A Highlander Christmas by Sophie Renwick Cindy Miles Dawn Halliday Read Free Book Online Page B

Logan. Let’s leave this place.”

Chapter Four
    Damn it—he’d wanted to find her brooch. With Maggie at his side, Logan strode through the snow in rising frustration, his wounded thigh throbbing. He’d return, search again. It was imperative he find it. The pin was important to Maggie, and therefore it was important to him. He wanted her to have it.
    Through the flurries of snow, the cottage came into view, their tiny haven in a dismal, charcoal world. The idea of returning at dusk to a warm cottage and food appealed to him, but the idea of returning with Maggie at his side made an odd feeling flutter in his chest.
    “Juniper!” she suddenly announced.
    “Juniper?”
    “Aye.” She gestured at a clump of trees just beyond the cottage. “Every year for Christmas and Hogmanay, we decorate the laird’s castle with wreaths of juniper and mistletoe.” She glanced up at him. “May I borrow your dirk? I’ll cut one small branch to hang from the rafters. Just to remind us it’s Christmas.”
    “Of course. I’ll cut one for you.”
    Her lips twisted. “I’m quite capable of cutting a branch of juniper.”
    “Nonetheless, I’d like to help.”
    When they reached the clump of shrublike trees, Maggie chose a long branch heavy with berries, which he sawed off and carried into the cottage. She helped him hang the branch from the center roof beam. Finished with the task, they both stared up at it, inhaling its sweet, woodsy evergreen fragrance.
    “Perfect,” she announced.
    He grinned at her, and this time it came naturally, easily, without having to crack through that layer of ice he’d believed permanently encrusted his skin.
    Outside, the storm gathered force. The temperature dropped severely, and wind blasted through the eaves. Within the warm haven of the cottage, Maggie and Logan drank ale and ate a supper of oatcakes and salted beef. Maggie, sitting on the plaid he’d laid before the fire, cocked her head. “Perhaps it will storm through the day tomorrow.”
    The wistfulness in her words spiked under his skin, and Logan kept his eyes hooded so she wouldn’t see how easily she fired his blood. Any indication that she wished to stay longer with him was enough. “Why?”
    “A windy Christmas bodes very well for the year, according to my mother.”
    “Does it?”
    “Aye. My mother also encouraged the old laird to burn a cailleach on Christmas Eve.”
    “A cailleach ?”
    “The men would carve a log in the shape of an old woman to represent the Queen of Winter. We would build a great bonfire in the castle courtyard, and everyone would watch the queen go up in flames. As she burned away, so did all the terrible things, like death and poverty and grief, that had occurred during the year. Once she turned to ash, the clan could begin the New Year afresh.”
    “Your mother was superstitious.”
    “She was.” Maggie sighed. “I miss her.”
    “When did she die?”
    “It’s almost ten years now. But I remember her every day. Before she died . . . she told me I must keep strong. Keep to myself and remain independent until I knew I was safe.” Maggie gave a small laugh. “I’d no idea what she was talking about.”
    “But now you do?”
    “I . . .” Her voice faltered. “I’m not sure. Perhaps she spoke of a husband who would protect me. But since she died, I’ve always felt safer on my own than under any man’s protection—even my husband’s.” She paused. “I feel safe with you though.”
    That silenced him. They gazed at the fire until she turned to him, raising a dark brow. “Don’t you have any superstitions up north?”
    Logan relaxed against the side of the bed, stretching his legs toward the fire. His leg wound felt better tonight than it had the night before the battle.
    “On Christmas day, we eat bannocks with sowens in the morning—” Logan suppressed a grimace. He had never been fond of sowens, for the bitter taste and gelled texture of the fermented mixture of oat husks and