtful.

  “What is it, lass?” he asked.

  Her pursed lips formed a frown. “I wish I had a Yuletide gift to give you. I didn’t even think of it in the rush of our marriage, and our journey here.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve arranged only the simplest gifts for you.” He touched one of the small, delicate rubies that adorned her ears. “We’ll have more time for planning next year.”

  “Yes, I suppose. For now, I’ll give you my heart. You’ll be careful with it, won’t you?”

  In answer, he leaned to kiss her in full view of everyone around them. Let them see that peace would be won for certain, that their new union would be a success. He heard some giggles, some chuckles, a few cheers, and a muttered oath from grumpy old Martin. Ah well, Holly would win over the old codger soon enough.

  “You make me glad, love,” he said when they parted. “Thank you for giving your heart to me.”

  “I could hardly help it.” She gave him a shy, pleased look that brought to mind their activities of the night before. “My cousins believed I was going to certain misery when I married you. How jealous they would be if they knew the truth.”

  “When we visit in the spring, you can flaunt your happiness,” he told her.

  “Indeed I will. I’ll find it particularly fun.”

  Their eyes met. Each time she looked at him, it seemed a pact, a covenant of trust. A promise of happiness.

  “Perhaps we ought to go inside for a bit,” she said, “and have some quiet, private time away from the games and dancing, and the bonfire.”

  “Let us go make our own fire,” he agreed, squeezing her hand.


  As the revelry continued, they stole into his beloved MacEacharna, to the bed where they might worship one another properly throughout the blessed night. He and Holly lost themselves in each other, an intimate peace negotiated, and a lifelong love eager and ready to spark.

  About Annabel Joseph

  Annabel Joseph is an award-winning author of BDSM romance and spanking historicals. Her stories run the gamut from sweetly perverse to scary/hardcore, but no matter the kink level, a happily ever after is guaranteed.

  Browse all Annabel’s books on Amazon

  Visit Annabel’s website to sign up for her newsletter

  Follow Annabel

  On Facebook

  On Goodreads

  On YouTube

  On Amazon

  Marrying Miss Bright

  by Dayna Quince

  Chapter 1

  Bath, England

  August 27, 1818

  Bella rubbed her sister’s back as Carina struggled to breathe in the aromatic fumes of the new medicinal oil the apothecary had dispensed her.

  “Don't tell Mother,” Carina begged. “She’ll blame the paints. If I can't paint, I’ll go mad here cooped up in this room.”

  “I won't let her do it,” Bella said. “I know it's not the paint. It’s that ridiculous rabbit fur collar that she insists on wearing with every dress, for all the world as if it was the middle of winter and not a pleasantly mild August in Bath.”

  “Girls, girls!”

  They heard their mother calling, the sharp tap of her heeled slippers echoing as she came up the hall toward the airy parlor that Carina had turned into her paint studio. Carina quickly capped the ointment and shoved it among the many jars of her paints as Bella waved around her fan, dispersing the scent. Though the ointment proved useful, their mother would not listen and preferred to take advice only from Dr. Sandy, the premier surgeon of Bath, who Bella considered little more than a thief who preyed upon trusting women and their vanity. His latest concoctions were all the rage among her mother’s set, though they did nothing in Bella’s opinion. His newest item was a healthful rouge that promised lovely blushing cheeks and miraculously improved one’s circulation.

  Their mother entered, wisps of her black hair, finely threaded with silver following her like a banner flag. She waved a letter in the air, her hazel eyes bright with excitement, her color high, perhaps artificially since she’d bought six pots of Dr. Sandy’s rouge.

  “It's time,” she panted from her exertion.

  She must've been running, Bella thought with amusement. What could she be so excited about?

  “I've received a letter from your father. Sir Sebastian has reached his thirtieth year and his father has decreed it is time he married. The betrothal contract will be complete, Carina.” Lady Holden took Carina’s hands, and she must've squeezed because Carina winced and pulled her hands away.

  “What in heavens are you talking about?” Bella asked. She snatched the letter from her mother's grasp and quickly scanned it while her mother flitted around the room, opening windows, dancing in circles with an agility Bella hadn't seen in years.

  Bella focused on the letter. Her hands shook as she read her father's sharp script, and when she glanced up, she met Carina's gaze.

  “The betrothal.”

  Carina licked her lips, her face a bit pale. “I'd nearly forgotten but now I remember there was something about his age in the contract.”

  Their mother twirled to a stop. “Lord Drummond—the fool—had insisted that Sir Sebastian wait until his thirtieth year before marrying. The better to experience the bachelor life. But what a waste of time it has been. Carina is nearly on the shelf as it is. Her prime breeding years are slipping by. I said as much last year when I queried your father, but Lord Drummond had insisted on waiting.”

  Carina's eyes widened. “My prime breeding years?”

  Bella's vision grew hazy and red. She curled her fingers around the letter, the paper crunching in her hands.

  She wanted to rip it to shreds. How dare they treat her sister like this? As if she were nothing more than breeding stock.

  Bella had almost forgotten about the betrothal as well.

  So many years had passed since the contract was signed, years that had been filled with fear for her sister’s life as they battled her lung illness. After many visits with special doctors, and too many medicines to count, their last resort had been to leave The Burrow, their family estate in Fox Glenn outside of Birmingham.

  The last doctor, Dr. Hadley, was a real physician, and he suspected Carina’s lungs had an intolerance to the climate. This was precisely why they had moved to Bath. The salty sea air seemed to help her, whereas all the dust and farming that happened around their home made her worse.

  Her mother moved the three of them to Bath while their father had remained at the Burrow. There was no way Carina could return to the Burrow. They hadn’t been back for six years. They’d left after Carina’s fifteenth birthday, the day she was made to sign the contract.

  Bella remembered that day quite clearly now. Carina had smiled tightly at Sir Sebastian, a tall, gangly boy with a jaw that seemed too big for his face. He and Carina had barely spoken two words to each other, and yet not only would they marry, they would mate, Bella thought, wanting to curl her lip in disgust. That was the point, wasn't it? Progeny, heirs to assure the continuation of bloodlines. What everyone failed to recognize—no, what everyone chose to ignore—was Carina's delicate health.

  She couldn't go back to the Burrow. Stepping foot there could possibly kill her, but more than that, she couldn't marry. Carina couldn't perform any arduous activity. Even dancing made her too breathless and faint. Anything that taxed her breathing was a risk, and that certainly would include relations with a husband or the most tenuous activity of all, birthing a child. Healthy women died during childbirth. What would happen to Carina when she just couldn't breathe? What would happen to the poor babe when Carina was too weak to push? They may as well sentence her to death, these foolish men with their foolish ideas.

  The letter slipped from Bella's numb fingers. “You can't be serious,” she said to her mother. “You can't make her go through with this.”

  Her mother turned to her. “You're just jealous, Isabella. But you've no reason to be. As soon as Carina is married, we’ll find a husband for you. It's a fortuitous match for everyone. We cannot just say no. To break the contract would damage forty years of friendship between Lord Drummond and your father, as well as slander our good reputation. He could sue us if he wished. We already owe Lord Drummond a great deal. He and your father share many business dealings.”

  “You should've said no six years ago,” Bella returned. “It was a stupid idea then, and it's even more stupid now.” A rush of heat filled her cheeks as her anger exploded.

  “Bite your tongue,” her mother snapped. “You never want to enjoy anything. You're jealous of her. She's the beauty and you’re…”

  “The what, Mother? The ugly one?” Bella didn’t believe it as much as her mother implied it on many occasions. She and Carina looked almost identical. They could be twins, if they hadn’t been born eleven months apart. But Carina had a frail angelic beauty. Her black hair, pale skin, and light green eyes made her the envy of many young women.

  But not Bella.

  Bella could never envy her sister for her tragic state. Her skin was so pale because she was sick. She rarely went outside.

  Whereas Bella took long walks every morning, enjoying the sun and sea air. Her skin had the garish hint of a tan, and freckles sprinkled her nose. She was heavier than Carina by two stone, simply because she had muscle from the physical exertions that Carina could not tolerate.

  Her mother favored Carina because Carina never resisted, she never voiced her own opinion or spoke louder than a hair above a whisper.

  Their mother treated Carina like a doll she could dress up and do with as she pleased.

  “I’m the loud one, the stubborn one.”<
br />
  The one who will outlive her.

  Bella’s throat grew tight. “If you send her to the Burrow, you will send her to her death. If she survives long enough to marry Sir Sebastian, then she will die with child or in childbirth. She can't dance, she can hardly climb the stairs without getting winded.”

  “You're being hysterical,” her mother bit off. “You want to be difficult because it keeps the attention on you. This is Carina's time. This is a blessed occasion, and I will not let you steal it from her.”

  “I'm not trying to steal anything from her. I'm trying to protect her as I've been doing my whole life.”

  “Look at her,” Lady Holden demanded.

  Carina tensed as Lady Holden pinched her daughter’s cheeks until they were flush with pink and stepped back to see. “She's the picture of health and lovelier than ever. All this time in Bath has done wonders for her. Because I know you'll never relent without a proper opinion, I will summon Dr. Sandy and get his full approval.

  “Your father says Sir Sebastian has not yet returned from his tour of the continent, and so we needn't hurry to the Burrow. It shall be a Christmas wedding. Just think of it, beautiful frost sparkling on the leaves like diamonds. And winter is the best time for Carina to visit the Burrow. After that, once she's conceived, she will return here to Bath and Dr. Sandy can monitor her pregnancy. This isn't a love match. They need not remain together after she conceives the heir.”

  “Do you hear yourself? Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We are talking about your flesh and blood daughter, my sister, and you're willing to—”

  “Hush!” Her mother shook her finger at her. “I will not hear another word from you. I will leave you behind if I must. This is Carina's moment to shine not yours.”

  “When has it ever been mine,” Bella said to herself. She turned away from her mother and folded her arms, looking out the window at a picturesque view of the Main Street all the way down to the ocean.