That she also believed they belonged together.
He hoped he was right.
Anything else would break him.
Several hours and many snowy miles later, Breena did her best to hide her relief when she spotted a yellow light gleaming in the pines not too far ahead of them. She didn’t mind the cold. Her words to Archie about loving winter had been true. But she wasn’t an accomplished rider. No matter how deftly she sought to keep her saddle, she’d spent most of the journey bouncing on its hard, leather seat. As a result, she was now quite sore, plagued by a bone-deep ache she didn’t care to disclose.
So she was most pleased they’d soon reach the comfort of Greer MacGregor’s hall.
There was only one thing worrying her.
The flickering light they were riding toward was just that: a flicker and no balefire.
“Grim!” She risked a sidelong glance at him, no longer afraid to do so because they’d finally slowed their pace, now that their destination was near. “I thought a Yule beacon would be larger?”
“They are.” He looked over at her, flashed his crooked smile. “Huge piles o’ wood that blaze higher than a mountain. Thon light ahead isn’t the MacGregor’s Yule fire. We’re nowhere near the MacGregor tower. What you see is candle- or torchlight from the farmhouse we’ll stop at shortly.
“ ’Tis Fergus Munzie’s holding and way too small to host grand Yuletide feastings.” He turned his attention back to the narrow woodland track they were following. “Fergus ne’er lights a Yule beacon.”
“Then why are we going there?” Breena hoped he hadn’t guessed her discomfort.
To her surprise, Grim chuckled. “Fergus’s wife, Flora, is the reason. You’ll understand when you meet her. She’s a 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.