A Highlander For Christmas

Book 5: Children of the Mist

by Paula Quinn

Genres: Holiday books; Historical Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Holiday Romance; christmas romance; Scottish historical romance

Synopsis

A SEASON OF MAGIC As the bard of the MacGregor clan, Finlay Grant is a natural-born charmer. He can easily win the heart of any lass . . . but somehow, the right words to express his love for stunning Leslie Harrison have eluded him. Yet as Christmastide approaches, Finn knows he must find a way to propose to the raven-haired beauty who has stolen his heart. . . . .

A BATTLE FOR TRUE LOVE A furious Leslie Harrison could run her brothers through for promising her to another. But she will do anything to save her family from dishonor . . . even though in her heart she knows no other man but Finn will do. When Leslie's betrothed makes a dastardly deal, putting her family and the MacGregor clan in danger, Finn will prove that he's just as fierce in battle as he is sweet in song. Can these two lovers find a Christmas miracle that will grant them a happily-ever-after?

NOTICE: This book had been republished with a brand new cover. The content is the same.

Release date: May 30, 2011

Publisher: Paula Quinn

Print pages: 100

Sample

CHAPTER 1

SKYE, SCOTLAND - DECEMBER 17, 1688

The frigid, bracing wind snapped the woolen plaid about Finlay Grant’s shoulders and knees and cooled the blood from his lips. It was the kind of cold that made his eyeballs sting, the kind that froze his breath. From where he stood upon the braes of Bla Bheinn, most people preferred the view in springtime, when the vales were painted in shades of lavender and amber. Not him. He favored winter and the crisp clarity of the raw world that surrounded him.

He looked across the windswept vale toward Camlochlin Castle, home to the MacGregors, the Grants, and any other soul who sought refuge from the weather or something worse. Despite the frigid climate, warmth seeped deep into his bones. He could almost smell the aromas of Christmas black buns and shortbread baking in the kitchens, the sweet boughs of evergreen and holly being prepared for Yuletide. If he listened hard enough, he thought he could hear laughter and music on the wind.

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 glim‐ mering 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 announce‐ ment 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 deal‐ ings 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 oath 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 inten‐ tions 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.