Free A Christmas Spirit by Cindy Miles Page A

porridge with a simple look.
    “Paige MacDonald, I would endeavor to do anything you asked, as long as you continued to look at me with such longing in those beautiful eyes.” He smiled. “A tradition is just the first of many things I wish to start with you.”
    She stood there smiling at him for several seconds, then turned, removed the DVD from the case, and started the movie. Plopping down in the center of the sofa, she pulled her legs up to her chest and patted the spot beside her. “Come on. It’s about to start.”
    She could have verra well said “Don one of the gowns of Craigmire’s wife and dance on the battlements,” and he would have done so, gladly. Instead, he moved to the sofa, sat close to the woman who’d come to mean more to him in a few short days than anyone he’d ever known in his existence, and watched a modern film in which a lanky man named George Bailey learned a very valuable lesson: Be thankful for what you have.
    Gabriel knew just what the man felt. Indeed, he was thankful. He’d roam another handful of centuries if it meant finding Paige MacDonald. The wait had been well worth it. He’d never been happier in his life. Or “unlife.”
    By the end of the film, tears rolled down Paige’s cheeks. With the back of her hands, she wiped her eyes and looked up at Gabriel. “I loved it,” she said quietly.
    I love you was on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue. Christ almighty, it nearly burned him to keep the words inside that he wished to say so badly. But he feared he’d frighten her off with such an endearment. He had a bloody hard time believing he felt so strongly in such a small amount o’ time. But, damnation, he did. Didna he? Is it truly what he felt? Or was it merely blinding lust that drove him?
    He’d wait until he figured it out himself.
    “Another?” Paige said, grinning. “I haven’t just sat and watched movies all night in, well, I don’t think I ever have. If I did, I don’t remember it being this much fun.”
    Gabriel smiled, and so they did just that. They watched two movies in all, nearly four hours of movie madness. Paige MacDonald was definitely a lass after his own heart. Her verra first choices were some of his favorites. They watched the The Mummy followed by Raiders of the Lost Ark . Fine Yuletide films, he’d thought. He’d no been verra fond o’ how Paige’s eyes had lightened at the heroes, but he’d given a good, manly scowl, just to let her know of his displeasure.
    It had garnered him a tinkling laugh from Paige.
    How, though, had a modern girl no’ watched those films, yet he, a twelfth-century warrior, had?
    ’Twas mind-boggling.
    And he was passin’ glad he’d watched them with her first.
    But truth be told, he’d had enough movies for one eve. He wanted nothin’ more than to have Paige MacDonald all to himself. So they wandered up to the west tower, to sit before the long windows and stare out into the winter’s night. She’d stopped by her room first and had changed into what she’d referred to as jam- mies, which consisted of baggy red trousers and an even baggier black jumper that buttoned up the front. Both pieces appeared powerfully soft. The one thing Gabriel found himself thanking the saints for was that the top button seemed to have fallen off, leaving a good amount of Paige’s throat exposed.
    He’d decided right then to keep his lecherous thoughts to himself. For now, anyway . . .

    Paige sat on the window seat, knees pulled to her chest, and a warm wool wrap around her shoulders. They’d turned out the lights, and she’d lit only a few candles. They threw the room into a lovely amber glow, much like Gabriel’s conjured candles. She’d built a small fire in the hearth, just enough to keep her warm.
    And the sweetest, sexiest man God ever created—i n any century—sat directly across from her. Staring. At her .
    It made her insides jump with excitement.
    Her face growing warm at the thought, she turned her head and