Sweet Home Highland Christmas Read online

  A momentary hush fell between them. His eyes fixed on hers. The thought ran through Freya’s mind as he gazed at her that this man was truly seeing her. Not the exterior of a woman, but the person she’d become since taking charge of her niece. And this unsettled her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, drawn to him. No one, including her father, really understood the transformation her life had undergone.

  She searched for something to say to break the silence. “My father tells me I lecture too much. I apologize if I’ve come across as some didactic old crone, Captain.”

  “You can call me Penn. That’s what my friends call me.”

  She hesitated, unsure of how this would sound to others.

  “And to my family, I’m Gregory. I’d be very pleased if we could curtail this formality.”

  “Gregory it is then,” she said quietly. “And pray, call me Freya. That’s how my family refers to me. And you already know Ella’s name for me.”

  “Fie.” He smiled. “Like a fairy. You’re Ella’s magical keeper, spreading your unseen wings around the little pixy, keeping her secure from the world.”

  His voice spread over her like poetry. Freya’s face caught fire, and her insides were like the candle on the table, melting in this man’s presence.

  He added some wine to his cup. He charmed her, enthralled her. There was so much that she wanted to know about him, questions that she had. But she had no right to ask. Where her heart was straying, her mind could not allow her to go.

  Freya forced her attention back to the clatter of dice and the hum of voices beyond the curtain. Sitting across from each other at the table, there was nowhere else she could look but at him. And there was nothing nearly as interesting to think of but the man before her.

  “May I ask a personal question?” he asked.

  “Everything we’ve been talking about tonight has been personal, Captain . . . I mean, Gregory.” She took another sip and prepared herself.

  His smile was lethal. It reached his magical eyes, and Freya’s heart began a new dance in her chest.

  “Why didn’t you marry someone before now?” he asked.

  “You mean to someone other than the colonel?”

  He shrugged and swirled the wine in his cup.

  “Well . . .”

  “And I want an honest answer,” he pressed. “We are talking as friends here. No hesitating to sort through your thoughts or weigh the consequences of your answer.”

  “Is that how friends converse?” She laughed. “With no consideration of the consequences of their words?”

  “Well, let’s say for this question, you need not fear being misunderstood.”

  Friends. She repeated the word in her mind. She’d never had a man refer to her as a friend. Very well. Having such a defined relationship made their situation—their close proximity in traveling in the same carriage and the time they’d be spending with each other on the road—far more comfortable. It also helped cool the forbidden fancies of her heart.

  “I’ve never left Torrishbrae for the expressed purpose of finding a potential husband,” she said flatly. “I’ve had no time for the social world of London or even Edinburgh. That is why I’ve never married. And I have no regrets. My life has been so full. Ella has been my whole world.”

  “And now?” he asked, sitting back from the table. His face lay half in shadow. “When you consider the difficulties you’re facing presently, do you have any regrets?”

  “As I said earlier, I’m certain the rumors that you heard about my cousin were a mistake. I am counting on him to hold up his part of the bargain.”

  “I’ve only known you a short time, but I know that in this bargain, you are being cheated.”

  Freya was not intimidated by his fierce expression of honesty. Her own father was famous for it. Living with it for her whole life instilled in her a toughness and an ability to see the world clearly.

  “There is no changing the fact that he will be the next Baron of Torrishbrae. By marrying him, I will have Ella. That’s all I seek.”

  “You will have Ella, but it is naïve to think that Dunbar’s disposition and how he conducts his affairs won’t affect your life,” he persisted. “The man is a known gambler. An opportunist. One who will behave in an ungentlemanly manner if it will turn a situation to his favor. He is—”

  “He is my cousin, Captain,” she interrupted. She knew all of this and more. But for the past month, she’d stewed over this, discussed it with her father. “I’ve looked at this from every possible angle, and my options are gone. If I am to keep Ella, I must take whatever future presents itself with this man.”

  Standing, she started out and then stopped. Freya didn’t want to leave with hard feelings. She valued their conversation and the friendship that seemed to be emerging between them.

  “Thank you, Gregory, for the chance to speak my mind,” she said softly. “But for better or worse, Colonel Dunbar is the only possibility I have.”

  Chapter Four

  Penn remembered someone saying the best preparation for traveling in the Highlands in the winter was making out your will. With the ice on the road and only six hours of daylight at this time of the year, the dangers were evident. But he wasn’t going to keep a child cooped up in a carriage from well before sunrise to well after dark.

  He glanced up at the sunless sky as he walked across the inn’s stable yard. Their horses were being fed and rested. They still had hours to travel today, but it was already growing darker.

  Behind the stable, a glen of fir trees sloped down from the low rise that the coast road had been following. As they’d approached from the north, he’d seen a wide mill pond extending out from the woodland. It was the perfect place for Ella to stretch her little legs and tire herself with exercise.

  Making his way down through the clusters of pine and spruce, he saw no trace of Freya and her niece. With the trees cutting off the wind, a muffled silence surrounded him. He reached a fork in the path and stopped, listening for some sign of them. Hearing a whisper of laughter, he followed the sound and soon found the frozen pond, nestled into the snow-covered meadow beyond the glen.

  The nursemaid sat on a log with her back to him. Penn’s eyes fixed on Freya and her niece as the two, holding each other’s hands, spun in a circle on the smooth ice.

  Listening to the happy laughter, he watched what seemed to be a competition as to who would slip and fall first.

  “Hold on tight,” Freya yelled as they picked up momentum, both their feet moving faster and faster as they whirled about each other.

  “I’m going to fall,” Ella screamed, laughing.

  “I won’t let you go.”

  Penn watched Freya. The hood of her blue cloak was tossed back, her light-brown curls fighting to be free of their bonds. The ruby lips and cold-reddened cheeks illuminated the gray countryside, and he thought that if he could paint perfection, it would start with this vision.

  Their conversation in the taproom kept coming back to him throughout the night and this morning. Her words about courage and accepting responsibility. Freya was mature beyond her years . . . and selfless in a way that many never achieved. He thought of his own family. His mother, Millicent. His sister Jo, and his two younger sisters. How pleased they’d be to meet a woman who embodied the same values they prized.

  “Slow down. I am going to faint,” Freya called out as the two giggled and laughed.

  When it was safe, she let go of her niece’s hand, then promptly bent down and sat on the ice, holding a hand to her forehead.

  “I win. I win.”

  Penn forced himself to step onto the edge of the ice where he could be seen.

  Ella saw him first. She waved excitedly and then promptly slipped, sitting hard on the ice next to her aunt.

  “Thank you for stopping, Captain,” Shona said, standing when she saw him. “Miss Ella needed this.”

  “I believe you’re right.”

  Anytime Freya tried to get to her feet, Ella pushed h
er down. What had been a spinning circle was now an amusing wrestling match.

  “Get this fiend away from me,” Freya cried out, laughing breathlessly and reaching a hand toward them.

  He wanted to be on the ice with them, be part of their game, be included in their camaraderie. Penn started across the pond toward the two giggling females.

  “Perhaps these will help,” he said as he drew near. He held out two pairs of well-used skates he’d borrowed from the innkeeper. His own pair was tucked under his arm.

  Ella’s eyes lit up. “Thank you,” she chirped, taking the smallest blades from him. She darted away, slipping constantly but keeping her balance until she reached the log where Shona sat waiting to help her.

  Freya was struggling to rise.

  “May I?” he said, leaning down to help.

  She slid her gloved hand into his as he pulled her up. She slipped as she tried to find her balance and stumbled against him. The scent of jasmine filled his head again as he held her tight against his chest.

  “Are these for me?” she asked, drawing away.

  He handed her the skates, and Penn thought her enthusiasm surpassed the child’s. She leaned over right there, trying to put them on.

  Watching her, he strapped on his own skates. He guessed the spinning was still affecting her, for she was having difficulty.

  “Allow me.” He dropped to one knee before her.

  She started to say something but then stopped as he held her ankle and lifted her boot. She put a hand on his shoulder. Making a short work of it, he moved on to the other.

  Ella skated up behind her aunt and bumped her. Both of Freya’s hands landed on his shoulders as blue cloth swirled about him.

  “I’m so sorry. That fairy child is going to pay for this.”

  The scent of her, the feel of her coat and skirts, and the trusting intimacy of her hold on him had his senses reeling. Done with her skates, he pushed upright only to have Ella swoop by, grazing her aunt with another pass. Freya clung to his greatcoat as he straightened up.

  This close, her breath mingled with his, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ella coming at them a third time. Grasping Freya by the waist, he swung her around to avoid the assault and the enthusiastic child raced past.

  “I see you’ve skated before,” he called after her.

  “Oh, yes,” Ella responded happily, gliding off as if she were born on ice. “We can skate for a thousand miles on our river when it freezes.”

  “A thousand miles?” he asked, injecting humor in his tone as Freya pushed away from him.

  “At least a thousand.” She smiled, following her niece and showing the same proficiency on skates.

  He followed, a couple of strides behind them, appreciating the opportunity to observe the graceful way Freya’s body moved and swayed as she turned and danced across the ice. Sometime during their conversations yesterday and this morning a tie had begun to form—like a lifeline fired from the shore to a foundering vessel—connecting her to him. He’d begun to care about Freya and her situation. He worried of the tumble and fall that was ahead. He feared the outcome. He knew Ella would be provided for—by the Dacre family or the Sutherlands—but Freya’s future was at risk.

  Her sparkling brown eyes sought him out, making certain he was nearby, and he relished the feeling that she also recognized the connection they’d established.

  As they skated, the aunt and niece repeatedly reached for each other, linking arms and spinning and gliding off. This was as easy for them as walking.

  Penn felt a pleasurable warmth well up within him when the object of his gaze extended a gloved hand toward him.

  “Do you need help keeping up, Captain?”

  He didn’t, but for the life of him he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. Penn took her hand and drew up beside her. Effortlessly, they found their rhythm and began to circle the pond, trailing the mulberry-coated elf who moved ahead of them and around them, gleefully taunting them for being so slow.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Freya asked.

  “Please.”

  “I always assumed men joined the military to fight.”

  “So you don’t consider engineering a gallant or worthwhile profession?” he suggested.

  “Quite the opposite,” she said quickly. “I find it fascinating. Many Sutherland men who were fortunate enough to survive the war on the continent came home damaged in body and spirit. Their sole task for many years had been to battle the Spaniards and the French. Since then, many have struggled with adjusting to the peace. They can no longer farm the land of their ancestors. But you’re a builder. Engineering is a life focused on designing and improving the world of tomorrow.”

  Her eyes shone with interest when they met his.

  “I am fascinated to know what made you decide on this path.”

  Her curiosity pleased him. Her attitude, so buoyant and positive, warmed him.

  “I believe you know about my older brother.”

  “I know of Viscount Greysteil, the lord justice in Edinburgh,” she said. “But only a wee bit.”

  “Well, he was always taller, wider in shoulders, quicker to fight. He’s a powerful force in person. From his youth, he’s been a man who leaves an impression. As his younger brother, I knew almost from childhood that if I chose to follow in his steps, I’d be lost in his shadow.”

  “So you decided to make your own way,” she said, understanding.

  “As a gentleman, I had few paths open to me. I could buy an estate or pursue a profession in the law or the church, but those did not appeal to me. I could see the world was changing, with new innovations emerging every day: steam engines and railway, improved methods of road and bridge building, and machinery that has radically changed the way we mine the earth and manufacture our cloth. We’re at the dawn of a new age, and I have always been drawn to that. Once I decided to pursue this passion, I realized the army would provide a valuable training ground. And it has, though the war against Napoleon made for a costly education.”

  “What exactly does an engineer do during war?”

  “Everything from creating and maintaining transport routes for the armies, securing water supplies, preparing defensive positions before battle . . .” His voice trailed off as he considered how far he’d come from those bloody scenes.

  “Everything that the soldiers need to survive,” she surmised, drawing him out of his reverie. “A vital profession, Captain, in war and in peace.”

  He didn’t have a chance to respond, for Ella was pulling her aunt away for a turn on the ice.

  Penn watched them go and glided after the two. The surface was as smooth as glass, and for a moment he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, reveling in the cheerful calm that had descended upon him, infusing his mind and body with a sense of well-being. Freya’s interest and her understanding of his career were a surprise and no doubt prompted this state of mind.

  When was the last time that he’d felt such peace? Could he remember any time in the past decade when he gave no care to where he had to be, what he had to do, or what plan he needed to set in motion for the morrow?

  He couldn’t, and perhaps because of this, he was happy. Unexpectedly happy.

  Penn opened his eyes and saw his companion at his side again. Freya’s bright face and shining eyes would have drawn the envy of the angels.

  Catching him staring, she linked her arm in his.

  “I’d like to apologize for last night,” she told him when Ella rushed off toward the nursemaid.

  “For what?”

  “For sounding very much like a martyr. For deserting you as soon as you started talking about my complicated and troubling arrangement,” she said in a whisper, with a glance at her niece, who was now unsuccessfully attempting to pull Shona onto the ice. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  A chill wind, scented with the salty sea smell, swirled in around them, stirring up wisps of snow, and h
is thoughts darkened. “I felt no such intention in anything you said. And I hope you know my words were spoken out of concern.”

  He was still concerned, today even more than yesterday. The more time he spent with these two, the more he knew how wrong it would be for them to fall under the influence of a man whose sole interest was undoubtedly to enrich himself through the marriage. Dunbar was infamous both for his gambling debts and for his shadowy dealings with women.

  “You know the Dacre family and you know something about me,” she stated. “I’d like your honest answer, as one . . . as one friend to another. Disregarding the superior fortune that they undoubtedly possess relative to that of a Scottish baron, do you think Ella would be better raised by them or by us?”

  There was no hesitation in his answer. “Without even knowing your father, you are unquestionably better suited.”

  “And if you add the enormous wealth and influence of that family to your consideration?”

  “Still you,” he said. Penn’s gaze drifted over to where Ella, having given up, was now sitting on the log beside Shona, swinging her feet as she chattered with her nurse. “You’ve done a wonderful job with her. She’s a delight. So full of life. Happy, intelligent. She’s a brave little creature.”

  “Too brave.” Freya smiled.

  “She has a strong spirit,” he said, pressing her hand on his arm. “A spirit that I believe she gets from you.”

  “She is a great deal like me in many ways. And she is also very much like my father.” Her smile dimmed slightly. “My sister was Ella’s age and I was a couple of years younger when our mother died, so my father has extensive experience in raising little girls. And Ella and her grandfather dote on each other, in spite of their wicked tongues.”

  Penn had no doubt the Sutherlands’ loving care would be far better than the slew of nannies and governesses Lady Dacre would assemble to break Ella’s spirit and mold her into a “perfect” lady.

  But there was still the matter of Dunbar. Penn had to agree with Freya’s belief that the rumors of the colonel marrying the Caithness woman could be false. Now that he thought of it, what better excuse for putting off all the people he owed money to? From their perspective, what could be more attractive than him marrying an heiress with ready cash? The Caithness money could easily pay off the man’s debts. Of course, sooner or later, they would catch up to his lie, but by then he’d likely have possession of Torrishbrae, either through marriage or inheritance.