Once Upon A Highland Christmas Read Online Free Page B

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.
    He’d felt the rapid beats.
    She couldn’t have pretended such passion.
    So he stood straighter and wished she’d turn aside for a moment so he could comb quick fingers through his hair, smooth the front of his mail shirt so it shone properly. But she didn’t take her gaze from his, her lovely emerald eyes peering so deeply into his that he was sure she could see clear to the bottom of his soul.
    It made him damned uncomfortable.
    And it gave him a tiny flicker of hope.
    So he took a deep breath and spoke true. “Lady Breena, there was more than duty in our kiss. More than persuading Archie the spirit of the season and naught else was why he found us kissing beneath the mistletoe.
    “Truth is”—he hoped he wouldn’t regret his honesty—“the kiss was right pleasurable.”
    “I see.” She glanced aside, clearly not understanding.
    It also wasn’t what he’d meant to say.
    He’d thought to tell her he’d kissed her because he couldn’t resist doing so. That no maid had ever before affected him so strongly. She made him feel as if she’d turned him inside out and upside down, scattering his wits to the winds, and leaving him more excited, even giddier, than he would’ve ever believed a man could feel.
    He was a warrior, more used to battle fury than the heady rush that swept