Free A Stockingful of Joy by Susan King Justine Dare Mary Jo Putney Jill Barnett

head, her cheeks gone pale, as if all the joy drained out of her. "Go back to your kin in safety, Kenneth Fraser," she said, so softly that he barely heard her.
    "I will not go back without you," he said.
    "My uncle and Parian might kill you if we—if we wed."
    "I have faced death before," he said. "A sure death, with the white cloth already about my eyes, and the executioner's ax a swing away from my neck. Yet I am here beside you now." She glanced at him, frowning in concern. "That happened years ago, when I was wrongly accused of breaking the signed bond with the MacDonalds," he explained. "My kin stood by me then, as I will stand by you now, Catriona. Your uncle might approve of a marriage between us. Surely he knows that any attempt to heal this feud will please the Council."
    She twisted her hands in her lap. "He would not like it."
    "Shall we find out?" He watched her steadily.
    She began to speak, then shook her head.
    Kenneth leaned toward her. "Am I such a poor omen?"
    "You are not a poor omen," she said. Her voice quavered. "But Parian and my uncle would seek you out, bond or none."
    "
Ach
, my girl," he said, touching her shoulder. "Who would you rather take to husband—me or Parian?"
    "You," she breathed out, without hesitation. "But I will not do it." She turned away, curling up to lie on the bed, her back to him. He heard her sniffle, as if she fought tears.
    He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, regretting that his impulsive words had upset her. But he knew his mind, and his heart; the past few years, with Anna and then without her, had taught him much about himself, and about what he needed.
    In the space of a few days, Catriona had blessed his lonely existence fully, kindly, like candlelight dispels shadow. Still, he had spoken his thoughts far too fast—not for him, but for her. Stretching out beside her, he circled his arms around her.
    "All I ask is that you consider it," he murmured.
    "It would never work," she answered. "Go back to Glenran, and remember your bond. Keep your distance from the MacDonalds."
    "Remember the brooch, Catriona," he said softly. "The Frasers have a pledge to fulfill to you."
    She shook her head, curled away. "I fear that misfortune would befall both of us this way. Forget the brooch." She drew a shaky breath. "I should never have come to Glenran asking for payment of Lachlann's pledge. I always hoped that the snow rose would bring me luck. Marriage between us would"—she paused—"would only invite danger for the Frasers, and the MacDonalds."
    "The snow rose will bring you luck, if you let it," he said. "If not for the brooch, I would never have set foot across your threshold. I will be your luck, Catriona," he whispered. "I
am
your luck. Depend on it."
    She caught back a sob and grasped his hand tightly. He held her, but she did not turn, did not speak. He felt her cry silently, and knew she kept her fears and her thoughts within. After a while, her breaths grew more even, and she slept, exhausted, in his arms.
    He kissed her damp cheek, then sighed and sat up, aware that he must keep watch over the animals, so that none of them stepped into the open hearth, or knocked something into the fire.
    He leaned against the bed frame. The cow wandered toward the bed and nuzzled at his chest. Kenneth patted her huge head gently, distracted by his thoughts: he meant to find a way to fulfill a promise made twenty years ago.
     
    The ruined shieling sat on the hill like a pile of broken dreams. Catriona sighed, looking at it as she stood outside in the yard. The thatched roof sagged sadly at one end, its hole filled with straw and timber scraps; the small byre beside the house resembled a large pile of kindling.
    She turned away to watch the cow and horses, who wandered close to the house, where the snow was packed flat. She had brought them outside after milking the cow, to let the garrons walk a bit; she would guide them inside again soon, for the air was still frigid,