A Christmas Kiss for the Highlander Read online

  “I think ye’d need to invite the Rutherfords and the McGregors as well,” Liam advised. “All live within easy travelin’ distance, and I believe they’d enjoy the gatherin’ as much as us.”

  Kendra made a disgruntled noise, her fine raven eyebrows swooping low in consternation. “Must we invite all of the McGregors?”

  “Yes. We must.” Her mother speared her a quelling look. “Ye ken Broden is like kin to us.”

  “No’ all of us,” Kendra muttered, her expression sour. “He’s a giant pain in the arse to some. A great, nasty, puss-laden carbuncle on the bum.”

  “Kendra Eislyn Olive MacKay, watch yer language,” the dowager baroness reproached. “If we’re invitin’ the others, we must invite the Duke of Roxdale, his wards, and yer cousin, Bryston McPherson.”

  Would Skye mind all of the extra people she wasn’t acquainted with?

  She was in mourning after all.

  Had she wanted an intimate gathering, and now the whole affair was expanding into something vastly different? Her eagerness had kindled a good deal more zeal in the MacKays than Quinn would’ve expected.

  She didn’t appear the least disgruntled, however. As a matter of fact, he’d never seen her so animated. Mayhap, she enjoyed entertaining. A drifter himself, the closest thing he’d ever come to hosting anything was inviting a chap to share an ale or a finger’s worth of whisky at a pub.

  After she agreed to marry him, they’d have to discuss where she wanted to live. He had no preference where he put down roots, but he expected she’d want to be near her only remaining family.

  Inhaling a bracing breath, he took another step toward propriety. “If it wouldna be an imposition, might my grandmother be invited? I am the only family she has left.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Of course, she should come,” Skye agreed at once. “I would very much enjoy meeting her.”

  “I didna ken ye had any family,” Liam observed, his probing stare attempting to peel away the layers of subterfuge Quinn had hidden behind for so long. “I’d like to make her acquaintance as well.”

  “I should warn ye,” Quinn said, recalling the oversized purple wig complete with a miniature ship she’d been wearing when he’d called upon her. “She’s outspoken and more than a bit eccentric. I believe at last count, she had nine cats—named after one mythological goddess or another—and they each have a place set for them to dine each mornin’ and evenin’. I believe it would do her a world of good to socialize.”

  Maybe she’d stop treating the furballs like pampered children if she spent more time with humans.

  “She sounds delightful.” Skye took a dainty bite of what now must be cold porridge. “Is she your maternal or paternal grandmother?”

  “Maternal. A dotty, but dear thing.” Oddly, the usual ire Quinn experienced whenever his thoughts took him down the unpleasant path to his paternity didn’t burgeon within him. Mayhap, he could put the ugliness that had haunted his soul to rest at last.

  The dowager baroness nodded, her face contemplative. “Aye, I like the idea. What we do in the privacy of our home is our business. And as Liam said, ’tis no’ illegal to celebrate Christmas. Emeline, ye are mistress of this house. What are yer thoughts?”

  Emeline sent Skye an encouraging smile. “Why dinna we meet in the rose salon this afternoon at three of the clock and discuss our thoughts and ideas?” She gravitated her gaze to the dowager baroness and Kendra to include them as well.

  Afternoon was perfect.

  Quinn intended to request a meeting with Liam to ask for Skye’s hand in marriage, and then he’d invite Skye for a stroll later this morning and ask her to marry him. He cut Liam a side-eyed look and couldn’t help but chuckle at his wry, befuddled expression. “It seems, my friend, the ladies have this under control.”

  “’Tis a good thing, too, because beyond a Christmas goose and a yule log, I havena the first idea what is called for. A right good scotch or cognac, I suppose. I dinna recall Christmastide ever bein’ celebrated in this house.” A hoary, grayish snout appeared over the table’s edge, snuffling loudly and clearly seeking a treat.

  Liam obliged with half a scone, and the snout disappeared only to be followed by loud chomping.

  “Do stop feedin’ him at the table, Liam. His manners are already atrocious,” his mother admonished, shaking her head. “As for Christmastide, it hasna been observed here. But that disna mean we canna start new traditions.”

  “Precisely,” Emeline said, one finger on her chin and eyes slightly narrowed. “I’ll speak with the cook today. I have several ideas for festive foods. Black bun for one.” She clasped her hands. “We simply must have black bun and clootie dumplin’, of course.”

  With each passing minute, Quinn appreciated the idea of Christmas festivities more and more. By God, when was the last time he’d eaten black bun? His mouth practically watered in anticipation.

  “Oh, and wassail and mulled cider,” Skye put in. “And ginger biscuits and iced gingerbread.”

  “And mince pies?” Kendra asked hopefully. “Sugar plums?”

  Quinn couldn’t abide mince pie, and from the tiny twitch of Skye’s nose, he’d wager she bore no fondness for the novelty either. Mayhap that’s why Cromwell had pies outlawed for several years, too. Sugar plums, however, were another matter entirely.

  “We’ll all be fat as hogs by Hogmanay.” Humor pleated the corners of Liam’s eyes belying any real censure. With an almost boyish grin, he said, “I quite favor marzipan, myself.”

  “Then, of course, we shall add it to the menu.” Skye laughed and shook her head, dislodging a soft, honey-colored curl. It slid to her temple to join the other tendrils framing her face.

  Quinn balled his hand to keep from tucking the strand behind her ear.

  “I fear my small celebration is going to become quite an event.” She gave everyone a winsome smile. “But the merriment is meant to be shared, is it not?”

  “I believe our friends will be as delighted at the novelty as we are, my dear.” The dowager baroness bestowed a doting smile on her niece.

  Beneath the cover of the tablecloth, Quinn gathered Skye’s hand into his own.

  He barely bit back a chuckle at all of the activity going on beneath the tablecloth.

  For an instant, she stiffened before her fingers curled around his.

  She didn’t glance in his direction, but a rosy flush swept up her porcelain cheeks. His heart swelled with happiness to see the color in her face, a smile curving her pretty mouth, and cheer twinkling in her eyes once more. She’d been sad for almost as long as he’d known her.

  “I know mistletoe is rare in the Highlands, and I don’t expect we’ll be able to do much in the way of decorating with greenery.” Skye turned her attention to the garden beyond the other window. “But I imagine there’s enough rosemary and other plants of one sort or another to make a kissing bough.”

  Quinn quite liked the sound of that.

  Beneath the table, she gave his fingers a suggestive squeeze.

  Why, the darling lass flirted with him.

  He squeezed back, and she bit her lip.

  Liam shook his head. “No’ a bit of it, Skye. Quinn and I and a few of the tenants can journey to the Lowlands. We can collect greeneries and perhaps the mistletoe as well. Holly and pine are also plentiful there.” Even he seemed excited about the festivities.

  Emeline, her face alight with enthusiasm, tapped the table with her fingertips. “Aye, we’ll have to purchase supplies anyway, so that’s a perfect opportunity. Och, we should have dancin’, too, I think.”

  A shadow flitted across Skye’s face. “I’m not sure how much dancing I should do. I’m still in mourning, after all. I didn’t mean for this to become a production. I don’t want to inconvenience the staff or cause them more work.”

  Liam’s wife waved a graceful hand. “Nonsense, Skye. I for one am verra curious about Christmas traditions. My aunt didna observe the holiday at all, and a little dancin
’ would do ye good, I think. Besides, ye’ll be with family and friends and nae one is goin’ to scowl at ye for enjoyin’ yerself.”

  Liam had found himself a rare gem in Emeline MacKay.

  Eyes shiny, Kendra leaned forward. “Are we goin’ to exchange gifts?”

  Quinn glanced around the table.

  He already had a gift for Skye. He’d purchased the Luckenbooth brooch in Edinburgh, meaning to give it to her for a betrothal present. It would suit just as well as a Christmas gift and if all went well with Liam today, the brooch would also mark their upcoming nuptials.

  “I think that’s acceptable. Nothin’ expensive, just tokens. After all, the season isna about gifts.” Liam leveled him a hard, piercing look, which Quinn responded to with a glib smile.

  “I dinna ken about that. The Magi brought gifts to the baby Jesus,” Quinn unnecessarily reminded Liam. “Verra valuable gifts for that time period, if I recall my history correctly.”

  He wasn’t going to allow Liam’s cantankerous glowers, grimaces, or scowls to discourage him. God’s teeth, he hadn’t humbled himself, accepted his inheritance, and resigned his position for a cause he believed in with every fiber of his being to allow Liam to deny him the thing that he most wanted in the world.

  “I believe ’tis customary to give a token to the staff, as well,” Liam’s mother murmured, a slight crease between her brows. “Though I have nae idea what would be appropriate.”

  “Mama and Papa always gave them coin since the servants knew best what they were most in need of.” Skye waved her free hand. “And usually a couple boxes of bonbons or other sweets. They were permitted a special feast of their own and dancing belowstairs as well.”

  Quinn ran his thumb across the back of Skye’s hand and felt her tremble. This extraordinary woman was worth every sacrifice he’d made, and every one he’d make for years to come. She cut him a sidelong glance, her sweet mouth sweeping upward, and he knew beyond any doubt, he’d made the right choice.

  He’d chosen her.

  Liam stood, and Prince lumbered to his side. “Ladies, if ye’ll excuse me. I’ve much work to do. Especially if I’m to take a few days to fetch supplies and greeneries for ye.” He directed his attention to Quinn. “When ye’re finished with yer meal, please come to my office. I’ve a few things to discuss with ye.”

  His fork at his mouth, Quinn paused, glancing upward.

  I’ll just bet ye do.

  Liam wore an indiscernible expression, and that proved worrisome given the inflection Quinn had detected in his voice.

  Skye glanced between the two of them, a tiny, troubled furrow between her winged blonde eyebrows. Ah, she’d heard the nuance in his tone, too.

  “Of course. I shouldna be more than a quarter of an hour.” With deliberate nonchalance, Quinn turned his attention back to his eggs. Best to not let Liam see he had any concerns. He’d not be dissuaded in his quest. Skye would be his, and he’d prefer to remain Liam’s friend afterward.

  Feeling Liam’s intense gaze on him, he looked up and forced a genial smile.

  With a rather brusque nod, and his mother watching his retreat with a speculative glance, Liam quit the room.

  “Ye’ve been well?” Quinn asked Skye in a low tone meant for her ears only. “And Patches?”

  Skye brushed an orange cat hair from her sleeve. “Yes, we are both fine,” she responded just as quietly. “She continues to give Aunt Louisa fits though.”

  “Skye?” Aunt Louisa said, drawing her attention. “Would it be appropriate to hire a string quartet?”

  Quinn would wager Benedict she’d noticed the private exchange between him and Skye, and this was her way of bringing it to an end. It did rather gall to be such a close family friend and yet still be considered so utterly unbefitting to be Skye’s suitor or husband.

  “I think that is a fantastical suggestion.” Skye’s swift sideways glance and the tiny upward tilt of her lips revealed she’d guessed her aunt’s true motive, too.

  “Which day would we have dancin’?” Dowager Baroness Penderhaven asked. “I believe there are twelve days of revelry, are there no’?”

  “Yes, we always had guests and a grand feast the evening of Christmas Day. Other activities and entertainments were planned over the course of the other days, with the festivities culminating on January fifth.” Sadness transformed her countenance for a minute. No doubt, planning the merriment was bittersweet for her.

  “Well, we mightna be able to celebrate as masterfully as my sister did every year but I, for one, think ’tis a marvelous way to commemorate Martha’s and Charles’ memories.” The dowager baroness’ eyes grew misty, and she blinked rapidly. “I’m so glad ye suggested it, Skye. I think it may be just what we all needed.”

  Quinn bent near, whispering in Skye’s ear. “Just seein’ ye again is all I need to make this the most marvelous Christmas ever.”

  Such a ridiculous thing to say. He’d already admitted to never having participated in holiday jollity before. Still, he meant the sentiment behind his words.

  Her eyes softened, and he had to set his jaw to keep from sweeping her into his arms and tasting her mouth. When her focus trailed to his lips, he knew beyond a doubt she harbored thoughts of kissing him, too, and he stifled a groan.

  She cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “Do you have any special dishes you’d like prepared for Twelfth Night, Quinn?”

  A long-ago, hazy memory stirred of his mother placing a serving of orange pudding before him. He’d always adored the dessert but, until this moment, had forgotten the first time he’d tasted the delicious treat.

  “Orange puddin’.” The words slipped from his mouth before he realized it. “My mother used to make it.”

  “Mine did, too,” she whispered.

  “Walk with me, Skye,” Quinn said impulsively. He needed to see her alone, away from curious eyes and ears, so he could tell her unfettered what brewed in his heart. “Tis cold, but if we bundle ourselves, it shouldna be too uncomfortable.”

  “All right.” Her attention scooted to one of the windows, the sun streaming through the melting frost on the pane. “It’s really quite lovely outdoors with frost covering everything.”

  Most women would’ve refused him outright, so cold was it outside. He hoped that meant she was as eager to be alone with him as he was with her.

  Painfully aware three pairs of eyes regarded them with acute interest, he said, “I’ll see what Liam needs to speak with me about, and I’ll meet ye in the rose salon in an hour. Will that be convenient for ye?”

  As if she’d suddenly become aware of those peering at them, Skye withdrew her hand from his and angled her head. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  After excusing himself, Quinn made straight for Liam’s study. If Liam refused his request for her hand, would Skye consider eloping? Would her family disown her if he did? Ballocks, he couldn’t ask that of her.

  Mouth pressed into a grim line, he strode the corridor to Liam’s study, very real anxiety knotting his stomach.

  Chapter Nine

  As promised, an hour later, bundled in so many clothes and outerwear she could scarcely move her arms, Skye awaited Quinn in the rather gaudy rose salon. Arm in arm, Emeline and Kendra had gone off toward the ballroom, their heads bent near. Probably already making holiday plans.

  Aunt Louisa sat before the robust fire, knitting.

  Patches had been banned to the kitchen after a well-executed sneak attack on an unsuspecting skein and hopelessly tangling the wool.

  Skye was quite sure she sweated like a lathered racehorse beneath her many layers of clothing, and if Quinn didn’t arrive soon, she’d be forced to start peeling clothing from her person.

  “I really should insist someone chaperone ye, but I wouldna force anyone into the frigid weather.” Aunt Louisa glanced up from whatever the black thing was she knitted. “I shall ask ye to stroll along the terrace, so I can see ye from the window.”

  Located on the rear side of the
house, the terrace enjoyed afternoon sun when there was any to be had. As the clock had not yet chimed ten, deep shadows covered the flagstone and the frost hadn’t begun to thaw there.

  Skye had rather hoped to walk in a sunnier location, but she’d not argue the point for fear a chaperone would be procured, and then any opportunity to converse privately with Quinn would be lost.

  “Of course, Aunt Louisa.”

  Her aunt must know she wouldn’t do anything improper, but now that Liam was her guardian, she supposed they must take a more active interest in Skye’s activities and whom she entertained.

  Earlier, when Quinn had entered the breakfast room, her heart had fluttered like a wild bird in her breast. Such giddiness had sluiced through her that her doldrums of the night before seemed trite and nonsensical. The promise in his warm, green gaze when it had rested upon her had given her great hope.

  Careful not to appear too eager, Skye slid a sidelong glance to the still empty doorframe then to the mantel clock. Quinn was six minutes late but, likely, he’d left his overcoat in his bedchamber which was in the manor’s other wing.

  Even as she finished the thought, he strode through the doorway with animalist ease and grace, holding his black cocked hat. That charming smile, which never failed to make her stomach do strange things, quirked his mouth. Lord but he was striking. If she lived to be a toothless, gray-haired, old tabby, he’d never fail to stir her this way.

  “Please forgive my tardiness.” He didn’t offer an explanation but canted his head toward the Dowager Baroness Penderhaven as he extended his elbow to Skye. “Are ye ready?”

  “Yes.” She gathered her muff and placed her hand in the bend of his elbow.

  “Quinn, I already advised Skye, and I’ll request the same from ye. Make yer stroll up and down the terrace so that I can see ye. It wouldna do to raise eyebrows or create gossip fodder.”

  “As ye will, my lady,” he intoned quite formally with a slight tilt of his head as he placed his hat atop his light brown hair.