How shocking that she didn’t care.
She did glance at Grim.
He was leaning against the wall beside the hearth, his arms crossed and his beautiful gray eyes hooded. No, thoughtful. When he lifted his gaze and looked at her, she knew exactly what he was going to say.
“I thank you, Fergus.” He pushed away from the wall and came forward, carefully lifting his wolfskin cloak and then Breena’s own woolen mantle from her shoulders. Crossing the room, he hung them on pegs near the door. “My lady and I gladly accept your offer. We’ll appreciate your company, and a room for the night. Indeed, we have much to speak of with you. The hours at your table will serve us well.”
Breena stopped hearing him the moment he agreed for them to spend the night at the farm. Her blood was rushing too loudly in her ears to catch the rest.
There was no going back now.
Her destiny was in her hands, another Yuletide surprise, and one she’d never expected.
She just hoped she could do what she must: convince Grim to stop thinking of her as only a lady.
She was also a woman.
And she hoped, believed, that despite their difference in backgrounds, she could be more to him than a lover in his arms. She wanted to be his wife.
She wished that by the morrow’s sunrise, he’d agree.
Chapter Five
The night wind howled around the Munzie farmhouse as Grim, Fergus, and Malcolm sat at the long wooden table, enjoying their tankards of ale. Bright red holly berries glistened against the pristine white tablecloth, the sprigs of greenery joining a cluster of fine, beeswax candles to lend a festive air. A large plate of Flora’s aromatic spice cakes tempted, tasty as they were. A trace of roasted goose also lingered, the scrumptious scent almost irresistible.
Grim knew a generous portion of the goose waited unattended on a platter in Flora’s kitchen. There were even two untouched capons. He’d be welcome to fetch more of the succulent meat, as much as he desired.
He didn’t care.
His mind was elsewhere.
Despite the purpose of his journey and with Christmas Eve less than three nights away, his thoughts were entirely on Breena.
He was ridiculously besotted. More so than he would ever have believed possible. He couldn’t stand being in the same room with her and not touching her.
He did watch her, though he tried to do so without her knowing.
She huddled with the women, closer to the fire. A fat log had been tossed onto the peats and it blazed cheerily, giving off a lovely golden glow that limned Breena so beautifully, his heart clenched. The ladies shared a bench and a large plaid they’d draped over their knees. Grim’s brow furrowed to see that the three of them looked as if they’d been friends the whole of their lives.
But that wasn’t what bothered him.
It was how they also appeared deep in the mysteries of feminine chatter. Watching them from deliberately hooded eyes, he was sure their banter included a good dose of womanly scheming.
He’d seen Breena’s face when Fergus gave them no choice but to accept his offered lodgings.
She was up to something.
He could feel it in the air, and in his bones. He also didn’t care for her sitting so far across the room from him, however ludicrous the sentiment. The farmhouse’s main living area wasn’t even large. There was barely space for the table currently occupied by the men. The stone hearth with its great blackened cook-kettle hanging from a chain took up most of one wall, while the ladies’ bench and a second, empty trestle beneath a window provided the only other furnishings.
Pegs on the wall offered places to secure cloaks and plaids, and candles and oil lamps joined the hearth fire in adding light, such as it was.
A faint but comforting haze of peat smoke tinged the air, the aroma made even homier by the lingering scents of Flora’s excellent cooking. Always a delight to Grim’s animal-loving nose, two large and shaggy dogs, each one looking older than stone, slept on tattered plaids spread near the hearth. The aged beasts’ snow-dampened coats lent a dash of pungency to the room, and a welcome coziness.
The dogs’ snores warmed Grim’s heart.
Unfortunately, the noise swelled in volume each time Breena said something to Flora and Moira. And no matter how hard, and inconspicuously, Grim strained his ears, he couldn’t catch a word.
A large basket of mistletoe sat on the floor beside them and they busied themselves tying glossy gold and silver ribbons to the round, white-berried clusters. The task seemed to occupy them well enough, but Grim doubted mightily that the making of holiday decorations was the reason for their babble and certainly not for their occasional knowing nods, tsk-tsking, and oh-so-secretive smiles.
He was sure Breena spoke of him.