Free A Highlander Christmas by Sophie Renwick Cindy Miles Dawn Halliday Page B

outweighed her own.
    Logan had said he’d take her north with him, but that was only out of duty should she be carrying his child. That was no longer a possibility, for her lack of pregnancy had been confirmed this morning by the onset of her flux.
    Not once had Logan suggested she travel north with him because he wanted her. It was foolish to hope that he would ask her to go with him. He had a family to care for and lands to govern. Maggie knew he liked her, but perhaps he saw her as a distraction from his new responsibilities. Nevertheless, a large part of her craved to hear him say he wanted her at his side.
    He was an honorable man, a just man, and he simply intended to see her home safe before leaving to shoulder the burden of his new duties. She couldn’t fault him for that, and she had no right to demand anything of him.
    She was the laird’s cousin, but she belonged to no one, and she hadn’t wanted to . . . until now. Her friends and neighbors had called Maggie daft for preferring to be alone over marrying again. But she’d been repulsed by the idea, for she knew no one who struck her as remotely marriageable, so she had stretched her mourning for Duneghall for as long as she could.
    She traced her fingers over Logan’s thick, long ones. The thought of separating from him forever terrified her, but he did need to return to his sister-i n-l aw, his nieces, and his tenants. And because she wasn’t carrying his child, he would leave her. Soon.
    Sighing, she shut the door, turned, and wrapped her arms around him.
     

    They set out late in the morning. The sun hung in the sky as if suspended from strings, bathing the pristine white slopes in a golden wash. They paused to search the spot where she’d lost her brooch for another hour, to no avail; then they descended the mountain, walking into the late afternoon.
    The sun brushed against the treetops when they glimpsed the shimmering walls of the MacDonald castle through the leafless tree limbs in a deep-cut ravine below. The Christmas storm had reached the lower altitudes, and the roofs of the cottages surrounding the castle appeared sugar-coated and homey, with puffs of smoke curling from their chimneys.
    They’d been silent for the better part of an hour. Logan had walked away from the happiest week of his life and now steamed with regret that they’d had to leave the cottage. If only they could have remained there forever.
    Dreams never lasted, though. Duty called both of them home, and neither he nor Maggie would shirk their responsibilities to their respective clans.
    Logan studied the MacDonald seat as they approached. It was a six-storied multiturreted castle built in the last century, compact and tall in comparison to its crumbling ancient counterparts. Sunlight reflected off its granite walls and sparkled on its steep slate roofs, sending glimmering light cascading over the more mundane thatched structures scattered nearby.
    As Logan and Maggie strode along the shoveled path leading down the final stretch of mountain, a rider appeared in the distance. Two other men on horseback followed not far behind. Logan’s fingers tightened on the barrel of his musket, but within moments, the lead man’s angular features came into focus, and Maggie gasped.
    “It’s Torean,” she whispered.
    “Maggie!” the man shouted, recognizing her. He spoke to his horse, urging it to a canter. Logan gazed warily at the men as they approached. Reining short, Torean MacDonald smoothly dismounted. The other two held back, remaining seated on their stomping, impatient mounts.
    “Maggie!” the man cried again. He gripped her shoulders and gave her a small shake as if to test whether she was an apparition. His eyes grazed over her partially undressed form and the too-l arge leather boots. “My God, Maggie. I thought you were dead.”
    “Is that what Innes said?” she asked dryly.
    “Aye. Well, he returned just two days ago, saying he’d been searching for you . . .”