Once Upon a Christmas Past Page 31

  He wondered if this place would change someday and if the deeds of the men here would be forgotten. He never wanted that to happen. It was his duty to see that it never did.

  Opening his mouth, he did what he did best and filled the braes with the sound of his song, one that he’d been toiling on for the past se’nnight.

  “Let me tell ye of a place between the mountains and the mist.

  A place ye’ve only dreamed about, where heroes still exist.

  Of a fortress carved from courage, in defiance of the land.

  A haven fer the outlawed and a refuge fer the damned.

  Camlochlin, Camlochlin, jewel of my heart…”

  Moving his gaze across the shadowy peaks of Sgurr Na Stri and the majestic Cuillins beyond, he paused to reconsider penning an ode to this place. He was good with words, but even a master bard had trouble describing the place of his birth.

  “Pretty,” came a dulcet voice behind him.

  He turned and smiled at the only vision that could rival Camlochlin, moonlit and windswept as she stepped beneath the glimmering veil settling in from the mountains. “That’s impossible, lass, fer I haven’t mentioned ye in it yet.”

  Leslie Harrison tossed her thick black braid over her shoulder, making him want to loosen it and send it tumbling around her bonny face. Her laughter danced across his spine, more beautiful than any sound he had ever heard, or could ever produce with his own voice.

  He remembered the day that Colin MacGregor came home with George Gates, a captain in Parliament’s Royal Horse Guards, and with the captain’s wife, Sarah, and her kin, the Harrisons. He owed Colin much for bringing her here. For she’d done what no other before her could do. She’d taken hold of his heart and gave his life new meaning. He loved her and tonight he intended to tell her.

  “What makes you think I was referring to your ode and not to you when I spoke, Finlay Grant?” She drifted past him, leaving the fragrance of peat and nutmeg in her wake. “I’m not the only lass in the Highlands who thinks you’re pretty, now am I?” She turned and leaned her back against the mountain wall, her playful smile still intact when she looked at him. “Why, this very night I heard Heather MacDonald describe you as ‘heavenly. With a smile crafted of starlight and sunshine.’” She giggled and rolled her eyes as if she’d never heard such utter nonsense before.

  “Are ye jealous then?” He moved in closer to her, grinning like some bewitched whelp, helpless at the effect she had on him and not caring. So, the others found him pleasing to look at. This was the only woman whose favor he sought to win.

  “Come now, bard,” she said, the whimsical quirk of her lips drawing him closer. “It is clear for all to see who holds claim to your heart.”

  Och, was she so clever, or he, that transparent? Who cared? Not he. And what were the stars compared to the joy of life sparking her sea-colored eyes? The crisp, mountain air compared to the whip of her tongue? He loved her confidence, the air of utter self-possession that hovered about her like a sensual cloak. He was glad his heart was so obvious. He loved her, and he wanted all of Skye to know it. He would tell her tonight, even though it seemed she already knew. He’d thought about how best to tell her many times over the last few months. He was a poet. The event of enlightenment—when one discovers that his heart is no longer his own, when he wakes each day to find her in his thoughts, tempting him to search out her company, when he would give his last breath in exchange for her life—well, that event was momentous and deserving of the right words. He wanted to ask her to be his wife. A proposal should be perfect…and perfection took time to master. But, finally, he believed he had it right.

  Still, what did the right words matter if she didn’t love him in return? There had been plenty of suitors eager to share her company over the past few months. She hadn’t shown interest in any of them. Aye, they spent a lot of time together and it was true that her smile lit the entire hall when he sang about love. But did she love him? He decided to put his question to the test and see if she would let him kiss her. He moved in closer, eager to taste the frost of her lips before he spilled her praises across her cheek.

  “Andrew awaits,” she said breathlessly against his mouth, then pushed him away with a gentle hand. “There is to be an announcement and he’s asked that all be present.”

  Finn tightened his arm around her waist, keeping her close, unwilling to let her go without telling her. “Let him wait a moment longer, I beg ye.”

  “All right.” She gave in easily, smiling and moving in closer to him again, slaying his heart where he stood. “He did give the impression that his announcement was one of importance though.”

  Finn shrugged and swept his plaid around her shoulders, shielding her from the cold. “Mayhap yer brother is finally going to demand that Brodie MacGregor honor yer mother by marrying her. Everyone knows about their clandestine rendezvous, ye know.”

  Leslie shook her head. “My mother ended that a month ago. No, I think my brother’s announcement has something more to do with a letter he recently received from James Douglas, Marquess of Dumfriesshire.”

  Finn pulled back to have a better look at her. “Douglas? What dealings does yer brother have with them? They’re Lowland Covenanters.”

  “Aye, I know.” Her smile was made all the more beguiling by the quirk of her dark brow. “My family are Lowland Covenanters, as well, Finn. Remember? England was only our temporary residence. It kept Andrew and Alan away from the local field masses, and away from the royal armies sent to massacre those who attended.”

  “Aye.” He nodded, knowing the Harrisons were active Covenanters who had suffered harshly under Stuart rule. They had moved to England after King James had had some active Presbyterians arrested in their hometown of Dumfriesshire. Leslie’s kin had lived quiet lives in Norfolk, keeping to themselves until this summer, when they fled at the threat of King James’s victory over Prince William of Orange. They’d feared the king would certainly punish Protestants for not supporting him.

  But James had lost almost all his support the moment William landed his ships in England, and earlier this month he had tried unsuccessfully to flee the country.

  “D’ye think Andrew wants to bring ye back to yer homes now that ’tis safe to return?” Finn asked, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. He didn’t care about who ruled. England’s laws seldom reached Skye. But tonight, he vowed, he would ask her eldest brother for her hand before Andrew made plans to try to take her back to the Lowlands…or worse, to England.

  “Would you be so opposed to the notion of me leaving then?”

  He looked into her eyes, expecting to see the familiar flash of humor flickering across them. He didn’t find it. She was serious.

  “Of course I’m opposed to ye leaving. Leslie…” He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek, then, cupping her jaw, he swept her closer. “I’ve pondered a thousand ways to say this, but ’tis my heart which must speak fer me.”

  “And what would it say?” she asked him softly, boldly bringing her fingertips to his lips.

  “It would tell ye that the world I once thought so beautiful is even more breathtaking with ye in it. It would have me tell ye that I love ye. That I’ll love ye fifty years from now, and a thousand years after that. I’ll keep yer lips swollen and rosy, but not yer eyes. I’ll try to always make ye happy, in our bed and out of it. And when our bairns are born, ye can name them all. I know that’s important to a lass.”

  “Do you?” She giggled and quirked her brow at him. “And how do you know I wish to have bairns with you?”

  He pressed his mouth to her temple, then he traced his lips, ever so lightly, down her cheekbone. “Do ye?”

  Here it was, the moment that would reveal her heart. He barely breathed, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to continue breathing if she said nae.

  “Leslie!” A sharp male voice called out from the fog. It was Alan, the younger of the two Harrison brothers.

  Finn’s muffled oat
h seared the air. Och, hell! Not now, damn it!

  “Here.” She tried to push herself out of Finn’s embrace, but he held her still, unwilling to surrender her just yet.

  “Meet me here later,” he whispered. “There’s something I would ask ye.” He smiled when her eyes opened wider. If he didn’t kiss her soon he was going to go mad. Her brother stopped him yet again when he called out her name, and Finn regretted spending more hours with a lute than with a sword while growing up.

  “Coming!” She laughed quietly and then granted Finn what he wanted. Her kiss was brief but warm and filled with promise despite her playful whisper across his lips. “You will have to keep me warm if I return to you.”

  “I’ll hold ye close to me, lass,” he promised, curling his hand around her nape. “I’ll warm yer blood with my body and my breath”—he dipped his mouth to her throat—“whilst I tell ye how the thought of kissing ye haunts me.”

  She shivered against him, either from the cold or from something more meaningful, and then broke free and left him watching her disappear into the mist that had thickened over the hill. He smiled, tracing his tongue across his lips, tasting her, missing her already. Newly inspired, he thought about staying outdoors and finishing his song. But he was curious about Andrew Harrison’s announcement. In truth, he could find that out later. What he really wanted was to watch while she shared words with the people of Camlochlin. She would fit in nicely here after they were wed. The other women liked her and the chief’s wife, Davina, was among the handful who knew his intentions and not only supported him, but urged him to be quick about asking for her hand.

  He smiled, stepping through the fog and vanishing within. The moment couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter 2

  “Was that Finn with you back there?”

  Leslie turned to her brother as they stepped into the torchlight surrounding the castle. “Aye, it was. We were not hiding from vision of our own accord. The mist had rolled—”

  “I thought Andrew had words with you about forming attachments to him.”

  She stopped and waited for him to do the same. Andrew had spoken to her about it, but it was far too late. “He did, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I am already attached to Finn, and I will not disregard him because Andrew tells me to do so.”

  “He is your eldest brother.”

  “It matters not to me who—”

  Alan’s fingers closing hard around her upper arm halted her words.”You will end up getting us arrested, Leslie. Perhaps even killed. These people are enemies to the new king. Living among them grows more perilous every day—”

  “Perilous?” Now it was her turn to cut him off. “They took us in when we needed them to! And William is not king yet. Surely Andrew understands how ridiculous—” She stopped short, her eyes widening with surprise and a little horror. When Alan turned his back on her to go inside, she chased after him. “It’s one thing to leave Camlochlin because it’s safe to go. Running from this clan because a new Protestant ruler may try to persecute them is cowardly.”

  “Leslie!”

  She turned to find her sister coming toward her from one of the long, candlelit corridors. On either side of Sarah were her two dearest friends, Gillian MacGregor and the chief’s wife, Lady Davina, who almost always looked as if she enjoyed life just a bit more than everyone else around her. Presently, she wore a frown that did nothing to diminish her unearthly radiance. She might be the lady of the castle, but with her thick, pearlescent locks swept above her head in piles of gently pinned curls, and her large, wide-set eyes, she looked like the queen of fairies. When her features softened on Leslie, the latter looked away, ashamed by what Davina must have heard.

  An awkward moment passed with Leslie wanting to kick Alan in the shins for making her speak such a contemptible thing out loud, whether it be true or not.

  “Leslie.” Her sister broke the silence. “I’ve volunteered your aid tomorrow in helping the women decorate the castle for Yuletide.”

  “I know ’tis still a pair of weeks away”—Davina’s dulcet voice drew Leslie’s gaze back to her—“but I was hoping you would join us in preparing the feast of Hogmanday, the last day of the year.”

  “Hogmanay,” a voice corrected from the door.

  Davina turned toward Finn, who was stepping in from the cold wind, and her smile, as guileless and radiant as his, returned to full glory. “Of course! Hogmanay. I often have trouble recalling the name.” She turned and winked at Sarah and Gillian. “We southerners have been deprived of Christmas celebration for too long.” She returned her attention to Finn. “But I shall put the name to pen this time, cousin. I promise.”

  “There’s no need, princess.” He tugged at his bonnet, spilling pale flaxen wisps over his eyes and flushed cheeks. “I shall put it to prose to help ye remember. ’Tis my duty.”

  The two women at her sides, along with Davina herself, blushed and appeared to go a little breathless.

  Leslie rolled her eyes. It was always the same. Women tripped over their own feet when he set the full measure of his countenance on them. She wasn’t jealous though. He wasn’t deliberately trying to win anyone’s favor. It wasn’t his fault that something genuinely happy and at ease with life radiated from even the faintest trace of his smiles. A keeper of stories, he beguiled with song…and eyes that twinkled like emerald dust strewn across some ethereal field. The whispers were all true. Finlay Grant was heavenly.

  And while he didn’t use it, at least not deliberately to his advantage, he knew the full power of his charm.

  “I’ve no idea the nature of your brother Andrew’s announcement, but I do hope you will stay at Camlochlin until the Twelfth Night.”

  Leslie blinked at Davina, remembering their conversation before Finn appeared…and the conversation she’d shared with Alan before that. She liked Davina. She liked everyone at Camlochlin. She didn’t want to leave, especially not now, when Finn had finally confessed his love to her. She slanted her gaze to him and smiled softly. He loved her. She’d suspected it, but Finn Grant turned many hearts and Leslie wasn’t sure if any could turn his. “I would love to stay, my lady. Though some of the Acts of the Estates of Parliament abolishing Christmas festivities have been repealed, there are still many things we cannot do. I look forward to celebrating in Camlochlin.”

  “Lovely!” the pale blond beauty beamed.

  Leslie noted Finn’s grin deepening and guessed he’d enlisted Davina’s aid to help keep Leslie here. The thought of him hiring help made her kneecaps go soft. He might possess the same fairy magic as Davina when it came to stopping others’ hearts with their beauty and welcoming demeanor, but Leslie had stopped his. This divine man was hers. Finn loved her. Oh, he loved her! Thank God he did. It would save her years of misery living without him. For she loved him, as well.

  “That’s more than gracious of you, my lady. I would love to.”

  “Come, Leslie.” Her brother yanked her arm. “We’ve duty to see to.”

  He pulled her, gently but rather rudely, away from the others and in the direction of the Great Hall. She turned, unable to help herself, and smiled at Finn over her shoulder. She would meet him later and say yes to him if he asked her to marry him. She would remain here with him and live in one of the cottages that dotted Camlochlin’s great vale. She would wear thick woolen plaids in the winter and listen to him sing to her at night. She would grow heavy with his children and she would cherish no other but God over him.

  She entered the Great Hall, her smile remaining intact as her gaze spread over Camlochlin’s inhabitants. What fool wouldn’t want to remain here in the company of men who were built as solid as the mountains outside these doors, taken into the fold by the kind, gracious women whom they cherished? Sarah was staying here with her husband, George. Andrew’s wife, Margaret, wanted to stay, and even Elizabeth, Alan’s wife, seemed happier here. Leslie saw no reason she too couldn’t stay if she chose to. Let her brothers run. She wanted to lie in Fin
n’s arms at the end of each night, until the end of her life.

  Let trouble come. She wasn’t afraid to die. She’d grown up with death and the imminent possibility of it. She watched her father and hundreds of others die during Presbyterian field masses deemed treasonous by a Catholic king. She understood what it meant to grow up branded as the king’s enemy. She wasn’t afraid to live among the Catholic MacGregors now that England had a Protestant king.

  She’d never known what kind of life she wanted. From what she’d seen, husbands died or fled at the whims of other men. Either way, why would she want to marry just to await another tragedy? At least, that’s what she used to think before she came here. Before she met men whose glares could stop an army, but one look at their wives all but turned them to butter.

  Before she met…him.

  She watched Finn enter the Great Hall with Lady Davina on one arm and his aunt Maggie on the other. The great hearth and the many candle stands provided ample light in the Hall, but his own source of light…and heat illuminated him. Leslie felt it burn someplace deep in her heart when their gazes met across the crowded room. She smiled, grateful that he’d chosen her from among the other women who would have accepted anything he offered. She hadn’t revealed to him yet just how much of her heart she’d given him.

  Tonight she would tell him. She would let him kiss her and more, and she would show him. She couldn’t wait.

  “Ah, here’s Leslie now.” Andrew, her eldest brother, took her hand from Alan and drew her to him before turning back to his host. “Gratitude for your patience, MacGregor.”

  Leslie looked at the chief draped in fur rising from his seat at the head of the table nearest the hearth. Robert MacGregor would have appeared more dangerous without the four small children dangling from his shoulders and squealing with delight as he rose to his full height of…well, she didn’t know how to calculate the height of a man, but he was a big one.