“No doubt.” Breena agreed entirely.
She, too, could lose her heart to the Highlands. She’d dreamed of someday going back to Ireland. Her heart still squeezed, her soul yearning, when she thought of Inishowen. The approach of Christmas, always such a joyous time in her village, had sharpened the longing. But she trusted her homesickness would lessen, especially now that she and Grim had wed.
At the reminder, her pulse quickened and she felt the sweetest warmth curl low by her thighs, tingly anticipation of another night spent in Grim’s arms.
She didn’t think she’d ever tire of his touching her, or of caressing him. Even now, she could feel her passion for him building, her heart swelling with love.
“Do you think we’ll reach MacGregor Tower soon?” She glanced about as they rode away from the loch and entered the deep trough of a long and narrow glen.
The Yule beacon lit the way, but it was now deepening twilight, the hour of gloaming. For the last few miles, the snow-blanketed hills and woodlands had been sinking into darkness, and frosty mist blew across their path. Breena was sure her ears were frozen, and the brittle air burned her lungs. The wind was also picking up, each new gust howling like a banshee as it tore through the glen, shrieking and ice-edged, so cold that her eyes stung.
But the balefire’s leaping flames were reward enough for any discomfort.
In truth, she found the wintry Highlands wild, glorious, and awe inspiring.
The Yule beacon finally loomed near, a towering pile of wood with its huge red plumes coloring the night sky. It could’ve been ripped from a bard’s fantastical song about the myths and legends of old.
“No’ at all like the pinprick of light we saw through the pines at Fergus Munzie’s farm, is it?” Grim edged his horse nearer to hers. He reached over, adjusting the great wolfskin cloak he’d again insisted she wear. “Thon flames can be seen for miles.” He nodded toward the fire, so high atop its rock-strewn ridge. “Like as no’, we’ll be seen as well. The MacGregor will have lookouts posted. Men set to watch who is attracted by his balefire.
“We’ll be met at his door, you’ll see.” Grim kneed his horse, also clucking to Breena’s, encouraging the mare to keep pace. “There’ll be a welcoming hearth fire, ale and uisge beatha, and a good, warm meal. Like as no’ pipers will be strutting about in number, playing their hearts out to herald in the festive days. If we’re lucky, there’ll be plenty of sugared almonds and other sweetmeats. The MacGregor is said to be fond of the like.”
“I have only one wish for this night.” Breena kept her chin raised and met Grim’s eye when he glanced her way. “I’d enjoy more of your kisses.”
“Is that so?” He angled his head, his silver beard rings glinting red in the light of the Yule beacon. “And I thought there might be more you’d be wanting? A bit of careful stroking here and there, some fine neck nuzzles that inch ever lower until—”
“I am eager for all that and more,” Breena admitted, warmth blooming on her cheeks even as the most rousing heat pooled between her legs.
“You shall have your desires, my lady.” Grim leaned close and kissed her cheek, nipping her ear before he pulled away. “Every last one of them, especially your most secret and lascivious wishes.”
“Oh!” Breena pressed a hand to her belly, the stirring wickedness of his words almost sending her over that glittery edge of bliss that had brought her such carnal delight the night before.
She truly was a wanton!
And—she blinked—they were fast approaching a sea of warmth and light. Not the Yule beacon that now raged almost directly above them, but the torch-lit gatehouse and forecourt of MacGregor Tower, a great black bulk of a square, four-storied tower house topped by a notched parapet walk, every window and arrow slit brightly lit. Torches also blazed at the arched entrance to the gatehouse.
It was there that a tall, heavily built man stood, a plaid slung proudly across one shoulder. A great sword hung at his hip and he had a wild mane of russet hair. An even bushier beard of the same color added to his savage appearance, while a scar cut a curving swath across his left cheek. Most startling of all was his large, bulbous nose.
He was Greer MacGregor.
And he looked exactly like Duncreag’s Old Christmas Wife after Archie’s angry adjustments to the sacred Yule Log.
Breena shot a look at Grim as they clattered into the courtyard. “Praise be you undid the damage to the Cailleach Nollaigh. There’d be much grief if the MacGregor saw Archie’s handiwork.”
“Now you see why I took my dirk to the log.” Grim spoke low, for they were already near the tower steps. “I’ve left orders to have Archie watched in our absence. He’ll no’ pull such a trick again.”