A good four inches of snow had fallen last night. The slushy stuff seeped into his boots while Lachlan led Andrew through the wood, searching for the perfect tree. He’d seen men rubbing their boots with whale oil. Now he knew why.
The boy followed with a two-man saw tucked under his elbow. They both wore their sword belts because Hamish had warned them the only place anyone was safe was behind the curtain walls. Lachlan was growing used to being armed to the teeth at all times. He even liked the danger. Sure, he could be attacked at any time back home, but the likelihood was far slimmer and men generally didn’t walk around laden with dirks, swords and knives. Here, the de Moray guard patrolled the curtain walls around the clock and twice daily a retinue rode out to patrol the grounds, especially now that Andrew was there. Christina feared invasion. She’d been a prisoner too long not to constantly worry about another attack by the English.
Lachlan wished he’d spent more time listening to his mother’s stories. He’d like to reassure Christina, but couldn’t remember anything about the de Moray family, except they eventually earn an earldom and a dukedom, and the name changes with some taking Moray and others Murray…he thought.
A lot of good it would do to tell her.
“Have ye not found a good enough tree yet?” Andrew asked.
Lachlan hadn’t been looking very hard, but he glanced back at the lad. “We want a symmetrical one that will look nice festooned with decorations.”
“Sounds daft to me.”
“It will smell marvelous and the lassies will think it’s beautiful.”
“Truly?” the lad asked with a bit of interest in his voice.
“Indeed. All women love to decorate things for the holidays.”
“Hmm.” Tapping him on the shoulder, Andrew pointed. “What about that one?”
Lachlan followed the finger’s direction and grinned. He thwacked the boy on the shoulder. “I knew you were the right person for this task. That Scots pine is perfect.” At least it was as close as they were going to get. Most of the evergreens were tall and spindly. This young arbor stood about six feet and was mostly A-shaped. It was thick with long needles, as well.
“We need to cut it off at the base,” Lachlan said.
“Then we’d best sit.”
Having never used a two-man saw, Lachlan followed suit. Ice cold, wet snow immediately soaked through his chausses—a pair of snow pants would have come in handy for certain. “What should we give your mother for Christmas?”
“Huh?” Andrew asked, leaning back and drawing the saw toward him. “What are ye jabbering about now?”
“We should give her a present.”
“Right, give the woman who is forcing me to remain in this frigid wilderness and study Latin a gift.”
“She loves you and this frigid wilderness will all be yours one day.” Unless the boy throws it away on a pipedream. Lachlan worked the saw faster with the increase of his irritation. “Now, I want the next thing to come out of your mouth to be positive. What. Shall. We. Give. Your. Mother?”
Andrew knitted his eyebrows. “Bloody hell, ye do not have to sound so angry about it.”
“That wasn’t positive.”
“Very well, go to the smithy. Blacksmiths always have fancy bobbles tucked away to bring in a few crowns here and there.”
A blacksmith? Who would have known? “Do you want to go with me?”
Andrew smirked. “Latin lesson.”
“Okay, then you’ll have to trust my judgement.”
“Select whatever ye want. I do not care.”
“That’s sad, because your mum cares very much about you.”
Christina inspected the table, laid out with ribbons and baubles she and Ellen had collected for the tree. With her duties of running the keep and Lachlan’s seemingly endless training, there hadn’t been much time to ask questions, so she’d done her best to find suitable trinkets. Goodness, she was excited to bring a new Yule tradition into the castle and thrilled that Andrew had gone with Lachlan to select the pine. It would look magnificent on the dais behind the high table for all the clan to enjoy. She just knew it.
Even with Andrew’s reluctance to take his place in the clan, Christina couldn’t help but be excited. For the first time in thirteen years, she would no longer be a prisoner during Yuletide. She prayed every day Andrew would grow to love her or at least grow to love the castle and clan. When he wasn’t trying to be a curmudgeon, she saw such strength in the lad.
And the Christmas feast was only three days away.
Ellen stepped beside her and rubbed her hands. “I think all we need now is the tree.”
Christina glanced toward the door. “I hope the snow didna hamper the lads.”
“Och, they’re hewn of Highland stock the pair of them.”
The words had barely escaped Ellen’s lips when Sir Lachlan and Andrew burst though the hall doors carrying a glorious pine. Grinning like an excited young maiden, Christina gestured to the stand the smithy had fashioned. “Put it there, lads.”
Lachlan led the way. “Andrew selected a fine tree for you, m’lady.”
They set it into the stand and Lachlan tightened the bolts. Stepping back, he whistled. “She’s a beauty.”
“Oh my,” said Ellen. “’Tis so tall, it is like bringing the forest into the hall.”
Christina gestured to the decorations. “I hope we’ve collected enough to trim the tree like ye said.”
“Look there, Andrew. Your mum thought of everything.” The big knight drummed his fingers against his lips. “Except we need a star or an angel for the top.”
Gasping, Christina shot a panicked look to Ellen. “A star or an angel for the top? Will it not fall?”
“We’ll trim the top bough just enough so it stays in place.”
“We could use the angel trumpeter figurine from your mantel, m’lady,” said Ellen. “Shall I go fetch it?”
“Aye.” Christina clapped. “Please do.”
Clifton, the clan’s Celtic harpist, began to play lyrical music to help set the scene.
She surveyed the collection of decorations. “This is your idea, Sir Lachlan. How should we proceed?”
“First, we string the garlands and ribbons, then we hang the baubles and ornaments from the branches.” He looked to Andrew. “What should we start with?”
With his typical shrug, the lad selected a string of brass beads. “Will these work?”
“Sure. Just wrap them around like this.” Picking up a red ribbon, Lachlan demonstrated unrolling it around the upper branches of the pine—up where only he’d be able to reach. Then he glanced to the lad. “Ready to give it a try?”
Rolling his eyes, Andrew complied while Christina selected another roll of ribbon. If only her son could find some enjoyment in doing anything with her. She’d endured so many of his eye-rolls and shrugs, she could scream. But such an outburst was inappropriate behavior for the lady of the keep and she refused to allow herself to fly off on a tirade. Besides, a temper tantrum on her part would only serve to further distance her from Andrew.
And ’tis Yuletide for heaven’s sake.
Lachlan reached out to her to draw the ribbon around the tree, while he hummed with the harp music. She couldn’t help but chuckle the way he made the music flit around her insides like happy butterflies.
She glanced at Andrew who was looking over the selection on the table. “Have ye learned to play any instruments?”
His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “As ye haven’t allowed me to forget, I was a prisoner. I rarely took my meals in the hall, let alone was offered tutoring in anything but English.”
“Ah, but anyone can sing,” said Lachlan, draping a gold ribbon over a branch, then handing the reel to Christina.
“I do not care for singing.”
Of course, he doesn’t care to do anything that will bring him joy.
Things went quiet while the air grew tense. All three of them worked, mechanically adding ornaments as Christina’s mind raced for something she could say to make Andrew happy. Then an idea sparked. “Would ye like to learn to play the bagpipes? The king has decided pipers will play during all battles and royal gatherings.”
A glass ball dropped from Andrew’s fingers and smashed to pieces on the floorboards. “Robert Bruce is not a real king. Lord de Vere will lead an army into Scotland and he’ll kill anyone who does not bow to King Edward.”
It was as if she’d been slapped in the face. If Christina had heard such treasonous words uttered from one of her clansmen, she would not hesitate to throw them into the pit and arrange their hanging. “Please.” She reached out to him. “Do ye want de Vere to come to your home and lay siege? To imprison ye for another three and ten years?”
He batted her hand away. “This is not my home. Can ye not understand? I have no memory of this place.” Turning, he ran for the stairwell.
“Andrew!” Christina started after him, tears welling in her eyes.
Lachlan gripped her shoulder. “Let him go.”
Her throat closed. The room spun. Whipping around, she slammed her fists into the wall of Lachlan’s chest. “He hates me.” Dammit, she could hold in her anguish no longer. With a shrill cry, Christina crumpled. Her entire life had been for naught. For so many years, the only thing that had kept her going was the hope that her son would one day be returned to her. Clan de Moray had fought beside Robert the Bruce and incurred heavy losses to bring Andrew back to Ormond, but nothing she did would ever amount to enough for the lad to realize where he belonged. She could shower him with kind words, tutors and gifts, but he would hate her all the same.
She wilted into a pathetic heap, wailing as forlornly as she had at her husband’s graveside when Andrew was but a wee bairn in her belly. All hope fled. Her spirits sank to the depths of hell.
Somewhere during her collapse, before she hit the floor, Lachlan gathered her into his arms and hastened to take her into the small antechamber behind the dais. The door closed behind them.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered into her veil. “Easy now. I have you.”
His gentle words only made the pain in her heart stretch and ache all the more. Why must she be attracted to a man she could never have? A man who planned to leave her. A man who had a life in another century for pity’s sake. “My life is nothing but complete misery,” she cried.
“Oh, no, how can you say that?”
“My son hates me, ye are chomping at the bit to go back to your time, and nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“No, no, no. You knew bringing Andrew home would be difficult. You knew he’d challenge you at every turn.”
“But I dinna ken he’d tear out my heart and chew it to bits.” Christina curled against Lachlan’s chest, unable to stop the flow of tears.
He sat in an overstuffed chair and rocked her gently. Over and over, he repeated calming words. “That’s right, let it out…Let it all out…Things will improve, I know it…You and Andrew will be a family again.”
His warm lips caressed her forehead while she wiped her eyes. “Blast it all. Here it is Yule and I’m supposed to be the stalwart matriarch of the clan, and here I sit bawling like a bairn.”
Lachlan brushed warm lips against her temple. “Everyone needs to let go now and again. It is healthy for the soul.”
She nodded and nestled her head against his protective chest. “I dunna ken what I would do without ye here.”
He nuzzled against her temple. “Believe it or not, being with you has been my salvation. It has given me purpose in life again.”
A flutter rippled through her heart. “I wish ye would stay forever,” she whispered, shifting her eyes up to meet his fathomless, expressive blues. She took in a sharp inhale, as he smoothed the rough pads of his fingers along her cheek. Ever so slowly, his lips neared while long, feathery lashes shuttered his eyes.
When their lips finally met, all the pent up emotion within Christina’s breast surged, funneling into a whirlwind of heat. Pushing away all thoughts, she allowed herself only to feel. Lachlan could be so physical, so powerful, so brutal, but when he wrapped his arms around her, Christina felt invincible. Be it true or nay, she felt loved, and cherished, and valued. Reaching up, she slid her fingers through his locks. Soft waves of thick tresses contrasted with hardened male.
She wanted Lachlan Wallace almost as much as she wanted her son to take up his mantle. If only she could have them both, but there she stood, on the precipice of losing each man—Andrew to the enemy and Lachlan to a life so alien to her, she couldn’t conceptualize.
As his kiss eased, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I wish I could hold you in my arms forever, too.”
“Ye do?”
“Aye,” he said, sounding more like a Highlander.
“When…” She closed her eyes and forced herself to be strong. “When will ye go back?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
She tugged the medallion out from under his shirt. “And all this mentions is following the truth. It is so strange.”
“It is.”
“But why canna ye have control over it?”
“Maybe I can.” He kissed her fingers and then tucked the medallion back down his shirt. “Let’s do our best to enjoy the holidays. My mother always said enjoy every moment, because you can never count on tomorrow.”
“I’m beginning to think your mother was quite a wise woman.”
“She was…I mean, she is.” Lachlan set Christina on her feet. “Are you ready to face the clan?”
“One more thing.” Taking Lachlan’s face between her hands, she kissed him—lips to lips, tongue to tongue. As bone melting as it might be, Christina put everything she had behind her ardor. If she must live for today, then she would no longer hide the desire burning deep inside her core. She kissed him because every fiber of her being wanted him, appreciated him, pined for him. If there was a thread of hope he’d decide to stay, she would prove to him how much she desired for him to do so.
When she straightened, he leaned back in the chair, his eyelids heavy. “My God, woman, you know how to make a man melt.”