Christmas Kiss (A Holiday Romance) (Kisses and Carriages) (20 page)

“Crazy?”

“You know. Nuts. Insanity.”

“Madness, then. Madness I can manage. And this song—my grandmother used to sing it to me.”

“The witch?”

“Aye,” he said without hesitation this time. “Mayhap she taught it to me a’purpose.

“Let not yer cries...call down the moon. Let not yer prayers...be led astray.
I must take the blame for that. Before ye came to my door that night, I had been in the East Tower, complainin’ to the moon, or anyone else who would listen. I begged for help. I promised to give all I had, if help were sent to me, so that I might be able to speak to Angeline. I so desperately wanted her to be my own.”

“Well, maybe she can be, still, if we can get her back. What’s the next line?”

“I’ the coachman’s guise, he’ll grant yer boon, and ye shall rue...the price ye pay.
So the moon was called, and he came as The Coachman. And the cost was Angeline. Satan himself couldn’t have exacted a meaner price.”

“And next?”

“
Take back the breath. Take back the sigh. Give not yer name... Yer boon deny.”

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. This is a remedy, right? You just have to take back your wish!”

He set her aside, then stood and moved to the window. Carefully, he opened the shutters once again, used his cravat to sweep away the traces of glass, then braced his hands on the ledge.

“God, Odin, whoever ye are! I take it...” He turned away from the window, his face etched with horror. “But I doona take it back! I doona! To do so would wish ye away, Brianna! I cannot wish ye away! May Angeline forgive me, I canna do it! We’ll have to think of another way to get her back.” He sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his face into his hands. His fingers slipped into his hair and then curled into fists. “Poor Angeline! She deserves better than I. Forgive me.” Then he whispered it. “Forgive me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Brianna felt like someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart, only to hold it up in front of her, so she could watch it bleeding out. Nothing in her life had ever felt so horrible as watching Heathcliff tormented.

She found herself hunched over the laird of the manor, trying to wrap herself around his massive arms, but barely reaching his elbows.

“Shh. We’ll figure this out. Don’t give up, Heathcliff. He hasn’t beaten us yet. What about the second part? How can you take back your name?” She ignored the part about denying the boon. He obviously wasn’t willing to give her back, if in fact she was the boon the song referred to.

“I never offered me name to the moon. Not that I can remember.”

Bree’s stomach sank. She eased away from the bed. It took her a minute to be able to speak. She wanted to cower against the wall again, but she wouldn’t.

“I did,” she croaked. “When he came for me, on the road, he asked for my full name, to be sure he was picking up the right person. I thought he was from the tour company. I told him my full name.”

Heathcliff looked more worried than ever. “Did ye call down the moon as well, love?”

Bree began to pace to the window and back again. “I promise I didn’t talk to the moon. I didn’t. I mean...really.” But even as she said the words, she remembered the sight of a fat full moon sharing the sky with her as she flew from Spokane to Atlanta, for her first leg of the trip to Scotland. She remembered her breath fogging the glass. She wiped it away while she stared at the circle of light.

Heathcliff rose to his feet, delicately took her scratched hands in his. “What is it?”

“I’ll go back to the way it was—back to being happy—or die trying.”
She looked up into his eyes. “That’s what I said while I was staring at the moon. But I wasn’t outside. I was just looking out the window.”

“I think a demon that would steal our Angeline would not quibble with such a wee detail. So ye’ve come back, but not to yerself—ye’ve come back to the way it was, the way it was in 1806, lass. And ye nearly died trying.”

He pulled her to him, hugging her against him like he was trying to absorb her into himself. Her jaw was held tight. She had to talk through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t die, Heathcliff. You can let go of me now.”

He loosened his arms, but didn’t let go. He pressed his mouth into her shoulder, then murmured against her shirt.

“And yer boon, lass. Would you deny yer boon? Have ye found at least a wee bit of happiness here?” He wouldn’t let her pull away. Maybe he didn’t dare see the look on her face, but he worried for nothing.

“I won’t deny my boon, big boy.  I promise. No matter what happens, okay?”

Finally, he let her go. The tears in his eyes were different this time. Happy tears. He looked like a puppy that thought he was going to be left behind, but had just been invited to jump into the back of the truck. There wasn’t a sign in ASL to express it accurately.

But then he was right back to worrying.

“
The Foolish Fire...comes not in twain.’Tis the coachman’s lanterns come for ye.”

“What’s the Foolish Fire?” she asked, but hadn’t wanted to.

“The Foolish Fire—the Will o’ the Wisp. Some legends say it will lead lost travelers to safety. Some say it will lead them to doom.  
Comes not in twain
refers to the fact that it doesn’t come in pairs. If you see two lights, they are the coachman’s lanterns and ye should not trust them.”

“Too late. So now what?”

“With hands of white...and horses matched. He’ll guide thy love...to broken heart.”

“Well, I’ve seen the white hands—at least one of them, anyway—and the horses were white. We can just skip the rest of that. What next?”

“Forgive me, love.”

She shook her head. “What’s next?”

He smiled sadly then nodded. His hair fell forward and the shadow it caused made her move around so the fire would light up his face again. And a little voice in her head told her she’d better take a good long look, so she could remember.

“Of measured dreams...he’ll grant behalf. And take from thee...e’en the beggar’s part.
He’ll be comin’ for all I have, at midnight, or so read the letter.”

“Keep going. There has to be something in the rest of it. Some way to beat him.”

“He’ll calm the hounds... The wind he’ll wield when the Moon he walks ‘mong beasts and man. So be still yer hopes... Trust not the yield.”

His eyes filled with pain then. Was he remembering the times he did not trust her? Or did he consider her to be the yield?

“Going to take the moon’s word for it, and not trust me?”

“I doona trust that I can keep you, lass. If ye, too, are taken from me, I dinna ken if I can survive it.”

“Stop that. Keep going. What’s next?”

He shrugged, shook his head, took a breath.
“‘Til the hounds behowl the night again.”

“So we know we’re safe when we hear some wolf howl?”

“When the moon has returned to his place in the sky, the hounds
will
howl.”

She marched to the window and looked out. The clouds were still thick. No moon. No stars. The wind was picking up a little and she wondered how close they were to midnight. Would the storm kick up again? Maybe they’d get lucky and the coachman, whoever he really was, wouldn’t be able to get through. Maybe she could be stuck there forever.

But that wouldn’t get Angeline back.

“So we’ll know when to stop worrying. Great. But we’ve got to get Angeline back before we worry about howling wolves. What next?”

Heathcliff shook his head.

“It’s okay. I can take it. I promise not to freak out. What’s next?”

He shook his head again. “Nothing more, lass. There is naught more to the song.”

Bree’s chest constricted. She had to pull hard to get air into her lungs. Then she had a thought.

“Your grandmother taught you the song? Maybe there was more. Is it in a book somewhere?” If she was home, she could look it up on the internet. But she wasn’t home.

She wasn’t home.
Yet
.

She was four feet from Heathcliff, but it seemed like the Grand Canyon at the moment. They weren’t even from the same time, for hell sakes. There was no way they were supposed to be together.

He must have read her thoughts, because he hurried toward her with his arms out, probably to hug her to death again. And as much as she would like to let him, she couldn’t do it.

She stepped back and held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t! We can’t do this.”

“Whatever it is ye’re thinkin’, lass, ye must cease thinkin’ it.”

“I’m thinking we’re not supposed to be together. This was a fluke. This was a cruel joke by a cruel...whatever he is. Leading us to a broken heart, right? He never intended to let us be together, don’t you see? In the end, we... Can’t. Be. Together.”

He stepped forward again, his head shaking in denial, but in his eyes, she could tell—he was afraid she was right.

She ducked away and put more distance between them. He didn’t turn to follow her. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“
We
can’t be together,” she said carefully. “But you and Angeline can. You have to take it back, Heathcliff. You have to take back the wish. Take it back and you can at least have Angeline. You don’t need me. You two are clever. You can work out a way to communicate. Make up your own signs. You were doing just fine. You didn’t even need me after all.”

He didn’t move.

“Trust not the yield, Heathcliff. You can’t trust what there is between us. That’s got to be what it means. Don’t trust it. Take back your wish. And it will probably send me back.” She just hoped she wouldn’t wake up in that ditch again, or standing in her suitcase in the middle of the road. If she did, she’d take a chance and crawl around looking for her handbag, for the cell phone. She wasn’t going to wait around for the Foolish Fire, or lanterns. She would use good old technology to save her ass.

Heathcliff finally turned and came at her. She had no chance to get away. His hands raised to her face. His mouth pressed frantically against hers and their faces crushed into each other in a fervent kiss. She finally had to pull back to be able to breathe. But before she could find his lips again, he was moving away from her, taking huge strides over to the window.

“I take it back,” he roared. “I take back the breath. I take back the sigh. I take back the wish I made, the plea for help.” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “I refuse this boon! Take it away!”

He lingered there and she realized he didn’t want to look at her again. It broke her heart, but she padded quietly to the door and opened it.

And the clock from the parlor began to chime.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Midnight.

She’d heard the clock chime for a week and it had never before taken so long to strike the hour. Never. Everything happened in slow motion.

Heathcliff had a hold of her hand before she ever took a step into the hall, then they were there, together, taking each stair in unison. They moved like one person, looking forward, no need to look at each other. Nothing to say.

The clock struck midnight as they walked off the last step.

The first knock rang through the hall like the coachman had brought his own knocker from Hell.

They open the door together. The coachman stood with a grin on his face. He wore the  same top hat. Behind him, one of the carriage horses shook his mane and she recognized the jingling. Was Angeline sitting inside that warm, comfortable coach?

“Good even, Miss Bree. And how was your tour of the Heart of Scotland? Did you enjoy it? The Heart of Scotland?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wanted to know the Heart of Scotland. And now you do. It beats in yon chest, it does.” The man looked at Heathcliff’s broad upper body. “It beats in the chest of most Scotsmen, truth be told. But this particular Scotsman needed your expertise, you might say.”

He addressed Heathcliff.

“And you, sir. You got what you asked for, did you not?”

“I asked for help, to communicate with m’ new daughter, but ye took her away, ye bastard. How dare ye? Where is my child?” Heathcliff shook, but held his ground. Bree was surprised he didn’t try to jump on the man and beat a confession out of him. But then again, he probably wasn’t a man at all. And who knew what he’d do if they pissed him off?

“Well, as to that,” the old man’s smile slipped. “Ye were told she was yers for the now. Ye were not told she would be yers for all time. Besides, the child is mine and not truly a child at all. She couldna speak because she is a moon child, ye see.”

Heathcliff’s hand squeezed hers in a bruising grip and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Angeline was okay. She didn’t belong to him anymore, but she was okay. And if Heathcliff wasn’t going to fall apart, neither would she.

“And who are you supposed to be, The Man in the Moon?” Bree couldn’t help but sneer. It was just so ridiculous! She couldn’t believe she was standing there with two other adults having such an impossible conversation.

“Did I not give ye leave to call me such?” The coachman turned back to Heathcliff. “And now, the piper must be paid, good sir.”

“But I didn’t ask for help until after ye’d already given her to me. If she’d never come, I would have never needed the help. Ye were scheming to drive me mad all along!”

“Oh, ye’ve asked me for many a thing o’er the years, young Heathcliff, but what ye truly wished for, ye still hold in your hand.”

Bree looked down, but the only thing Heathcliff was holding was her fingers. At least it looked like he was—her fingers were so numb from holding on so tight, she couldn’t feel much.

As if he’d just stepped onto a stage, the coachman sang the song again. When he was finished, he looked disappointed, like he’d expected them to break out in applause.

“Well, lassie, ye got your Christmas kiss. Ye got to be appreciated for the gifts ye possess. Ye saw the Heart of Scotland. Now you must hand it back.”

Heathcliff pulled her hand against his chest and looked into her eyes. “No. Stay, Brianna. Stay.”