Christmas Kiss (A Holiday Romance) (Kisses and Carriages) (11 page)

And would anything really happen on New Year’s Eve? They had to assume so because there was a little girl involved. They had to protect her, but protect her from what? Someone who had a grudge against McKinnon?

And why didn’t he go to the police?

Because he didn’t have a freaking car? What kind of twilight zone had she stumbled into?

She shook her head as she left her room. She couldn’t possibly be buying the whole 1806 theory. She just had to prove to McKinnon that it was time to give up the pretense. And she’d start at the top. She was a Colby, after all. No fear.

The door she believed would lead out onto the roof was blocked shut by snow, sadly. She had to settle for leaning out of windows to see the extensive bailey and outbuildings. The East tower was off-limits, Heathcliff had said, probably because it was his personal space. Since it wasn’t likely she’d find enchanted things in there, like they did in movies, she didn’t mind honoring his request to ‘mind her own business.’

Of course he would have never said it that way.

“
Do me the honor of avoiding the East Wing
,” he’d said. Mr. Formal. Always. Just like he’d speak if he was from the 19th century, just like he’d said.

She laughed at herself. She really hadn’t been drinking the Kool-Aid, had she? Besides, Heathcliff had admitted the truth on Christmas Eve. Or had he?

She continued her solo tour of Castle McKinnon that was really a quest for the tiniest proof of something twentieth century. It didn’t even need to be from 2012. It just had to be something more modern than 1806.

There was nothing in the bedrooms upstairs. She checked every drawer, every shelf. Nothing. Even the wall paper looked vintage. The linens were odd, but lovely. And every bed had drapes for keeping the heat around the occupants when the fires went out during the night. That made her think of heat vents, then she couldn’t find any of those either. But this was Scotland, and it was a castle; putting in a heating system would have probably cost a grundle of money. Probably more than plumbing. And electricity...

Bree found an odd pan with holes in the lid attached to a long handle. Was it a popcorn popper for over the fire? Was popcorn a modern thing? She grabbed the pan and hurried to the stairs. There was a chance she had her proof, but she would just ask, casually, what it was used for.

The warm green and red plaid dress he’d left for her kept Bree from rushing down the stairs. No wonder women in long gowns seemed more dignified—they had no choice. She had to hold onto the skirt and the pan handle with one hand and the railing with the other. If she fell down that long curve of stone steps, she’d break her neck.

By the time she reached the bottom, she felt a bit queenish. Her posture was even better. She was about to start humming when she realized someone else already was. It was a man’s voice, and since there was little chance anyone had braved the storm, it had to be McKinnon. By the time she reached the parlor doors, he was singing. And she recognized the tune.

Let not yer cries call down the moon.

Let not yer prayers be led astray.

In the coachman’s guise he’ll grant yer boon,

And ye shall rue the price ye’ll pay.

Bree peeked into the room. McKinnon was standing in the center of the large rug wearing his kilt again, damn him! Had he given her the dress so they’d match all day?

It was going to be a long day if she had to spend it with a guy who didn’t have the decency to keep his knees together while wearing a skirt! She’d spent most of Christmas day looking away. But she forgot about all that while she watched Angeline danced around him, slowly, to match the pace of the melancholy tune first sung by the carriage driver. Her little hands were elegant as they stroked the air, like fine little paint brushes.

When he hit the chorus, the girl stepped in front of him and reached up, to place her hands against his chest. He stopped singing, looking confused. Angeline just smiled and gave him a nod. Then he started the chorus again while she...felt it.

“Take back the breath.

Take back the sigh.

Give not yer name.

Yer boon deny.

The Foolish Fire

Comes not in twain.

‘Tis the coachman’s lanterns

Come for ye.”

The girls hands dropped away, but he caught one and held on, shaking his head. Then he reached down and placed his hand flat against the child’s chest, between her collar bones. Then he nodded.

Bree frantically wiped tears from her eyes so she could see.

He was asking the child to sing. And when the tiny voice began to hum, Bree didn’t know who was more surprised, McKinnon, herself, or Angeline.

The little girl pushed his hand away and replaced it with her own, like she couldn’t quite believe the sound was coming from her own body. Then she began to dance, not taking the one hand from her chest.

She hummed the chorus, then when she reached a verse, she nodded to McKinnon again. He sang the words, while she continued humming.

“With hands of white and horses matched

He’ll heigh thy love to broken heart.

Of measured dreams he’ll grant behalf

And take from thee e’en the beggar’s part.”

McKinnon stepped forward and caught the girl up in his arms, then began waltzing around the room with her little feet dangling three feet off the ground.

She hummed louder. He sang all the while.

They spotted Bree in the doorway and McKinnon came to a dead stop, as did the song. She didn’t know if the frown he gave her was for interrupting, or just breathing in general. But she pretended she didn’t notice and stepped into the room.

“You’re a natural, Mr. McKinnon. You’ve had a breakthrough all on your own. I can’t imagine a better way to have coaxed her to try her voice.”

Angeline was grinning. McKinnon lowered her to her feet and she hurried to Bree’s side, taking her hand and leading Bree back to face McKinnon. The child tried to make him take Bree’s hand, but he pulled away and shook his head.

Bree felt a little explosion of disappointment in her chest and the threat of more tears, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her feelings.

“I’m sure Mr. McKinnon is not nearly so talented when dancing with full grown women, Angeline, so we really shouldn’t embarrass him.” Bree gave the jerk a snotty smile, then turned to go but the pan she carried got caught on something.

She’d completely forgotten she was carrying it. Then suddenly it was pulled out of her hand. When she whipped around, she found McKinnon coming toward her with murder in his eyes.

She stepped back like a wuss before she could remember she was a Colby and Colbys did not panic.

“Angeline, if ye will provide the music, I’m sure I can manage to drag Miss Colby around the room a few times without breaking all ten toes.” Then, he spoke lower so the girl wouldn’t hear. “Whether or not my touch will offend her is another matter.”

A very enthusiastic humming began, still the same tune. Bree painted a smile on for the little girl and acted like she hadn’t heard the last part. Then she was suddenly back in High School Ballroom Class trying to keep her partner from making them look bad. But the big lug was a lot harder to help than those sixteen-year-olds.

McKinnon grimaced. “Miss Colby, I assure you this will be much less painful if you allow me to lead the dance. Just relax into my arms... If you dare.”

He wanted her to relax? Fine, she’d relax.

She laid her arms over his and leaned against the hand at her back. With part of her weight supported, her feet were light as feathers.

And they were waltzing!

Judging from the look on Angeline’s face, it looked as lovely as it felt. And just as Bree had on the staircase, she felt regal, but more than that, it was working because she’d stopped fighting for control.

She forced her gaze up from McKinnon’s neck to his eyes and realized he was as pleasantly surprised as she was. Of course he hid his surprise quickly and acted like he flew around the room all the time. But she could tell he didn’t. He looked like a kid that knew how to ride a bike but couldn’t get his hands on one very often. He smiled and winked at Angeline as they passed her again, but she could see the joy he was trying to hide. And even though his smile faded back to something polite when he looked at Bree, she could feel the excitement shooting through the arms that held hers up and allowed her feet to barely skim the floor.

Between the beginning of another chorus and the end, their smiles faded altogether. Her breath caught when she realized he’d looked at her just that way the night before. Just before she’d felt the need to run for her life.

She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held tight and started around the room again. She dropped her gaze to his neck, but could still see his face too clearly, so she looked at his chest. Staring at the breadth of it stole her breath away, and so she looked lower still.

Holy crap, what was she thinking?

She turned her head, found Angeline, and refused to look anywhere else.

The child’s humming began to falter. She’d probably over-done it for her first day. Selfish as Bree was, she hadn’t wanted the dancing to end. He wasn’t smiling at her anymore, but he wasn’t frowning either. At least not yet. She wanted to pretend, for another minute or two, that she wasn’t his enemy.

Then suddenly, beneath her hands, came the low vibration of his humming. It was like having her arms wrapped around a volcano just as it started to erupt. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it to end either.

Bree smiled again. She couldn’t help it. She was in heaven. This was the romantic little moment she could share with her sisters and friends, a sweet memory of a charming man, the highlight of her trip. And if she could omit the fact that she might have to create an international incident to get home again, it was even more romantic—especially since he’d already kissed her. Maybe she could squish the memory of his kisses up against this one and pretend it had all happened the same day. And that she hadn’t gotten spooked and run away.

She’d have to alter a few details, of course. Maybe she was in a little bar, in a tiny little village, and the master of nearby castle just stopped in for a pint with the locals. He’d noticed her sitting alone in a booth, looking over her little map of Scotland, wondering what to visit next.

And he’d granted a wish she hadn’t remembered wishing for...

As they passed the velvet chaise they both turned to look at Angeline, resting against a cushion with her eyes closed, a smile still on her face. She and McKinnon shared a pleased smile, but it faded quickly. His humming ceased as he spun her out of his arms. By the time she stopped spinning, he was gone.

And her carriage turned back into a pumpkin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The snow storm turned into freezing rain over night. And instead of the rain melting the snow, it covered it with a coating of clear frozen water. It was the coolest thing ever. It was the coldest thing ever, and the memory of nearly freezing to death was all it took to keep her from leaving the next morning.

She finally had to face the fact that she would never make her flight. She would have to use every penny she had in savings to get home. She would end up asking her dad for a loan and her mom would show up with a truck and moving boxes. It would be another six months before she’d have the guts to wrestle control of her life back from the well-meaning, but psycho woman and the cycle would start again.

But for now, she was done fighting Mother Nature and the nature of her mother. She’d make peace with Laird Gorgeous and try to figure out what that damned coachman was up to.

* * *

During the daytime, with Angeline to care for, to entertain, and to distract him, the tension in Heathcliff’s chest lessened. But each night, as they tucked the child into her bed and took turns touching her one last time, McKinnon’s blood would rise, unbidden.

But for the past two days, it had been different. The tension in his chest built not from distrust, but from anticipation. Even though it was preposterous to continue kissing a woman who was fearful where a kiss might lead, her lips were constantly in his thoughts. In an effort to remove them, he’d frequently sneak away to his tower room and draw a sketch of them, to transfer them from his mind onto paper. Unfortunately, they didn’t stay where they were put. And the memories of their kisses were not nearly so easy to deal with.

That first kiss, which he stole from her only moments before he laid his accusations at her feet...

The Christmas Kiss, which he’d demanded in return for putting aside his suspicions—something he was trying to do before she’d even asked...

And now, another kiss was all he craved. More than food. More than a release from the frozen prison his home had become. He wanted it as much as he wanted this business with the coachman to be resolved. But as soon as it was resolved, she’d be gone.

It was a dark reality on the horizon. She’d be gone. He and Angeline would be left to carry on alone. He was no longer worried about communicating with the child. They seemed to be doing well whether or not Brianna was present. But he was a greedy bastard. He wanted them both.

It had been a mistake of course, to allow her to wear the clan colors. He’d had no idea it would affect him so, and while they’d danced together, he’d realized he would end as a begging puppy at her feet if he didn’t get very far away from her. Then he’d hidden, like a coward, for the remainder of the day.

Dear Lord. What had he done, fallen in love with her?

There was only one way to find out. Another kiss. Only then would he ken for sure.

* * *

Bree was pissed.

Angeline had fallen asleep after dinner, and Heathcliff stuck his nose in a book and acted like he didn’t want to talk to her if she didn’t want to kiss him. At least she thought that was his problem. He hadn’t spoken directly to her all day, and when she caught him looking at her, he was always staring at her lips. Then he’d stomp off like she shouldn’t have caught him staring.