Free Once Upon A Highland Christmas by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page A

tried to do so without her knowing.
    She huddled with the women, closer to the fire. A fat log had been tossed onto the peats and it blazed cheerily, giving off a lovely golden glow that limned Breena so beautifully, his heart clenched. The ladies shared a bench and a large plaid they’d draped over their knees. Grim’s brow furrowed to see that the three of them looked as if they’d been friends the whole of their lives.
    But that wasn’t what bothered him.
    It was how they also appeared deep in the mysteries of feminine chatter. Watching them from deliberately hooded eyes, he was sure their banter included a good dose of womanly scheming.
    He’d seen Breena’s face when Fergus gave them no choice but to accept his offered lodgings.
    She was up to something.
    He could feel it in the air, and in his bones. He also didn’t care for her sitting so far across the room from him, however ludicrous the sentiment. The farmhouse’s main living area wasn’t even large. There was barely space for the table currently occupied by the men. The stone hearth with its great blackened cook-kettle hanging from a chain took up most of one wall, while the ladies’ bench and a second, empty trestle beneath a window provided the only other furnishings.
    Pegs on the wall offered places to secure cloaks and plaids, and candles and oil lamps joined the hearth fire in adding light, such as it was.
    A faint but comforting haze of peat smoke tinged the air, the aroma made even homier by the lingering scents of Flora’s excellent cooking. Always a delight to Grim’s animal-loving nose, two large and shaggy dogs, each one looking older than stone, slept on tattered plaids spread near the hearth. The aged beasts’ snow-dampened coats lent a dash of pungency to the room, and a welcome coziness.
    The dogs’ snores warmed Grim’s heart.
    Unfortunately, the noise swelled in volume each time Breena said something to Flora and Moira. And no matter how hard, and inconspicuously, Grim strained his ears, he couldn’t catch a word.
    A large basket of mistletoe sat on the floor beside them and they busied themselves tying glossy gold and silver ribbons to the round, white-berried clusters. The task seemed to occupy them well enough, but Grim doubted mightily that the making of holiday decorations was the reason for their babble and certainly not for their occasional knowing nods, tsk-tsking, and oh-so-secretive smiles.
    He was sure Breena spoke of him.
    And he burned to know what she said.
    Frowning, he tore his gaze from her and looked down at his fingers, wrapped loosely about his ale tankard. Large, war-scarred, and callused, his hands were far from bonnie. He couldn’t imagine placing them on Breena’s smooth, creamy skin. Especially her naked, intimate flesh: the full roundness of her breasts and the temptation of her sweetly curved hips, her bared belly and the dark, womanly delights that waited below, so unbearably alluring.
    In truth, putting hands such as his on beauty like hers was almost a sacrilege.
    Yet how could he not?
    He ached to touch her. So badly, he feared he’d go mad if he didn’t.
    He also wanted to taste her. But he shoved that desire from his mind as soon as it appeared. Ravenous as he was for her, he might devour her whole, frightening her so roundly she’d fall into a faint.
    Still…
    He wasn’t a man to deceive himself about his looks or charm, both qualities he knew weren’t his strong points. Yet he had the most powerful sense she desired him. That she might be hoping to seduce him. Unlikely as the notion was, he couldn’t get the possibility from his head and it affected his entire body. Indeed, he’d been stone-hard for hours.
    Praise the gods, his mail tunic and his plaid hid the aching result of his mind’s wanderings.
    “A siller for your thoughts, my friend.” Fergus leaned across the table, knocking his tankard against Grim’s.
    Malcolm glanced at Breena, nodding sagely. “I’d no’ need a coin to