A Highlander for Christmas (2 page)

“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 Finn’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.

“Silence!” His voice boomed through the hall, reaching every nook and corner. When he had everyone’s ear, he covered Andrew’s shoulder with his palm. “Give attention to Andrew Harrison, who has something to say to the people of Camlochlin.”

Leslie took a seat at her table and prayed that her brother showed gratitude to these people for their kindness. These were Highland men, not English. These were warriors, children of the ancient king of the Picts, Kenneth MacAlpine. They wouldn’t take kindly to cowards who ran at the first sign of trouble.

And there was no reason to run. Her family would be safe here. No army would survive riding into Camlochlin with intentions of massacring its inhabitants for their religion.

Andrew cleared his throat. Leslie closed her eyes.

“My lord.” Her brother acknowledged the chief then waited while he regained his chair. “As the eldest of my family, allow me to express my gratitude to all of you for taking us in and giving us a safe haven despite the fact that we are Protestant. I know I speak for my family when I tell you all that Camlochlin has become our second home, but”—he dipped his gaze to his boots and cleared his throat again—“our first home awaits, and it is time we left.”

Leslie’s gaze met Finn’s across the span of tables. She’d known the day would come when her brothers would want to leave this place, and now the day was upon her. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She wanted to stay, but Andrew would never allow it unless she was wed. Was that what Finn wanted to ask her later? To be his wife? Oh, she prayed it was. She would say yes, of course! She smiled at him across the crowded hall. She couldn’t wait to meet him later.

“Ye’re always welcome here, Harrison,” the chief told him, rising to his feet once again and facing the crowd. “We hope ye’ll stay until the Twelfth Night and then I’ll see ye off with an escort to England.”

“You have my thanks, Rob, but we’re not returning to England,” Andrew told him, surprising Leslie enough to drag her eyes from Finn to her brother. “And we already have an escort. James Douglas, Marquess of Dumfriesshire is going to meet us across the Narrows in Glenelg and then escort us to Dumfries.”

What? Her family was returning to Dumfries? Leslie shot to her feet and tugged on her brother’s sleeve. She didn’t want to go back there. She didn’t care if the Stuart king was about to be deposed and they no longer had to fear what he might do to heretics next. Dumfries held bleak, dark memories she never wanted to return to. Her father had died there, along with dozens of others she knew, husbands, brothers, sons, and daughters. She didn’t want to go back there and she could only imagine her mother felt the same.

“Brother, I would have a word. What does Mother—”

“Later.” Andrew’s gaze warned her not to argue, at least not in the company of others. “Please return to your seat.”

Leslie obliged, albeit with hands rolled into fists at her sides. They would speak later, all right.

“Andrew.” Now it was Finn who stood from his chair. He glanced at his chief and then at her. When he did, his smile softened on her and seeped through her bones, making her smile back. “There’s something I’d like to ask of ye.”

Leslie’s heart beat so frantically she feared it might break free of her ribs and fly straight into his hands. Was he going to ask for her now? She hoped so. She prayed so. She loved him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, here in Camlochlin.

“Before you do—” Andrew held up his palm to stop him, but Finn hadn’t taken his eyes off her, so he didn’t see. He obviously didn’t hear him either.

“I know I’m not worthy of her, and there are likely many other men who could give her finer riches than I could, but I love yer sister and I—”

“Finn, I must—” Andrew interrupted him again.

This time, Leslie didn’t hold back and sprang to her feet. “And I love him!” She didn’t look at Andrew or Alan or anyone else but Finn. She wanted to laugh at the relief in his expression. Did he honestly not know how she felt all this time?

“I’m sorry…both of you, but…my sister is betrothed to another.”

Leslie blinked up at her brother, certain that her ears had just deceived her and there was no reason that her heart should be lying shattered at her feet. “What?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to.

“I said,” Andrew repeated, sounding more contrite this time, meeting her gaze, “you have been promised to someone else.”

SHE COULDN’T BE
betrothed. It was the only thing going through Finn’s mind while he looked toward Rob. It was impossible. He’d gone to Rob weeks after the Harrisons arrived, inquiring about Leslie and if she was already promised to another. According to her eldest brother and guardian, she wasn’t. Nae. He had to have heard wrong. She couldn’t be promised to someone else. She was to be his.

“Andrew Harrison,” he said, his voice hoarse with the emotion he fought to hold back. “What is the meaning of yer deceit? Is it because I am Catholic that ye don’t want her with me? Because I’m a Highlander, mayhap? Or does it have more to do with my kinship to the MacGregors?”

“No, I…I… ,” Harrison stammered.

“Why else would ye speak of her betrothal fer the first time since ye came here?”

Finn could hear Andrew’s heart beating in the silence that had descended on the hall—or was it his own heart that echoed in his ears?

“There has been no deceit here, Finn,” Leslie’s brother offered. “Her betrothal is a recent occurrence. It is—”

“Recent?” Finn raked his gaze over the men in the Hall. His kin, his friends. If one of them… “Who is it? Who have ye promised her to?”

“Andrew.” It was Leslie who spoke, her eyes wide with dread. “What is this about? Please say you jest.”

Her brother couldn’t look at her, which tempted Finn to leap over the table and pull the life from his throat.

“I intended on telling you sooner,” Andrew began quietly. “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Leslie. But we have no choice. We are going home, sister—to the place of our birth and the land of our father.”

“No.”

Andrew continued on as if she had said nothing.

“Sadly, there will be little welcome for us since we’ve been branded traitors to the faith. Our old neighbors think us Catholic and have even promised to turn us over to Prince William’s men upon our return.”

“Then would it not be best to keep yer family safe here?” Rob put to him.

Andrew shook his head. “I don’t know how much longer it will be safe for us here. I know the men of Camlochlin are mighty and numerous, but you won’t hold up against William’s army.”

“Leslie will—”

“Be safe for certain in Dumfries.” Andrew turned to Finn, finishing the sentence for him. “I have secured it. She must come with us. It is where she belongs.”

“Do not speak for me so!” Leslie protested.

Her brother looked at her, his gaze soft and shadowed with regret. “You are promised to the Marquess of Dumfriesshire—” His eyes fled from her when she fell back into her seat. “It was the only way to get our home back and to guarantee our safety,” he explained, more to the rest of them than to her. “As I said, the people of Dumfries whisper that we’ve turned away from our faith. The Douglases are a powerful family. They sit in Parliament and have secured influence by marrying into Scottish and European royal houses. The marquess has promised to protect us from a scandal that could cost us our lives with the new Protestant king. To prove his support to us”—he finally turned back to Leslie—“he’s agreed to take your hand.”

Finn’s heart beat furiously against his ears, shattering the silence in the Hall. Unable to move, he stood in his spot while something he’d never felt before coursed through his veins. Something that men like his brother, Connor, and Colin MacGregor had trained and harnessed while he’d learned to play musical instruments. He wasn’t born to be a warrior like most of the others here. Until now, he was what he’d always wanted to be—the chief’s bard.

“Harrison, I warn ye. I will kill the man who takes her from me.”

“Finn.”

He didn’t acknowledge Rob or the two men who appeared at his sides to take hold of his arms. He simply waited for Andrew to acknowledge him. He could do it. He could kill a man for her. He would go to war for her. Why now? Why her? Why hadn’t he asked her to be his wife sooner? He’d known he loved her soon after she arrived at Camlochlin with her sassy tongue and hips to match. Och, saints, he couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her.

“Tell the marquess that ye’ve changed yer mind and ye won’t trade yer sister over like a sack of barley. Tell him that she belongs to another, and if he wishes to go to swords with me over it, ye’ll bring him to Skye.”

Andrew shook his head. “I cannot tell him such—”

The two men holding on to Finn turned out to be cousins Will and Tristan MacGregor. Thankfully, they both possessed quick reflexes and caught him before he leaped forward in Andrew’s direction.

“Finn.” This time, the warning in the chief’s voice drew Finn’s gaze to him. “Wait ootside.”

Finn hesitated, but only for a moment. There was no one he trusted more than Rob. He wouldn’t dishonor him by disobeying his orders in front of everyone. The chief knew he loved Leslie—and not just because his wife, Davina, had told him. Rob was Finn’s closest friend and as such, he would make certain that Andrew understood the consequences of refusing the only request put to him.

And so, Finn left, unfettered by either Will or Tristan. He met Leslie’s gaze when he turned to have a last look at her. Every bone, muscle, and nerve ending in his body resisted the direction his feet were taking him. He ached to go to her, to draw her into his arms and vow to never let her go.

He would. Later. When this was all over.

He met Andrew’s gaze and then Alan’s with a murderous glare of his own.

Leslie was his and he wasn’t about to let those two stop him from having her.