Once Upon a Highland Christmas(32)

“Grim, I greet you!” The MacGregor started forward, a hand raised in salute. “You and your lady wife are welcome if you’ve come to share holiday cheer.” He stopped before them, waiting as Grim dismounted and then lifted Breena down from her horse’s back. “You can leave now if your visit has aught to do with Archie MacNab.”

“You know it does.” Grim took Breena’s arm, drawing her to his side. “I’m thinking you know even more if you’re aware Lady Breena is no longer my betrothed but now my bride. We only said our vows last night.”

“Aye, well.” Greer MacGregor hooked his thumbs in his sword belt and rocked back on his heels. “Could be I’m the wisest man in the Highlands, eh?”

Grim chuckled. “Could also be that Flora Munzie put out word faster than I expected.”

“She couldn’t have.” Breena looked from Grim to the MacGregor chieftain and then back to Grim. “She was at the farm when we left.”

“So she was.” Grim appeared to consider. “Now that I think on it, how many of her four sons were at the table when we broke our fast this morn?”

Breena remembered. “Three.”

“Indeed.” Grim nodded once.

Greer MacGregor started to laugh, a great and noisy rumble that came from deep in his gut and erupted to fill the torch-lit courtyard with its merriment. “Can a man ne’er outfox you, you wily bastard?”

“No’ if I can help it.” Grim glanced at Breena, winking. “I told you Flora has ways to spread news faster than a fly can blink.”

“Then, good sir,” Breena started, opting for courtesy as Greer led them up the stone steps to his keep, “you know we’ve come to beg a favor for—”

“Archie MacNab. Aye, that I ken!” Greer paused before his hall door, planted his fists on his hips. “A trickier rascal ne’er strode the heather. I’m no’ of mind to leave the comforts of my own hearth now, in the deep of winter, just so he isn’t alone at Yule.

“That old stoat made his bed and should wallow in it, I say!” he scolded, the twinkle in his eye at odds with his grousing.

When he winked at Breena behind Grim’s back, her spirits soared, for she saw through his bluster to the goodness of his heart.

Greer MacGregor knew their business and had something planned to help, she was sure.

She just didn’t know what it was.

Until he threw her another wink and flung open his hall door, ushering them inside.

They stepped into a forest of pine boughs, swags and swags of red-ribboned holly and ivy, and towering piles of mistletoe. The entire hall was festooned with evergreen, the smoke-hazed air filled with the piney scent. Men lined the long rows of trestle tables, eating their evening meal. Their booming voices and the clatter of ale cups and knives warred with the barks of dogs and the roar of the log fire in the hall’s huge soot-blackened hearth.

As Grim had predicted, every table boasted festively carved bowls piled high with sugared almonds. Breena also noted plentiful trays of custard pasties, her mouth watering to see such scrumptious holiday fare.

Grim was also right in guessing that the MacGregor pipers would be playing with gusto. Three of them marched back and forth before the hearth, kilts swinging merrily and their cheeks red from their exertions. Several more equally enthusiastic pipers strode up and down between the long tables, their tunes lively.

The din was tremendous. Jollity and goodwill shone on every face.

“We’re in fine fettle, as you see.” Greer threw out an arm, taking in the bustling scene. “No man here is for traipsing off now. No’ at Yuletide.”

“You’ll be joining us at Duncreag all the same.” Grim set a hand on Greer’s shoulder. “I’ve no’ wish to remind you of an old favor, but I will if—”

“There be no need for that, laddie.” Greer’s jaw jutted, his bushy red beard glinting in the torchlight. “Could be I feel the spirit of the season coming upon me, persuading me to—”

“You’re a crazed loon, MacGregor.” Grim smiled, lowered his hand from the older man’s shoulder. “Are you with us or nae?”

Breena scarce heard them, her brow furrowing as she looked about the hall.

Something wasn’t right.

Although the walls, ceiling rafters, and every table appeared draped in holiday finery, the most of the greenery and mistletoe was spread about in great piles and mounds on the floor.

With the great hall already so gaily decorated, there was no room to display the extra trappings. Yet there was so much stashed everywhere that traversing the hall’s aisles could prove hazardous.