A Highlander's Christmas Kiss Read online

  “Another time mayhap.” His voice was low, as deep as the shadows that plagued his days and nights. He hadn’t taken any of her girls before. Why did she think he’d take her now when his cousin was possibly dying ten feet away? A better question was, why did he expect anything more from the people in this damned castle? They were soulless and void of compassion. The kind of people he’d chosen to be with. That kind of man he’d become.

  “Have ye met Marion?” Maeve asked, and motioned to a lass who was standing on the other side of the hall, watching what was going on and wringing her hands together.

  “She’s new… and free fer ye.”

  He gave Marion a slow looking-over. She had rich, russet hair like Alison’s. That was likely why he decided to help her.

  “Is she untouched?” he asked Maeve discreetly. When the madam nodded, Cailean reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch. “Let’s keep her that way, aye?”

  Not knowing that the smile he offered her while he looked into her eyes was as well practiced as his sword arm, Maeve agreed to anything he wanted. Of course the leather pouch filled with coin that he tossed into her hand didn’t hurt.

  “Dinna offer her to anyone else. In fact, bring her to Perth, to Ravenglade Castle, and after I put m’ sword through my cousin’s attacker, I’ll see to the remainder of yer payment. Now leave me.”

  The madam curtsied, showing off her ample cleavage once more. “If ye change yer mind about what ye need sooner—”

  He wouldn’t. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted blood.

  Chapter Two

  Temperance Menzie looked at her father riding beside her on their way home from Kenmore. He was tall and regal in the saddle, cloaked in wool and wearing the sun as his crown. He hadn’t changed much since she was a child save for the featherings of gray at his temples and the creases around his torch-blue eyes. He was still strong and could chop wood faster than any man in the hamlet, including her dearest friend William, who was over a decade younger than he.

  Crunching ice and snow beneath them, they rode west over the small packhorse bridge crossing a stream below a waterfall on the southernmost bank of the River Lyon.

  “What do you think of a Christmas wedding between you and your betrothed?” Seth Menzie asked, quickening his horse’s pace to speak to her.

  Temperance issued a long, drawn-out sigh. Did they have to speak of this now, on such a beautiful day? William had asked for her hand just a few short weeks ago. She’d said yes because he’d asked her at the village dance and it was what was expected of her, not so much by her father or Gram, but by everyone else in the hamlet. It wasn’t what she wanted, though. She’d hoped to discuss it at length with her father, but she hadn’t had the heart to disappoint him. But now he was suggesting a Christmas wedding!

  She shook her head and a curl of her chestnut hair brushed over her face beneath her hood. “I don’t want to marry William, Papa.”

  Her father’s eyes gleamed in the brisk afternoon when he set them on her. “You’ve known William since you were a babe. I thought you wanted to marry him.”

  “’Tis because he’s my dearest friend that I don’t. He is more like a brother to me.”

  Her father was silent, pensive for a moment before he nodded. “I always assumed… I want you to be happy—to have what your mother and I had.”

  She smiled, keeping pace with him. True love, the kind that comes around only once, maybe twice, in a lifetime. She knew he wanted that for her. Temperance wanted it too.

  “I know true love is rare, Papa. That’s why I would prefer not to marry William.”

  He stretched his eyes over the snow-draped Munros in the distance. “But I also want you to be safe from Murdoch,” he said softly… but sternly. “Someday William will be the leader of Linavar, taking my place. Being his wife is the only way to ensure your safety from Duncan.”

  She turned in her saddle to look at him. “Would you have me sacrifice never knowing true love for being kept safe? I mean, Papa, there is no guarantee that William or any other one man can keep me safe from Murdoch. Why should I bind myself to him?”

  “Because I ask it of you. He’ll keep peace here and develop good relations with the lord. And that will keep you safe, just as I have done. Now—” He held up his gloved palm to quiet her when she would have pressed on. “I will strike a deal with you, Daughter, aye?”

  Her blue eyes glinted at him. “Well, what is it? I mean, if I don’t have a choice—”

  “I’ll agree to the marriage, but only in the event of my death.” He grinned at her. “That should be at least twenty years away.”

  Temperance adored him and she knew he felt the same way about her. She could see it in his eyes when he set them on her. He’d never once blamed her for taking the life of the woman he’d loved so passionately. “Thank you, Papa.”

  They rode through a stand of beech trees and old pine, with red squirrels and pine martens scurrying out of their way. Temperance loved Glen Lyon and Fortingall, with its glistening streams, quaint farmsteads, and picturesque riverside fields. But there was no place more beautiful than Linavar, situated in a more open part of the glen, a few miles west of the bridge, where the river ran more gently. Wide, still pools were home to whooper swans and goldeneyes as well as an aftrnoon drinking spot for the occasional roe deer.

  Almost home, Temperance wrapped her hands around her reins and was about to kick her steed into a full gallop, wanting to get there faster.

  “Meet me in the hall after we set down our goods,” her father called out. “I wish to have a word with you about something not pertaining to William.”

  She returned to him. “Something serious?”

  He shook his head and smiled, then urged her to go. She promised she’d be there, kicked her horse’s flanks, and took off across the snow-covered terrain toward home.

  She rode hard with the wind snapping at her face. She didn’t want to marry William. She didn’t want to be a wife if she didn’t have to. She wanted to practice archery and lounge around in the pumpkin patch after the day’s work, not hurry home to prepare supper for a husband. She loved life and being outside, riding her horse. She loved digging her hands into the ground and providing food for her family. She loved the majesty of the four three-thousand-foot-high Munros surrounding the tiny hamlet of Linavar, and starry nights often made her pause to give thanks.

  She didn’t know why her grandmother had named her Temperance. There was nothing temperate about her. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days married to her comfortable old friend.

  Her father had given her twenty years. Plenty of time to set her own destiny. She didn’t know what her destiny would be, but that wasn’t the point, was it?

  She reached the house before her father, dismounted, and untied the pouches and her basket from her saddle. Upon turning, she smiled at her grandmother, waiting for her at the doors, and then at their cat, TamLin, purring around Gram’s boots.

  “I see ye didn’t braid yer hair.” Gram shook her head at her and pulled on a long curl to examine it through her unpatched eye. “Ye’ll be sorry when I’m trying to get the twigs and other sorts of earthly things out of it later.”

  Temperance laughed, kissed Gram’s cheek, and twirled out of her grasp. TamLin followed her into the house, wanting to be picked up and being quite vocal about it.

  “I think I saw Duncan Murdoch snooping about earlier,” Gram called to her. “Stay close to the house today.”

  Duncan Murdoch. The only blight on Temperance’s near-perfect life. He lived in the castle atop Càrn Gorm with his father, the lord of Glen Lyon, and his accursed mercenaries, the Black Riders. Duncan hated her father because her father kept her from his arms, having promised her to William in order to keep her out of Lyon’s Ridge.

  Because of her father’s good relations with the lord, Duncan had to ask her father for permission to pursue her. Her father always refused such requests.

  “I will,” Temper
ance called back.

  “Did my finer wool keep ye warm, gel?”

  “Like the loving arms of my gram,” Temperance called out over her shoulder. She caught sight of her father dismounting in the front yard and returned his smile.

  “We found everything on your list, Mum,” he told Gram, dragging the old woman’s attention to him as he entered the house.

  Seeing him had a way of stilling one’s heart. “Ye’re a good son, Seth,” Temperance heard Gram tell him. She agreed.

  He would have made a wonderful husband to one of his admirers, but he’d never remarried after he’d lost Sarah. He’d raised Temperance with the help of his mother, and the three of them remained content. Mayhap too content.

  Temperance shrugged and continued on her way inside. She loved her grandmother for fretting over her. She was correct about the tangles in Temperance’s hair. They were going to be painful to get out. A simple braid would have saved her the torture, but she doubted she’d braid her hair the next time she sped across the braes. It wasn’t that she was rebellious. She loved how the wind snapped her waves behind her like a pennant.

  And oh, she loved coming home.

  The house was quite large and softly lit by great, glowing hearth fires in each room and dozens of candles—more now with the shorter days. The walls were thin but lined with heavy, colorful tapestries sewn by a younger Gram’s skillful fingers. Boughs of evergreen and holly were nailed above the entrance to every room. The scents of peat, sweet pine, and blackberry-currant biscuits filled the house and drew her farther inside. A kitchen opened up wide to the right. Inside was a huge stone oven and shelves stacked high with iron pots and bowls forged by her friend William the smith’s own hand. A spacious chopping table sat in the center of the warm room. Sacks of vegetables and fruit hung from the rafters and sat upon wooden columns to keep them from rodents, not that they had any with TamLin, Temperance’s dangerous cat, on the prowl. Dangerous, that is, to anyone who didn’t pick her up quickly enough.

  Temperance kissed deep into her fur after exchanging for the cat the pouches of different herbs and spices she’d brought inside. They didn’t need to buy fruits or vegetables, since everything was shared inside the hamlet.

  “Did you miss me, Tam?”

  She kissed her silky, wheaten coat again, then plucked a biscuit from a bowl. She took a bite. The berries were sweet and delicious. Like everything they grew in Linavar. Gram said their crops tasted so good because they were reaped with happy, grateful fingers.

  Temperance didn’t know if Gram was right, but she hurried back for another biscuit before continuing on to the grand dining hall. Her favorite room in the house was gently bathed in claret and warm gold hues from the deep stone hearth and the polished wooden walls reflecting the light. The chairs and double chairs, crafted of wood and cushioned, had been built for comfort over convenience. Tables made of deep cherrywood were set about, some for drinks, others for games. Books, neatly set upon wooden shelves she’d helped her father make when she was eight, lined two of the walls. The others were arrayed in artwork she’d painted. She loved it here, and today it looked especially beautiful, decorated for the Yuletide season. Garlands of ivy and mountain laurel, along with fresh holly, bedecked every mantel and shelf, and every table as well. Gram loved to cook, and celebrating days no one else had ever heard of gave her a good reason to do it. For the last two nights they had celebrated everything from Mary’s Labor to the Dreams of the Wise Men. Gram’s own wee countdown to Christmas, outlawed though Christmas celebrations were. After feasting together and sharing laughter, everyone would leave the house and sing beneath the stars.

  Her father had built the hall big enough to fit everyone. As the leader of Linavar, he’d wanted a place for the people to gather on cold winter nights for meetings or feasts. As leader he also saw to all dealings with their lord, and kept them safe from him. He made certain everyone received equal shares of the harvest. If there were disputes, he heard and settled them. He was just and fair, and well loved.

  Temperance heard Gram’s approval of the bolts of fabric her son carried inside. “They are lovely, Seth! I’ll make something special fer Temperance,” she called out happily, her voice following him while he appeared in the doorway and smiled at his daughter.

  “You were right about the patterns,” he said to her.

  “And you were right about boughs of pine.” She set TamLin down and reached for a fresh garland.

  He breathed in and nodded, then strode to the hearth fire and stood before the flames. “Tem?”

  “Hmm?” she responded, adjusting the mountain laurel.

  “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

  She looked up. Why did he sound so serious? “So you mentioned earlier.”

  He turned back to the fire while she went to stand beside him. He began to speak, paused, and then began again. She smiled at him to ease whatever seemed to be making him uncomfortable. But her own heart began to race. What caused this regal leader’s speech to falter?

  “’Tis Anne Gilbert.”

  Temperance kept smiling, not sure what their neighbor five farms down the road had to do with anything.

  “I… ehm… I care for her.”

  Temperance blinked. He cared for her? Since when? She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he answered her.

  “I’ve felt this way about her for over a year now.”

  While he spoke, Temperance thought of the widow. Mrs. Gilbert was pretty enough, with dark hair and a good figure. But—

  “I’d like to ask her to be my wife tonight.”

  He wanted to marry her? Temperance didn’t say anything. Her head was spinning. She hadn’t even known Mrs. Gilbert had found favor with him and now he was marrying her? He must love her. Why had he kept it from her?

  She knew there were a hundred different things to ask, but she could think of only one. “Does Gram know?”

  “She does,” he answered reluctantly. “She guessed it first, and when she asked, I didn’t deny it.”

  Her father wanted to take a wife! Temperance tried not to think of how this change in arrangements would affect her. What pricked more was the fact that her father hadn’t confided in her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He turned to look at her and then laughed, restoring her confidence in her future. “’Tis foolish, I know, now that I see you, but I feared you might feel slighted.”

  All she could do was smile—and shake her head. “I’m fond of Mrs. Gilbert. I’m glad that she’s getting such a gallant, thoughtful husband. You deserve to be happy in your life, just like the rest of us.”

  She caught the sparkle of tears pooling in his eyes as he spoke. “You’re so much like your mother, Tem. You and she would have made great friends.”

  He said something else, but she didn’t hear. She rushed into his arms and closed her eyes against his chest, thankful in this holiday season, outlawed or not, for her father.

  “What’s this about now?” Gram’s gravelly voice sprang up from behind her. “Come, gel, we’ve food to cook before the feast.”

  Temperance swallowed and broke away from her father. “Gram, if I don’t rest from my journey to Kenmore, I’ll never make another nine nights of this.”

  “’Tis the tradition,” Gram told her, letting her pass. “And then begins Hogmanay. If ye don’t like it, take it up with yer ancestors. They’ll tell ye the same thing. Next time don’t choose to take such a journey when ye know I’ll be needing ye.”

  Temperance grumbled on her way out that she doubted her ancestors had anything to do with a feast called Caesar’s Census. But Gram was right about one thing. Her weariness was her own fault. She’d known she and Gram had much cooking to do. The villagers would bring food with them to put toward the feast. But Gram still insisted on preparing fresh dishes while the harvest was full.

  “What”—she turned to look at her grandmother behind her—“would my ancestors tell me of Anne Gilbert, do you su
ppose?”

  Gram eyed her and recognized the playful catch of light in Temp’s eyes. The old woman gave her a swipe of her apron across the arse.

  Returning to the kitchen, Temperance glanced around and noted something different. William wasn’t here. He wasn’t on the braes when she rode home. He wasn’t in the house. If he’d been in the smithy, he would have seen her and come out to greet her. “What do you think of Papa and Anne Gilbert?”

  “I think yer father takes too long to make decisions,” Gram said. “Come here. Let me braid that hair of yers before we begin cooking.”

  When Temperance heard William’s voice as he came into the house a moment later, she tried to turn to see him, and Gram pinched her cheek. Temperance covered her face and glared at her grandmother.

  “Cooking now. Talking later.”

  Temperance looked forward to the day when she had her own cottage and there were no rules to break. Until then she loved living with Gram. Her heart warmed just looking at her. How would it be to live with Anne Gilbert too?

  They cooked salmon pottage with carrots, parsnips, an array of green, leafy vegetables, and wild garlic. They prepared various bread puddings, and crannachan, made with fresh raspberries, honey, and whisky, also crowdie cheese and oats. More food than they needed.

  The village of Linavar was quite small, with thirty-one inhabitants. Thirty-two, Temperance remembered, when Lenore Deware, William’s sister, arrived with her husband and their new babe.

  More food arrived with Temperance’s neighbors, and after more candles were lit and cups were filled on every linen- and holly-adorned table, all the food was brought forward.

  Temperance sat with Gram, her father, William, and her soon-to-be stepmother, Anne Gilbert, at the Dewares’ table. She’d heard William’s voice earlier, when she was heading for the kitchen. She hadn’t had a chance to speak to him. Did he truly want to marry her? And so soon? He didn’t look at her like a man in love, but sweetly, like a brother who adored her.

  “Temp?” he asked, sipping the ale her father had offered. “How was Kenmore?”