“Yule is important to them, bringing reassurance that the long dark nights will draw to an end, the warmth and light of spring nearing by the day. A few kisses will boost their spirits as they wait for the sun’s rebirth.”
“Say you!” Archie jutted his bristly chin. “I say a man’s hall is good for more than kissing beneath pagan gew-gaws on cold winter nights.” He slung the food sack over his shoulder, weaving slightly beneath its weight. “Nothing like a fine late-night repast to cure what ails a man,” he vowed, lifting his walking stick in salute before tap-tap-tapping his way out of the hall.
Grim stared after him, not sure whether he should chuckle or frown.
Archie’s back might’ve bent a bit beneath the heavy sack, but in his agitation, he’d forgotten to assume his slow, shuffling gait.
He’d tap-tapped, but his stride was sure and true.
“The only thing ailing him is a broken heart.” Grim shook his head as Archie disappeared into the deeper darkness beyond the hall’s entry arch. “Few men half his age could make such a hasty retreat.”
“He’ll never allow Yule.” Breena sounded crestfallen.
Something else entirely troubled Grim.
She turned to face him now, the hall’s dim light not hiding the soft flush on her cheeks or the lustrous sheen of her glorious hair. Unbound and tumbling to her hips, her hair was a cascade of burnished, coppery-bright temptation. He couldn’t think of a man who wouldn’t ache to see such tresses spilled in riotous, wayward abandon across his bed sheets. As for the rest of her, the lush curve of her hips or the full roundness of her breasts…
It was perhaps best she was distressed.
Otherwise, he might seize her again, pulling her close, and kissing her even more soundly than before.
Indeed, he might anyway.
“You did your duty well, my lord.” Her words stayed his intent, especially her slightly displeasured tone. “I do not believe Archie guessed why we were in the hall so late.”
“That was our aim, my lady.” Grim wasn’t about to tell her he’d have kissed her anyway. Mistletoe or nae. He’d wanted to kiss her the moment she stepped from behind the tapestry, all righteous indignation and so lovely she stilled his heart. But he said nothing, not wanting to give her a reason to mention her lost love in Inishowen.
Just the thought of such a man twisted his gut. He didn’t care to imagine someone else holding and kissing her. Or her standing alone on Duncreag’s battlements as she sometimes did, staring off across the hills, toward the western horizon. No doubt yearning for her sweetheart.
Grim bit back a frown.
The gods knew, his face was anything but bonnie. He didn’t want to look more fierce by scowling.
He also wished Breena wasn’t standing so near that he kept breathing in her delicious scent.
“Aye, well.” He rubbed his thumb along his jaw, pretending to consider, hoping his tone wouldn’t reveal his agitation. “We now know beyond doubt that Archie has been snatching your Yuletide decorations. He didn’t bring along that woven sack for victuals.”
“I didn’t see you pluck a mistletoe berry.” Breena glanced at the nearby table where he’d set the berry. It gleamed like a snowy white pearl, a beacon in the hall’s darkness. “I’m sure I would’ve noticed.”
“It dropped onto your hair as we kissed.” Grim resisted the urge to touch his Thor’s hammer amulet. He believed the falling mistletoe berry was a sign from the gods.
Their approval that he’d kissed her.
Indeed, he was sure of it.
Didn’t the old gods demand that a man pluck a mistletoe berry before he claims a kiss from a lady?
“I didn’t feel a berry land in my hair.” Breena’s voice held a note of suspicion.
“I removed it before you would have.” He meant to dry the berry and keep it as a talisman. A token to remember the only kiss he was likely to ever enjoy from the maid who came closer to holding his heart than any woman before her.
Knowing she loved another made him feel like an arse.
In truth, he was one.
He was especially wicked for the thought rising so irresistibly in his mind. One that surely had charitable roots, for his idea would serve Archie well if all went according to plan. But Breena was an equally powerful inspiration, and after kissing her, his mind was veering in a direction he’d usually avoid.
Where women were concerned, he didn’t gladly go where he knew he’d burn his fingers.
Yet Breena had returned his kiss with equal fervor. She’d melted against him. He’d even felt the slight tremor rippling through her when she’d parted her lips more fully, allowing him to deepen their kiss. Her tongue had bewitched him, twirling and rolling with his. She’d dug her fingers into his hair, holding tight. Her heart had hammered against his chest.