Free The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10) by Jonnet Carmichael

it all in slowly, then began smiling as if she was on her way up to heaven and seeing the angels during her rise.
    "Mmm-hmmph."  Her usual throaty expression of satisfaction that she made without opening her mouth, and a sure sign that she was another one who knew more than she'd be telling.
    Freya's anger rose again.  "Oh come on, you two!  Why am I the only one here being left out the loop?  This is me!"
    But it was Callum who got Auntie's next speech.
    "You'll have been told the name that Symond Harper gave to this portrait."
    A statement, not a question.  Callum was leaning a shoulder against the big fridge, thumbs in his pockets.  He didn't reply, but he did shrug and fold his arms.  Typical defensive gesture to close himself off.  And he smiled back at Auntie over the table.  Oh yes, he knew.
    Freya felt as if her nerves were shredding into more pieces with every passing moment.  Those queer vibes were coming off the portrait, the ones that had rung in her very bones all the way up here.  No wonder she'd only been able to relax over lunch and then at the lochside.  Even the Clootie Well had been a diversion that could have waited until after dinner if she'd been able to hold out that long for some inner peace.
    Now Callum was treating her like a child who couldn't be told a secret and Auntie was colluding with him.
    Enough.  She marched straight over to him.  "What's the name of it?"
    Nothing, except for unfolding his arms and sticking his hands back into his pockets.
    Auntie was flitting about, blowing out candles and putting the low-lights on under the kitchen units.  Freya stood on tiptoe to hiss in Callum's face, her hands full of his sweater, feeling the hard muscles across his ribs. "Tell me!"
    And then Auntie was sailing past them with her jacket on, saying, "I have a Wisdom of the Cosmos class to teach at seven o'clock so I'll leave the pair of you to load the dishwasher.  Cheerio for now."
    The back door closed and Callum's hands came onto her head, stroking her hair back from her face.  She let go of his sweater to pull away but he kept his hands where they were, calming her...
    It was her hair he was looking at when he spoke low. "The fair lass of Monlachan."
    "Don't you dare start with the blonde jokes, Callum.  Just tell me.  Please!"  While she could still think a rational thought.  While she could still breathe.
    And he looked her right in the eye and said, "That was the name told to my ancestors."
    The blood pounded in her ears.  "No... that can't be true..."
    "It is true.  The Orkney minstrel painted that portrait at MacKrannan Castle and called it the Fair Lass of Monlachan.  A gift to my people when he stayed there.  It's written down in the clan's archives."
    She leaned her forehead against his chest, needing his strength.  The Orkney minstrel...  "But the Harpers didn't come to Monlachan until after the war... from Orkney.  This place was an inheritance of my great-grandmother.  Symond couldn't know we'd ever live here – he couldn't even know who his descendent would marry!"
    This was way beyond the regular level of two-boys-and-a-girl predictions.  For her ancestor to paint her and to know where she'd be living...
    "Runs in your family, this fey thing, does it no'?"
    "It does, but..."
    His hand was around her back, rubbing it slowly, soothing.  The most incredible sense of calm acceptance settled in her then, and a rising of something between them not peaceful at all.
    Callum was aroused.  Fiercely so.  His heartbeat thumped in her ear as he kept stroking her hair.  She'd be kidding herself to believe he was on his own with it.  She looked up to find his eyes smoldering much darker than usual, his lips slightly parted and that bit of hair coming onto his brow.  If she could just touch it, see if it sparked some memory... her hand snaked up as it had done before in the long ago.
    He flinched at the contact.  "Freya..."
    A breath on the wind.  A call from the