Once Upon a Highland Christmas by Lecia Cornwall Page A

was glad he stayed, stood close by, leaning against the fireplace.
    They did not look unkind—­far from it—­but they were staring at her. She supposed she was a dreadful mess, her hair uncombed, her clothing wrinkled. Her face heated, and she looked around the kitchen. It was big and homey, and it reminded her of Glenlorne, where she’d grown up. There was the same scrubbed wooden table, the same pots and pans and bundles of drying herbs, the same kettle hanging over the fire, and the familiar scent of fresh baked bread and hot soup. She felt tears prick her eyes.
    Seonag MacGillivray made a soft sound of sympathy and caught Alanna’s hand. She patted it and called her a poor wee lass to be caught in such terrible weather. She rested her other hand, flour-­coated, on her pregnant belly.
    Wee Janet smiled and leaned against Sandy MacGillivray, introduced as her grandfather. Sandy MacGillivray regarded Alanna with a fond smile, his white hair orange in the firelight, the color it must have been in his youth.
    Annie MacIntosh studied her even more carefully than the rest, her eyes dark and shiny amid deep wrinkles and crags. Alanna had the feeling Annie could see right inside her skull and read her thoughts. She was aware of Iain behind her, resisted the urge to reach for his hand. She straightened her spine instead and looked down into the amber brew in her hands. The cup was soothingly warm against her palms, and she sipped it. The honey soothed the whisky’s burn and the bitter edge of the herbs. The hot liquid made her limbs light and warm. As everyone leaned in to watch her, she wondered what was in the brew, but Annie smiled reassuringly, just the way Muira might have done if Alanna had been home at Glenlorne. “That’s it, lass.”
    The door burst open, and a young girl hurried through the door and flew into Iain’s arms. Alanna noticed she limped. “You’re back!” the girl said as he wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of her head. “We were so worried—­well, I was,” the girl said, pulling back to look up at Iain. “Annie said you’d be fine. Was it the storm that kept you out all night?”
    â€œYes. We were forced to spend the night at Ewan’s cott, but all is well,” Iain said.
    The girl grinned. “Well, you’re here now, and safe. Annie says there’s another storm coming.”
    â€œMore of the same—­snow, wind, and cold. Winter’s early this year, and fierce,” Annie said, and made a sign against ill fortune.
    â€œCome and meet our guest,” Iain said, his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Alanna McNabb, this is my sister, Fiona MacGillivray.”
    Fiona’s eyes widened. “Annie said we should expect a visitor. How do you do?”
    Alanna smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She had no chance to say more than that as Annie bent over her leg.
    â€œYou’ll turn away now, Iain, and Sandy, out you go too, old man. This isn’t for your eyes,” Annie instructed, her gnarled hands on the hem of Alanna’s skirt.
    Alanna looked up at Iain. He was looking back at her, his eyes shadowed with the fire behind him. She wished he would stay. Did propriety matter now? He’d seen far more than just her injured knee—­he’d seen everything . He’d stripped her of her clothing, held her naked body against his own, kept her warm and safe. She felt heat rise in earnest now.
    â€œI’d better see to the garron. I’ll leave you in Annie’s capable hands,” he said and gave her a reassuring smile. So he was a groom here at Craigleith, perhaps, and likely used to healing horses with injured legs, which explained his care of her. She watched as he left the room, and felt strangely alone without him, though she’d only known him for a matter of a few short hours—­did all the hours she was unconscious count? She