A Stockingful of Joy (6 page)

"Triona." He sat up and leaned close. "Come to Glenran."

She shook her head. "I cannot do that."

"You can hardly stay here for the winter."

"It is comfortable enough here," she said defensively.

"You need food, fuel—"

"I will manage. Patrick and Angus will help me to hunt and fish and find fuel."

"We can support you at Glenran," he said. She shook her head again and looked away. "It is dangerous for you to stay here. Even if you had enough supplies, you are alone."

Alone
. She had begun to discover how very much she craved his solace and companionship. She rose briskly to her feet and turned toward the window. "I will be fine here."

"Catriona." He stood and touched her shoulder. His soft voice and the heat of his hand made her want to turn toward him. She stayed still. "Come with me," he said.

"I need to be here," she said. "The children need me."

Behind her, he heaved an exasperated breath. "I am sure your cousins can come as well. Callum will not turn them away. His father took in many orphans for fostering, all cousins, by the way. I was one of them," he added.

She tilted her head. "You were orphaned?"

He nodded. "By MacDonalds."

She turned then. His somber gaze and the muscle that thumped in his cheek told her that he knew the pain of growing up without a natural father, as she had done, as the MacGhille children would have to do.

She sighed. "I had heard that Lachlann fostered several fatherless babes. You were one of those, then."

"Fortunately, I was. He was a good man."

"He was generous to me, too, when I was born." She paused. "A Fraser killed my father, a MacDonald killed yours. And Lachlann of Glenran helped us both."

"Then let his kindness be our bond," he murmured. "Lachlann would not want us to continue the bitter feud between our kin. Come to Glenran with me."

She shook her head. "That will not gain back Kilernan."

"It will not," he agreed. "But you will be protected."

"I do not need protection. I need my home. The children are the only kin I have, other than my uncle. Help me gain a home for them." She looked up at him, and felt the rising sting of tears. She blinked them back.

He tilted her chin with his fingers. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. I cannot."

"There must be a way," she said. His hand on her chin, his warm, steady gaze, held her pinioned as she stared up at him. When his thumb brushed over her lower lip, she felt a flood of need rush through her. He lowered his head.

"Stubborn girl," he whispered. His gaze moved down to her mouth, traced up again. His fingers were warm and firm as they slid to cup her cheek, and his breath was soft on her skin. "Let me help you. Let me protect you."

Her heart quickened. Frasers and MacDonalds, Kilernan and promises, seemed far distant suddenly. She watched his lips, his eyes, and moved closer to him by a breath, tilting her head in silent answer. Her body, her heart, surged toward him, seeking.

His mouth covered hers then, gently, poignantly. Joy curled sudden and deep within her, and rose like a wave of the sea. She let out a little moan as he pulled her into the circle of his arms and slanted his lips over hers, drinking there, his hands warm and strong on her back.

Beside her, Cù leaped to the windowsill, nearly upsetting the candle. Startled, Catriona broke away from Kenneth, her cheeks hot, heart slamming. The cat mewled and jumped down, striding to the front door and meowing there.

"Cù wants to go out, I think," she breathed.

Kenneth leaned past her, his hand at her waist, and peered through the crack in the shutter. "That cat is more of a watchdog than I thought," he said grimly. "Look."

Catriona did, and saw three horsemen riding into the yard. "Parian, and his kin!" she gasped, and pushed at Kenneth's chest. "Hide, quickly—get into the box-bed!"

"Hide? I owe them a beating, and I have the right to deliver it."

"I will not have bloodshed and fighting in my home on New Year's Day! You might be hurt! And it is hardly a good omen!"

He sighed. "Talk to Parian through the door, then, and do not let him in. That should keep your house free of poor omens."

She slid him a sharp look, bit back a remark about wounded first-footers, and went to the door.

Kenneth folded his arms over his chest and waited, watching Catriona. She pressed her hands against the door and sent him a nervous glance. When the first knock sounded, she jumped.

"Who's there?" she called quickly.

"Parian MacDonald." His voice, through the door, was thick and deep. Kenneth
peered stealthily through the shutter crack; he saw a blond, huge young man,
wrapped in a red plaid that added more bulk to his heavy build. Surely Parian
was the same man who had attacked him on New Year's Eve; the other MacDonalds looked familiar, too. Kenneth scowled, feeling a gut-centered urge to go outside and settle a debt. But he had promised Catriona that no violence would mar her New Year's Day.

"What do you want, Parian?" Catriona asked. "It is after dark. You should be at home on such a cold night."

"I came to wish you well for the New Year," Parian answered. "I came earlier with my cousins, but you were not here, and your horse was gone. So we came back."

"I went to see the MacGhille children," she said. "Thank you for thinking of me. Good night."

"Catriona," Parian said, knocking again. "Let me come in."

"I will not," she said. "It is late."

"Hugh told me to come here and see that you were well. Let me in, Catriona. Let me in, girl." His voice sounded slurred.

Kenneth moved toward Catriona and leaned a shoulder firmly against the door. He glanced down at her pale face.

"He's drunk," she whispered. "He is often so."

Parian knocked again. "The wind is strong, and the air is cold. Will you not offer me a dram?"

"You have had your share of drams tonight," she said primly. "And you must not be my first-foot of the New Year. You are blond-headed."

"Then let my cousin Niall in first. He is dark-haired."

"He is a gloomy man, and is surely unlucky, too," she said.

"No one lets me inside first on New Year's," Parian grumbled. "Hugh would not let me in the hall this morning until someone else set foot in there before me."

"Go back to Kilernan," she said firmly. "I am tired, and I want no visitors just now. Good night."

"Catriona, your uncle sends a message," Parian said. "He wants you to stop this nonsense and come home."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed.

"We both think this hiding in the hills is silliness. Come home, and wed me. Hugh expects you to be the queen at his Twelfth Night feast in three days."

"Tell him I have no mood for revelry," she said.

"If you are not at Kilernan by Twelfth Night Eve, Hugh says he will ride here himself and carry you back."

Catriona sighed wearily. "I will think about his invitation. Go home, now."

"Catriona—we saw a Fraser in these hills yesterday. We knocked him from his horse. Have you seen any strangers?"

She glanced swiftly at Kenneth. "None at all. But I will be careful."

"If you are anxious, I could stay with you," Parian said.

"I will be fine. Good night, Parian."

"Catriona, I do not like to leave you alone here."

"Good night!" She faced Kenneth, waiting silently with him. When hoofbeats finally thudded out of the yard, Catriona sighed and looked up. "He will come back tomorrow. If he finds you here—"

"I will be gone by then. Come with me." Kenneth brushed back a lock of her hair. When he touched her, the memory of the kiss they had shared rushed through him like lightning.

She turned away abruptly. "Every man I know wants me to do what pleases him," she said. "None of you care what pleases me." Grabbing a folded plaid, she shook it out vigorously and laid it on the floor near the hearthstones.

"You do not have to sleep on the floor," he said.

"I know," she said. "This pallet is for you. I want my own bed tonight." She knelt by the hearth to stir the soup that simmered in the kettle.

Kenneth accepted the bowl she handed him with quiet thanks. They ate in silence, and afterward Catriona stacked the bowls and spoons. "I will clean them tomorrow," she said. "It is poor luck to clean dishes on New Year's Day."

"You are careful of such things," Kenneth said.

"I need to be, to improve my luck," she said.

"Good fortune will come to you this year, Catriona," he said. "I promise." He reached out and took her hand, pulling her down to sit beside him on the bench.

She slid him a wary look. "I do not trust Fraser promises."

He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Trust this one," he said. "Good luck will be yours this year."

Her look was still doubtful. "You sound like a soothsayer."

"My cousin is one. And she would tell you that you need a strong good-luck charm to cleanse away the old year and seal the luck of the new."

"The best omen I have had so far this year was a beaten and bleeding first-foot." She scowled at him, but he smiled in return. "It would take a strong omen to balance that out."

"True. Did you know," he murmured, "that the most powerful charm of all for New Year's Day… is a kiss?"

A blush colored her cheek. "I know. We have done that."

"We could bless the year again. If you like," he added.

She watched him, her eyes deep blue wells, filled with uncertainty, and a hint of yearning. Slowly she closed her eyes and lifted her face. He leaned toward her.

She tasted salty, like the broth, and sweet, like warm honey. Kenneth sank his fingers in her hair, cupping the back of her head as he kissed her deeply, gently, touching his lips to hers, lifting, touching again. She sighed and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she tilted her mouth beneath his, her lips opening tentatively.

His body surged. He had not touched a woman in a long while, but the need that made him quaver now, that stirred through him like a flame in the dark, was far deeper than physical. He wanted her profoundly, in his heart, in his blood.

He remembered, distantly, vaguely, as if it had happened decades ago, that he had felt a shadow of this for Anna. But what swept through him now was more powerful, soul-deep. He could not explain it, but knew its strength was great.

Wanting her fiercely, he held back, sensing that her willful nature had a fragile side, too. He kissed her gently, pressing a hand against the sweet curve in her lower back, but no more than that. She sighed and broke the kiss, tipping her brow against his shoulder.

"Enough blessing," she said breathlessly.

He smiled, his cheek against her hair. "That should bring us both some luck." He drew a breath and waited for the thudding in his heart to calm.

Catriona laughed, a breathy gulp, and sat up, her cheeks flushed and velvety. She stood and picked up her plaid, throwing it around her shoulders.

He stood, too. "I will see to the animals," he said, guessing what she intended to do. "You stay here, by the fire. Stay warm. That wind sounds wickedly strong." He fetched his spare plaid and wrapped it over his head and shoulders. Catriona opened the door for him, and he stepped into a rough, icy wind.

By the time he returned, Catriona had gone to bed. The curtains of the box-bed were closed. Kenneth took off his plaid and moved toward the window, where the candle still burned.

"Do not blow it out," she said from behind the curtain. "The light will attract good spirits. And please watch the fire, to see that it does not go out on the first day of the year."

"I will. Good night, then." He stretched out by the hearth. The cat jumped up on him, and Kenneth made room for both of them. He watched the glowing fire and listened to the wind howl and push past the little house; he thought about luck, and promises, and the unknown year.

Catriona had enjoyed too little luck, he knew. He wished he knew a charm to grant whatever she wanted—safety for her and the children, home, happiness. He thought of Anna, who had never known lack or struggle until her brief illness. Kenneth had been her betrothed, her lover; but she had not truly needed him until the last days of her life. Her death had left him lacking.

Catriona needed him. He knew that, even if she did not. He would leave tomorrow, but he would return to bring her food and goods, and to watch over her. Lachlann would have wanted someone at Glenran to fulfill his promise. And Kenneth had made his own pledge to improve Catriona's luck. He felt an odd sense of obligation; the Frasers owed her something—and he had been her first-foot of the year.

As he drifted to sleep, he wondered if Kilernan could be taken without attack. Then he sighed, for that deed was impossible. He realized, too, that once he left here, Catriona might not accept further visits or gifts from him. He was a Fraser, after all. She was not fond of Frasers.

He wished, suddenly, that she was.

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Sleet hurtled downward on shrieking winds, rattling against the walls and the roof. Catriona slid out of bed in a murky gray light, and wondered if it was morning yet. She pulled her plaid over her linen chemise and went to the door, cracking it open.

Icicles hung crystalline from the doorway, the byre, and the trees. Frozen rain poured down in fine sheets from a dark sky. Catriona shivered as the wind cut past her, and stepped back, bumping into Kenneth, who now stood just behind her.

He peered out. "Poor weather," he commented dryly. "I had better go see to the horses and the cow. They could freeze to death in this." He shut the door and turned. "Even with a hearth fire, it will be hard to stay warm inside today."

"You cannot ride to Glenran in this," she said.

"I cannot. Will you mind if I stay a bit longer?" He smiled and shoved a hand through his tangled hair. She noticed the sleepy creases around his brown eyes, and the heavier beard shadowing his firm jaw. He looked tousled and comfortable, standing beside her in his rumpled shirt and trews. Suddenly she did not want him to leave, regardless of the weather.