Once Upon a Highland Christmas(20)
“Even so, Moira never forgot her youthful sweetheart, Malcolm.” Flora blinked and dashed at her eyes. “In truth, she never stopped loving him.”
“They’re together again now?” Breena felt her own heart twisting, her eyes misting.
She took a deep breath and smoothed her hand down the front of Grim’s wolfskin cloak, still draped protectively about her. She was very aware of him standing beside her, so tall and strong, and of the warmth in his gaze each time he looked at her. She knew she’d never feel for another man what she felt for him. Here, in this place, with these special people, she could also feel the magic of Christmas, the power of true love, in the cold, brittle air.
Perhaps there really was enchantment to the season?
Had it brought her and Grim here, so they’d see that everything except love was unimportant?
She could almost believe it.
She did dash at her eyes, giving Flora her best smile. “How did they find each other?”
“ ’Tis a wonder, it is.” Flora nodded, her own smile a bit shaky. “Not too long ago a MacLeod galley limped into Loch Moidart, asking to moor at the MacDonalds’ Blackshore Castle in the Glen of Many Legends. That’s Malcolm’s home and”—she flashed a look at Grim—“your glen, too. The MacLeod ship needed repairs, and the MacDonalds allowed the work to be done in their loch, even letting the MacLeods sleep in their great hall. One of Moira’s sons was a seaman aboard the damaged galley, and he happened to mention his mother at dinner one night, telling how she’d been widowed for years.
“The rest”—Flora pressed a hand to her breast and sighed, dreamily—“is the stuff of fairytales. Malcolm, who’d never married and loved Moira still, rode north even before first light, swearing he’d have his beloved at last, come the devil himself to stop him.”
“And now they’re wed?” Grim glanced toward the door, cocking his head at the rumble of voices from within. “Your MacKenzie cousin and Malcolm MacDonald of Blackshore, the MacDonald chieftain, Alasdair’s great-uncle?”
“That’s them, right enough.” Flora set her hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“By Thor, I ken the man.” Grim glanced at Breena and stepped back so she could slip past him into the warmth of the cozy farmhouse.
The delicious cooking smells of roasted goose, ginger, and cinnamon spice cakes lay heavy in the air, welcoming. Much stronger than outside, the festive scents made Breena’s mouth water.
Candles burned on a long thick-slabbed table of blackened oak, casting shadows across the main room, and a cheery peat fire glowed in the grate. But after traveling through the brightness of the snowy morning, Breena needed a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She was aware of Flora bundling her forward, the older woman’s hand poised at the small of Breena’s back, guiding her deeper into the room where a good number of people were now stepping out of the shadows and coming to greet her and Grim.
“So this is Grim’s lady, come all the way to our humble farm?” A big man with a shining pate and merry red cheeks set his hands on Breena’s shoulders as he smiled down at her, his words hinting that he must be Flora’s husband, the farmer, Fergus Munzie.
It was also clear that if Flora enjoyed a bit more gossip than most, Fergus had ears able to catch her every revelation, however softly spoken.
“You’ve a fine farmstead, sir.” Breena bobbed a curtsy, not missing that Grim didn’t blink at the farmer’s mistake.
She was painfully aware of it.
She wasn’t Grim’s lady, no matter how convincingly he went along with the deception.
“A good place it is, aye. And right full just now!” Fergus thwacked Grim’s shoulder, sounding most pleased. “Grim, you’ll be kenning Malcolm?”
“Indeed. We’ve crossed swords in bad times and shared ale and bread in the good ones since.” Grim smiled and clasped the aged MacDonald warrior’s arms when he appeared at their side. Tall and clearly a man who’d been dashingly handsome in youth, Malcolm was still striking with his gray hair pulled back into in a long plait that fell just below his still-broad shoulders and his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed.
Above all, he appeared buoyed by an inner happiness strongly reflected by his new wife, Lady Moira, who looked so much like Flora that Breena could only tell them apart because of Moira’s shining pleasure. The glow of those deeply in love, as Breena’s Aunt Mell would’ve said.
How odd that she’d swear Grim wore it, too.
“I wish you all the world’s happiness, Malcolm,” Grim was saying, still gripping the older man’s arms. “It’s a joy to meet you here, in the company of my own soon-to-be-wife, rather than on a battlefield as in days of old.”