Once Upon A Highland Christmas by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

MacKenzie of Kintail, leastways a cousin several times removed from the chiefly line of that great clan.
    “Flora kens everyone between here and Skye and in the other direction, down to Glasgow and beyond.” He shot her another smile, this time winking. “Good for us, she spreads word faster than a fly can blink.”
    “I see.” Breena did.
    “Do you?” Grim’s deep voice held a note of amusement.
    “You’re saying she’s a gossip.” Breena spoke low for they were nearing the farmhouse.
    “I’m saying she has a soft heart and certain influence.” Grim leaned forward to brush a clump of fallen snow off his horse’s mane. “She’s a caring woman. Once she hears our plan, anyone with goodness in his soul will know of it and hopefully set off for Duncreag.”
    Breena’s eyes widened. She also felt warmth sweep her at his words. “There could be a gathering of folk there before we return.”
    Grim shrugged. “Aye, it’s possible.”
    “What a blessing that would be.” Breena considered, imagining Duncreag’s great hall filled with merrymakers, every torch ablaze, and laughter and song echoing off the rafters. “Archie would be outraged, at first.”
    “To be sure,” Grim agreed. “But the laws of Highland hospitality give him no choice but to make his guests welcome. Once they’re there—”
    “He’ll relent, the season’s joy touching him at last.” Breena blinked and lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin was cold and damp, especially beneath her eyes. “O-o-oh, I hope that will be the way of it. How grand it would be to find him in high spirits.”
    “We shall, I am sure.” Grim drew his horse to a halt, for they’d entered the farm’s stable yard.
    Breena started and looked about the well-kept holding. She’d been thinking so strongly of Archie and Christmas miracles, and was so caught up in the wonder of Grim’s beautiful, richly burred voice, that she hadn’t realized they’d passed through the farm’s gate. Not surprisingly it stood wide in welcome, boughs of holly and ivy wrapped round the gateposts.
    The Munzie farmstead sat in a clearing edged by thick pines, though birches and rowans clustered near the far side of the outbuildings. A rushing burn appeared to run through the birch grove, its presence revealed by glints of silvery water sparkling through the trees. Closer by, the gray-stoned farmhouse proved sturdily built and also inviting, its windows aglow with the warm yellow light they’d seen from afar. Blue peat smoke rose from the chimney, the earthy-sweet scent a delight in the crisp morning air.
    Clearly, the Munzies lived well.
    The farmstead also had an air of warmth and goodness, and she caught delicious cooking smells coming from the farmhouse: a hint of roasted goose and a delightful dash of ginger and cinnamon. It made Breena’s heart squeeze, for it reminded her of her Uncle Dermot and Aunt Mell’s farm in Inishowen. She’d often fled there, when she could escape her chores, because she always felt more loved and welcomed at her aunt and uncle’s home than in her own.
    She did miss her family.
    And she knew, glancing about her, that she’d like Fergus and Flora Munzie.
    But before she could see more of their farm, Grim called out a greeting, alerting the Munzies to their presence as he swung down from his horse. In two strides, he was at her side, seizing her by the waist and lifting her from the saddle. He set her on the hard-frosted ground as lightly as if she were made of feathers.
    “Forgive me, lass, but you ken we’ll be telling them we’re betrothed,” he said, not yet releasing her. Far from it, he was tilting his head, lowering his mouth toward hers. “They’ll no’ believe us unless—”
    “You kiss me,” Breena finished for him. She stood frozen, very aware of his big, strong body almost touching hers. Her heart beat fast and slow, and the world around them seemed to spin and veer away, leaving them alone in the frosty, snow-swept morn.