Christmas Kiss (A Holiday Romance) (Kisses and Carriages) (12 page)

She told herself she wasn’t going to get all physical with a guy who couldn’t really trust her. But that was bullshit. She was scared to death.

She’d never slept with anyone before and she’d been determined to wait until she was married. But that wasn’t the scary part. What really frightened her was the way Laird Gorgeous made her feel—like she could throw it all away for him. Like there was more passion in one kiss from him than in an hour of making out with David. Or anyone else.

She just couldn’t give him the chance to ask her to because she already knew she’d say yes. And then her heart would be broken, and she’d be disappointed in herself for the rest of her life. Because she’d made that promise to that fourteen year old girl in the mirror. And that was one girl she hated to let down.

So, while she was dying to look her best, she had to dress like a grandma to try and keep him from wanting her. It was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. It went against every instinct, because who wouldn’t want a guy who could walk down the streets of Spokane, or anywhere else, and get his photo taken by every woman with a phone, and half the men.

Besides being handsome as sin, he had something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Everything about him was masculine, powerful, perfect. It was like he was from another time and she was going to prove that impression was wrong. She had to find some proof that Heathcliff McKinnon was not from 1806.

Because the more time she spent with him and the more she’d seen of the kitchens, the more she’d started to worry. And the stupid popcorn popper had turned out to be a bed-warmer, with the year, 1797 on it!

For the past two days, every moment she hadn’t spent with Angeline, she’d been methodically searching the castle. The only place she hadn’t looked, besides the dungeons, was in the East Tower. If he’d made that tower his personal space, then of course that’s where she’d discover the proof she was looking for. He’d have receipts and stuff. If the study was just another room for the tourists, then of course there would have been no proof there to find.

Walking around a dark castle at night was a pain in the butt. No wonder people used to rise with the sun and go to bed early. But those really weren’t her hours. She couldn’t wait to get back to electricity.

She lit three candles that stood in holes down the middle of a long tray. If one blew out, she wouldn’t be sitting in the dark rubbing sticks or stones together; she’d have two more. Then she walked casually up the big staircase with the candles in one hand and her plaid nightgown in the other. She thought dressing as un-sexy as possible was probably a good idea, so she’d changed into her sweatpants and nightgown after they’d tucked Angeline in. When he’d given her the cold shoulder, it had been the excuse she needed to go back upstairs.

She snorted as she made her way toward the tower entrance. The sound of her own voice made it a little less scary, but not much. Candles didn’t give off as much light as she’d expected—even three of them. So she imagined her safe space to be the circle of yellow light. Whatever was outside of that didn’t matter, couldn’t hurt her.

She tried the door. It opened right up. She grabbed the edge of it to slow the swing, so her candles wouldn’t blow out.

There was a narrow walkway that curved, then a door beyond that. At the right end of the walkway were stairs going up. On the left, stairs going down. McKinnon’s room must then occupy the center of the tower. She stepped forward and tried that door. It, too, opened easily, but she couldn’t stop the door from swinging wide.

“Crap!” The candles flickered out in unison. “Damn it!” Her voice didn’t help her at all.

“Perhaps I can be of help,” Heathcliff growled from the hallway behind her.

She spun around to find the man basking in his own warm circle of light. It was brighter than hers had been, and he carried only one candle.

“Hurricane lamps are much more effective when walking...or sneaking. The glass protects and amplifies the flame.”

Bree cleared her throat and stepped forward out of his private room. “How clever,” she said and tried to step out of the tower, but he took a large step forward and blocked her path.

She couldn’t tell if it was his expression, or just the way the light shined up on his face, but he looked menacing. She tried to hold her ground but he kept coming, herding her into his room.

She stepped backward quickly, to put some distance between them. He closed the door behind him. His expression never changed.

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy,” she said.

He said nothing.

She reached out and touched the cover on his bed. It was soft and rich. In fact, everything in his room looked luxurious—the bedding, the furniture, the art on the walls. There was a large painting that couldn’t hang flat against the round wall—a fighting scene with fighting men in kilts atop huge white horses. Maybe it was the way the light bounced off everything, but none of it looked modern. She glanced at the desk that was built to fit the wall perfectly. There was an old-fashioned leather blotter and an inkwell. The pen wasn’t a feather, but it looked old. Really, really old.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said and looked around for a garbage can. Of course there wasn’t one, which only made her sicker.

“Are ye so suddenly ill, then?” He lifted his light to look at her better, but he looked doubtful.

“I need to sit down.” She used his little stool to climb up on his bed and sat down carefully.

“Since I’m certain ye didna come here to seduce me...” He just left the words hanging. She really had no choice but to confess before he started thinking she’d come to rob the place.

“I was looking for a receipt or something, okay? Something with the date on it.”

“Did I not show ye enough envelopes with the date written upon them?”

“Not written. I just need to find something stamped. Computerized. Official.”

“So that is today’s tack, is it? Ye wish to convince me that the year is far into the future. But why? Hope ye I will say so before a judge, so I might be found insane? Is that the best plan you and yer coachman could think of? Because I will never believe yer rantings.”

She laughed. “Ranting.
I’m
ranting.
I’m
the one who’s crazy?”

She considered it for a minute. She’d been scooped up by a guy in a sleigh, but he’d known the name of the tour company. He’d known the guy who rented her the car. He didn’t seem to think she was crazy. But then again, the guy, his sleigh, and his horses had disappeared damned fast.

Maybe it wasn’t a question of crazy. Maybe it was a question of
magic.

Holy crap!
“Maybe you should tell me more about your grandma,” she said.

Heathcliff stared at her for so long, she wondered if time had frozen. But then she noticed the flicker of his candle. Still, it didn’t mean she hadn’t entered a real Twilight Zone.

Finally, he blinked and walked to the nightstand where he set his light down. When he turned to face her, he towered above her, even though she sat on his insanely high bed.

“I believe I know what ye’re about to say, lass, and I’m warning ye to reconsider. I won’t countenance an insult to me grandmother.”

“Well, if you know what I’m thinking, I don’t need to say it. But you have to admit something crazy is going on here and
I’m
not crazy.” She’d like to claim that crazy didn’t run in her family, but she wasn’t too sure about her mother.

“I wouldna be so certain,” he growled.

Her jaw hit the floor, but before she had time to recover, the room lit up brilliantly like someone had found a light switch. It was lightening, flashing, lighting up the white horses in the painting. Half a second later came the crack and boom of thunder that lit up her bones as she flew off the bed and into Heathcliff’s arms.

He grabbed her tight to sooth her shaking, then threw back his head and laughed; he was shaking too.

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust back to the near-darkness, and when they did, Heathcliff’s eyes were boring into hers. His smile was gone. His hands slid across her back as he pulled her tight...and kissed her.

She guessed, by the way he was kissing her, the granny nightgown hadn’t worked. But then, she hadn’t really wanted it to. And the most primal feminine side of her was thrilled that he found her desirable in spite of everything. She let that side of her enjoy his kiss while the rational side of her stood back and shrieked,
Hello. He insulted us!

Maybe she wasn’t so mentally balanced after all.

McKinnon pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. She heard him say
damn
under his breath, and not in a
hot damn
kind of way.

Her primal feminine ego took a nose dive.

“Wish you wouldn’t have kissed the crazy chick, huh?” She pushed out of his arms and headed for the door. “Well, don’t worry about it, sport. She wishes she hadn’t kissed you either.”

He cleared his throat. “I meant nothing of the sort, lass.”

He didn’t sound convincing at all.

She grabbed the latch and turned to face him, but she couldn’t quite manage a carefree smile.

“It’s pretty silly for me to hang around and argue with you until New Year’s Eve. I’ll just pack my stuff and take off in the morning.”

“Lass, wait.”

She was grateful for easy-opening doors that let her get away quickly. When the tower door shut behind her, she’d taken a few steps before she realized she’d been plunged into the darkness again. But it didn’t matter. Her bedroom was just down the hall. She’d see the firelight under the door in a second or two. 

The hallway suddenly lit up behind her, but she didn’t turn.

“I don’t need your light, thanks. I’m fine.” She picked up the pace, but he grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. She wouldn’t look at him, no matter how he tried to make her.

“Brianna. Please. I must know what ye meant. What is it ye plan to take off in the morning?”

Oh please. What was he hoping for, a strip tease?

“Take off means
go, leave, depart
. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the sun comes up. I’ll tell Angeline goodbye. I won’t run out on her without saying a word.”

“Ye mean to
leave
?”

She nodded once but couldn’t face him. He probably looked relieved, and that would only hurt her feelings worse.

Slowly, finger by finger, he let go of her arm.

She walked as calmly as possible toward her room, hoping he couldn’t tell she was dragging her heart behind her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Once Brianna was in her room, Heathcliff returned to his.

He removed his boots and his cravat, and his coat. Then, without so much as considering the wisdom of it, without considering anything at all, he simply took up the blankets from his bed and dragged them out of the tower and down the hallway where he set his candle on a table next to a figurine. He wrapped the tale of his plaid and his mass of blankets around himself, then sat on the floor with his back against her bedchamber door.

There.

Leave? Of course she could leave—over his dead and frozen body. He didn’t care for her odds, however, since the door was warm at his back and heat slipped out from beneath it.

As he sat in the soft glow of the candle, he thought about the kiss—the kiss that made it quite clear to him that he had, in fact, fallen in love with the woman. He’d reacted badly to the news, though, hadn’t he? Of course, she’d reacted badly to his reaction. So perhaps the lass felt the same about him. The fact that she was quite mad had nothing at all to do with it.

But just how mad was she?

If something unnatural happened around the castle while Grandmother was still alive, none would blink an eye. But the old woman was gone and all excitement had ceased. Hadn’t it?

If he considered the past few days, looking for unnatural happenings, he would have to admit that the child’s arrival had been a bit queer. Welcomed, but queer.

The woman’s arrival of course. The quick disappearance of the coachman along with his four-in-hand. But he’d been so distracted by the...
underthings
perched on Brianna’s head that he mightn’t have noticed the house catching fire for a moment or two—so the man’s departure did not signify.

The storm. A more violent winter he could never remember, especially considering the wee avalanche that might well have taken his life. He thanked God there had been someone about to help him.

Suspecting a child had been a bit unnatural on his part—

But wait! The avalanche. The distraction a moment before.

The murmur. He’d forgotten about the murmur—his words tossed back at him!
The pair of ye should be grateful for one another.

Heathcliff closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wood at his back. How had he forgotten about the voice? The disembodied voice?

He wished there was another Muir Witch nearby upon whom he might call for advice. But all of those who had once lived among his clan were gone. He was the only one left with any Muir blood—

He was the only one left.

He was the only one left!

Heathcliff’s heart jumped from the frightening idea he’d found huddled in the recesses of his mind. He turned over his forearm and looked at the large blue vein through which his Muir blood ran. Brianna believed something unnatural was underfoot. Could
he
be that something?

He’d wished for a family a hundred times before. Why did a child appear in his life now? He’d wanted a wife, and if he’d have been able to fashion a woman to order, he’d have preferred a woman he could love, first and fore. Angelic hair? Lovely blue eyes? Were they not part of many a fantasy that had slipped into his dreams, back when he’d allowed himself to dream?

And the storm? Had he conjured it somehow, when he’d been standing at his window that night, wishing for the ability to communicate with his new child? Or had it been a work of Nature? Perhaps it had, but once it arrived, had it remained because it helped him to keep the woman in his home?