The Highlander's Yuletide Love (26 page)

Once through
Tweedsmuir and onto the open road, Ranulf found the going slow. It was
difficult to see, as the harsh wind drove the snowflakes into his face. He
gritted his teeth and pressed on, grateful when high hedges cut the gale that
felt as though it blew through him, or lights from nearby farmsteads made it
easier to find the road, and he could move more quickly. He missed a turning,
and had to double back, wasting nearly an hour, but, eventually, he found
himself at a crossroads that seemed familiar. The wind blew an opening in the
clouds and in an instant of moonlight he could read “Dargen” on the signpost,
and he sighed with relief.

Ranulf was
unsure of the time, but was certain it could be no later than ten o’clock. He
gave his horse a nudge, and headed down the road, feeling somewhat certain of
reaching Glencairn by midnight. Although the conditions remained foul, the road
difficult to follow, and both he and the horse were shivering, his heart grew
lighter at the idea of seeing Sophy again. It seemed like only a few minutes
had passed, though he knew it must have been at least an hour, when he came to
Dargen village, crossing over the little bridge, and noting the village church,
candles lighting the nave. The tavern beckoned with light and warmth, but still
unsure of the time, he didn’t take the risk of stopping.

Ranulf reached
the stone columns that flanked the drive leading to Glencairn Castle, and
turned into the lane of thick trees that lined it. They blocked the wind, and
he found himself watching the snow drop straight from the sky instead of
swirling before him. His horse stumbled with weariness, so he dismounted and
walked the last quarter mile.

At last he
reached the castle, where the wide stone steps leading up to the heavy door
beckoned him. But first he wrapped the horse’s reins around a tree branch out
of the wind and opened the saddlebag, removing the whisky, brown bread, and bag
of salt. He reached under his cape and placed them in the pocket of his coat
before walking to the steps and mounting them. He stood against the wall, his
body aching with fatigue and cold, to await the passing of the old year.

Before long his
patience was rewarded. Ranulf heard the sound of the bells from the village
church peal out at midnight. Now was the time to put his fate to the test. He
walked to the massive oak door, and gripped the huge brass knocker firmly
before letting it drop onto the plate with a hollow thud.

Inside, the
sound of the door knocker could be heard in the Great Hall, where a merry party
of the Learmouth family, servants, and their friends Mr. and Mrs. Beattie and
their two small children, had just finished joining together to sing
Auld
Lang Syne
.

“It’s the First
Foot!” Douglas exclaimed, as MacDonald went to answer the knock.

“He’s here very
early,” Glencairn remarked. “Must want to get home in this perishing snow
before it’s much later.”

“Who do you
suppose it will be this year?” Sophy wondered.

“Perhaps the
smith?” Douglas replied. “He’s tall and dark and hasn’t been here for a few
years.”

Just then
MacDonald returned, followed by a tall, dark gentleman, wearing a wet coat, his
hair dripping with melted snow.

“Colonel
Stirling,” he announced loudly. “The First Foot.”

Sophy gave a cry
of delight and then burst out from the crowd of people staring at Ranulf in
amazement and raced towards him, hurling herself onto his chest.

He grasped her
tightly and lifted her up, before wrapping her in his arms and kissing her in
front of the stunned company.

“You have to
marry me now,” he whispered. “You’ve no choice after that display.”

“Oh, I don’t
care, I know now that I want you, and did all along. I’m so glad you came here,
because I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Ranulf kissed her
chastely on her cheek before releasing her, and looked up to see Glencairn
approaching. He pulled the bottle of whisky, loaf of bread, and bag of salt
from his pocket, and presented them to the Earl.

“A Happy New
Year and good tidings to you and yours,” he said.

“And to you,”
the earl replied, and then turned to face the crowd. “There are drinks on the
table. Take a glass and toast the New Year and our First Foot.”

When everyone
present held a glass, Glencairn raised up his and cried “Sláinte!” as the group
echoed him.

Then the earl
turned to Ranulf and Sophy, looking at them with a question in his eyes. As
they smiled at each other and then nodded at him, he turned back to the
company. “To Ranulf Stirling and my daughter, Lady Sophia Learmouth, who are
announcing their engagement today!”

While the guests
clapped and cheered, Ranulf tucked an arm about Sophy’s waist and gazed into
her eyes. They clinked their glasses together and whispered the toast to one
another. As the celebration continued, they slowly inched to the edge of the
group of revelers and slipped into the library. A little fire burned merrily in
the grate, and they stood together, Sophy clasped in Ranulf’s arms, her head
tucked under his chin.

“I missed you,”
she whispered.

“And I you. I
let my pride hold me back from writing or coming here. I was a fool.”

“I was so happy
to see you standing there with MacDonald. No First Foot has ever brought me
better luck for Hogmanay.”

Ranulf lifted
her chin with his fingers, and pressed his lips to hers, tenderly at first, and
then with mounting passion. He stopped himself with a little laugh. “No more of
that. Someone could come in at any moment.”

“We’ll have
plenty more opportunities—we have our whole lives,” Sophy whispered, drawing a
tender hand down his cheek and across his lips. “What made you come here after
me? I wanted you, but I didn’t know what to do.”

“I was miserable
after you left, but my pride held me captive until my father, the night he
died, told me to bring you back to Spaethness.”

“Your father
died?” Sophy asked in astonishment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,”
Ranulf said. “He had a long life, and went easily, early Christmas morning. He
knew that I would come here for you as soon as possible. That may have been the
thing that made him feel he could let go.”

Sophy thought of
Ranulf’s father, hovering near death, telling his son to find her, and then of
her mother, and the strange vision she’d had at midnight on Christmas Eve. It
didn’t feel like something she could share with anyone, even Ranulf. But as he
took her in his arms again she had the strangest idea that upstairs, her mother
was smiling.

Harriet walked
into the Glencairn church early on the day before Easter. In addition to the
decorations the parishioners had brought to the church for Easter service,
there were branches of cherry blossoms bound to the ends of the pew with white
satin bows. She ran an expert eye over each of them and then walked up to the
altar to examine the flower arrangements there. Beautiful white and pink roses
that had been forced in Glencairn’s greenhouses, along with fragrant lilies,
occupied large porcelain vases. She touched them with a nod of approval, and,
knowing that all was in order, left to prepare for the wedding.

Two hours later
the church was full of family, friends, and parishioners. Ranulf, Laird of
Spaethness, stood at the altar, wearing a kilt in the Stirling family tartan
and a formal black coat, while Francis, Viscount Exencour, stood at his side. As
the music began, the Earl of Glencairn walked up the aisle with Sophy on his
arm. She wore a simple white silk gauze gown with a ruffled bodice and sleeves
and a full skirt ornamented with four rows of smocking, as well as her mother’s
pearl necklace and earrings. Her smile as she embraced her father and then
turned towards Ranulf was radiant, her eyes bright with joy and anticipation.

As Ranulf
eagerly stepped forward to take her hand, and the minister started the order of
service, she gazed up, feeling their love for each other mingle with that of
the crowd of well-wishers. Later, she barely remembered saying her vows, or
Ranulf sliding the ring onto her finger, only realizing they were wed when the
congregation cheered as they walked back down the aisle together and out into
the welcoming spring sunshine.

At the wedding
breakfast that followed in the Great Hall, Sophy’s painting of the carriage in
peril after a Highland storm had been brought from her studio and hung on the
wall. She showed it to Ranulf, who was seeing it for the first time.

“I didn’t
realize that I needed you to rescue me until Douglas pointed it out when he
first saw the painting,” she said. “I felt like such a fool, running away from
you when I might have had such happiness.”

“I needed you to
rescue me as well,” he murmured. “I was well on my way to repeating my father’s
mistakes – marrying a woman I didn’t love, and becoming a cold and distant
father.”

“I’m sorry I
doubted you.” She grinned. “But you had such a way with the ladies--I didn’t
think you could truly love me, with so many more worldly women to choose from.”

“I was never was
truly interested in any of them, my dear—I was bored, and it was a game we
played. I guarded my heart jealously. Even when I proposed to you, I refused to
believe I loved you. It took my father’s story of how he lost the only woman he
loved to make me realize that I needed you, and only you. When I thought I
might never touch you again I felt such emptiness, and knew I must find you.”

“We’ll take it
home to Spaethness and hang it in the Great Hall there, to remind us of our
love and our luck,” Sophy said softly.

Just then, one
of the guests called for a toast, and Sophy and Ranulf found themselves swept
up by their loved ones, as glasses of champagne were thrust into their hands.

“Sláinte,” the
guests cried, and Ranulf drained his glass before taking Sophy in his arms and
kissing her.

A Word from the Author:

I hope you
enjoyed reading
The Highlander’s
Yuletide Love.
It was so nice revisiting the characters from
The
Yuletide Countess
.

If you liked
this book, would you consider reviewing it on Amazon? It's very helpful to me
as an author and to your fellow readers. I'd really appreciate your
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www.aheyerlove.com
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