“Oh, aye, love,” he said, reaching for my robe. “If it’s sugar plums you’ve a cravin‘ for, I’ve got the very thing you’re wantin’.” I stepped forward into his arms and let him kiss me until we were both breathless and heated. He scooped me up and deposited me on the bed, following me down until he was stretched out on top of me, his hands touching me everywhere with teasing little strokes that incited flames of desire within me.
“Ah, love, you taste so sweet,” he groaned into the underside of my breast as he kissed a path across my chest. “You taste like cinnamon.”
“Cookies!” I gasped, grabbing his head as he slid down and nuzzled the part of me that wept tears of passion for him. “I was baking cookies earlier. Oh, lord, Iain, I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait if you do—” The words dried up on my lips as he put his mouth to the center of my pleasure and sucked hard, swirling his tongue in sweeping circles that had me arching up off the bed while starbursts of rapture flared behind my eyelids.
“Dear God in heaven, that almost killed me,” I wheezed when I had enough strength to move my mouth. Iain chuckled and stretched out beside my still trembling body.
“Ah, love, I just wanted to put visions in your head.” I rolled an eye over to look at him, allowing a smile that promised much retribution to play about my lips. “About those sugar plums you promised me,” I cooed, closing my hand around the twin globs resting at the top of his thighs.
“I believe I’ll have a little taste„if you don’t mind, just to make sure they’re fresh.”
His eyes closed in ecstasy as I rasped my tongue along a sensitive spot.
“Merry Christmas to all,” I whispered just before I began my torment in earnest.
“And to all a good night,” he groaned.
It was a very good night.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
… the desire to kick him in the shins. Soundly. In front of everyone.
Bev and Nate, Joanna’s parents, were wonderful people. I liked them from the moment I met them, when Bev, an older version of Joanna, hugged me and presented me with a fruitcake. Nate, a small, balding man, was originally from Yorkshire or one of those regions in England where it takes a residency of at least twelve years before you can understand the inhabitants, but he was very fond of jokes, and had an endless store of them. He’d pop into a room where Joanna, Bev, Susan, and I were sitting, and deliver a joke. We’d laugh, he’d chuckle happily and leave with a sense of a job well done. Once he was out of the room I’d look at Joanna and Bev and ask for a translation. I don’t believe I understood more than three or four words he’d said the entire visit, but he was a sweet man, and he seemed to enjoy his time with Iain and David. He also developed a special affinity for Catriona, the cat we acquired to replace Clara, probably because he insisted on taking over the twice daily milking of Mabel, and he’d squirt milk at the cats.
The morning following Archie’s arrival, Bev and Nate went to have breakfast and spend the day with Joanna and David. Ewen insisted on preparing breakfast for us, claiming, as he kissed the back of my hand, “I will never be able to live with myself if I know that your fair hands were slaving away night and day simply to provide me with daily sustenance.” I blinked bemusedly at his statement. I had discovered that when he combined his dramatic method of speaking with his dimples, it was an almost overwhelming combination. Only the fact that I knew he was the biggest flirt on the face of the earth kept me from worrying about his intentions.
There was, however, a moment when I would have gladly kissed him.
After viewing Ewen’s handling of a frying pan and an innocent piece of ham, which he butchered into odd polyhedron-shaped chucks, I relieved him of breakfast duties. “Isabella may have trained you well with the cheese grater, but that’s about it. Sit down and look pretty, and let me do the breakfast.” Susan helped me assemble one of those artery-clogging fried breakfasts that were so dear to the British. Susan was one of the nice surprises; she was much more human than the first time I met her, but she seemed a bit uncomfortable at times, frowning at Archie whenever he fired off a zinger at me. She was one of those peacemaking people who tried to calm everyone down, even going so far as apologizing twice to me for Archie’s comments.
We had the breakfast ready before Iain and Archie came in from doing the morning chores, but Ewen overruled my suggestion that we wait for them. He positively inhaled the fried ham, however, so I was busy frying up more when Iain and son came in.
“Ah, little brother,” Ewen pushed his chair back, patted his jumper, and let out a discreet but sated burp. Iain grimaced at the little brother comment, knowing Ewen did it just to get his goat, and accepted the plate of food I handed him.
“You are one lucky man. A life that suits you, sons to carry on the illustrious MacLaren name, and a woman who can make ambrosia from the most mundane of foodstuffs.”
Iain agreed and tackled his breakfast. Archie scowled at me briefly, then picked through his food like it was full of ants.
“Yes, you are a lucky man. When are you going to marry this paragon of virtue?”
I dropped the fork I was using to turn the ham, and spun around to look at Ewen. He had his hands locked behind his head and was gazing at Iain with one eyebrow cocked. My head snapped around to Iain.
What would he say? Would he acknowledge that he intended on marrying me?
Would he admit to his brother and disapproving son that we loved each other?
Would he inform them that I was here to stay and not some passing fancy? I held my breath, my hands clutched before me, my heart racing as I waited for him to speak.
He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. He reached for a piece of toast. He looked up at Ewen. His mouth opened. I The words were coming out…
And they were in Gaelic!
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
… a great big belly laugh. And then some.
Cait asked me later in an e-mail why I didn’t kill Iain I right there on the spot.
It was true that there were times when Iain drove me abso-bloody-lutely mad, for no matter how close I thought we were, we evidently weren’t close enough for him to be forthcoming with his deepest, innermost thoughts.
The rotter.
I began to wonder if he ever would truly open up to me, or if he would continue on as he was now, assuming everyone was privy to what was going on his mind. Iain certainly always acted surprised when I accused him of holding something back.
When Iain answered Ewen’s question about when (not ! if—and you’re crazy if you think I didn’t notice that) we were going to be married, I couldn’t decide if I was furious for his answering in Gaelic, or insane for thinking it was absurdly funny.
For sanity’s sake, and because I didn’t want to spend the holiday being angry with Iain, I decided to squelch my pissy mood.
“Ha ha,” I laughed gaily, turning around and stabbing a knife viciously into the ham. Wouldn’t answer in English, eh? The great coward. He just did it because he knew I’d start crying when he told Ewen he had no intention of marrying me. “As if I would marry that big lout. Ha ha ha! It is to laugh!”
“Ah, now there I cannot help but fault you,” Ewen said, and carried his plate over to the sink, thereby earning a bonus point for Isabella and her training.
“My brother may not be much to look at, but beneath that muddy exterior beats a heart of gold. And you, madam,” he took my knife-gripping hand and bowed over it, neatly avoiding impaling himself on the blade, “have captured that heart if I am not mistaken.”
Oh, lord, why couldn’t Iain talk like that? Why did one brother get all of the verbal skills, while the other got the adorable personality? I looked over at Iain.
He grinned at me and shoveled in a mouthful of eggs. I would have killed to know what he said to Ewen, and why Susan looked so worried about Archie, but I’d was damned if I asked in front of Iain.
Things
went from bad to worse when Mrs. Harris showed up to do a little dusting and start in on the grand supper she had planned (pork stuffed with dates and pineapple). She took one look at the mess in the kitchen—Susan had offered to help clean, but I sent her off to use the bathtub while she could—and hit the ceiling.
“If you’re thinking I’ll be cleaning up after this great lot, you’re mistaken,” she stormed as she shook her apron at me. “I work for MacLaren, not for you. I’ll not clean up after an entire houseful of people!”
I was worried she’d go haring off and not make the dinner, so I placated her as best I could and tackled the kitchen while she did a little light cleaning elsewhere. The men, of course, disappeared in that time-honored fashion men have whenever it comes time to clean the kitchen. Susan came down from her bath, looked around worriedly for Archie, and went off to find him.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
… .a desire to possess a flamethrower. One of the industrial models. But no rings, gold or otherwise .
“Fine,” I snarled to the sink of greasy water, and plunged my hand into it to drain it and refill it with fresh. “Be that way. All of you can just go off to the ends of the frigging earth as far as I care. Oh no, it’s not enough that I have to cook the breakfast, I have to clean up after it, too as well as put up with the most annoying man in existence. Sure!” I slammed a greasy frying pan into the water, drenching the front of my blouse. “Let’s just all go have a gay old time and leave Kathie here to wallow in self-pity. Bloody hell, now what?” I dabbed at the water on my blouse only to find it wasn’t all water, some of it was sausage dripping from the pan. Great. In addition to my personal life being a mess, now I had destroyed a favorite blouse. What other lovely surprises did life have in store for me?
“Hallo?”
Oh, god, no. Not that. Not today. Please, I can’t deal with that.
“Is anyone home… oh, Karrie, you’re still here?”
Bridget. Bearing a package. Just what I needed to complete the morning.
“Hello Bridget.” It took an effort, and I had a hard time unlocking my jaw to get the words out, but I did and I’m damned proud of that fact. “Happy Christmas.”
“Yeees,” she drawled, and looked around. “Where’s my darling Iain?”
“Bridget!” I shrieked. She blinked in surprise. “No! Is it true? You have a darling Iain, too? Tell me, do, is he anything like my darling Iain?” She smiled a tight little smile. “Very amusing, dear, very witty. Did I interrupt you at your feeding time?” She gave my damp blouse a pointed look. “Soda will work wonders on stains, although if you have a problem reaching your mouth, you really ought to consider wrapping yourself with a towel. So much easier than destroying your lovely garments.”
“Is there something in particular you wanted, Bridget? A cup of tea? A piece of Bev’s fruitcake? Cyanide?”
“Dear one, such spite is most unbecoming. It’ll sour that too, too sweet personality if you let it. And speaking of that—”
Oh, lord, why did I ever think I could fence with her? She was a grand master at the art. I knew for a fact the stab to my heart was coming next.
“—I hope you haven’t become too settled here at the farm. I hate to be the one to pass along gossip, but I am thinking of what’s best for you.” I finished drying the plates and stacked them carefully. “Go ahead, Bridget, hit me with your best shot. What is it? Iain has been seen with another woman?
Another man? You? No, the first two maybe, but I know Iain well enough to strike off the last.”
She bared her teeth in a predatory smile. “I can see you’re not in the mood to discuss the issue, dear. I do hope that when you are finally forced to confront the reality of Iain’s wandering ways, you’ll remember that I tried to befriend you.”
I placed the dishes in the cabinet, said a mental apology to Mrs. Harris for leaving a few dirty pans behind, and grabbed my coat. “Consider your charitable holiday task accomplished, Bridget. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find my Iain and his family. Is that a present? How thoughtful. You may leave it under the tree. I’ll be sure to tell Iain you brought it.” I started for the door.
“I would have thought that you’d be more concerned about Iain dating other women while you’re still in his bed, but if it doesn’t bother you that he’s been seen—twice— with Fiona, then I shan’t worry about it anymore.” She gave a delicate shrug, set the package down on the kitchen table, and smiled a feral smile at me as she passed by.
God help me, I tried to keep my lips clamped, but I just couldn’t. “Fiona MacLeod?”
Bridget paused with one hand on the door. “Why, yes. You know her?” She put a hand to her mouth and widened her eyes as she gasped.
“Don’t tell me you go in for those kinky three-ways? Such a shame, really. Iain never had the need for another woman when I was in his bed. Happy Christmas, dear. I hope Father Christmas brings you everything you deserve.”
“And I hope you get everything coming to you, too,” I said as I watched her saunter to her car, then grabbing my gloves and jamming my wooly hat over my head, I went out in search of Iain and his kin.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
… the burning desire to do someone bodily injury.
By the time I found the men down by the lambing shed examining a new footbath Iain and Mark were building, I was fuming. This was not the way I had pictured Christmas. Archie took every opportunity to be unpleasant, Iain was being obstinate just to annoy me, and Bridget’s evil little ploy had struck a nerve. I knew full well Iain wasn’t dallying with this Fiona person, but if he had been seen with her recently, why the hell hadn’t he mentioned it to me? And to top it all off, on my way down to find the men, I discovered the chickens were loose.
I spent a half an hour herding them back into their pen, and then stomped off in a fine fury to vent a little spleen on whoever was foolish enough to get in my way.
It was Iain, as luck would have it. I almost rubbed my hands with anticipation over the verbal drubbing I was going to give him.
“Ah, there you are, love. I was just coming up to fetch you. Come and take a wee walk with me.”
“I don’t wish to take a walk, wee or otherwise, thank you. It’s too cold for a walk.”
Iain looked around him in surprise. “Today? Nooo, it’s not cold, just a bit brisk, isn’t that right Ewen?”
“Oh, yes, just brisk, my dear. Pay no attention to the ice forming on my eyebrows.”
Iain muttered something rude at him, and took me by my gloved hand.
“Come along, love. If you’re chilly, a walk will warm you up.” He walked, I fumed. I nursed my grudges carefully, fanning the flames until I had built them up to a red-hot inferno. Then I’d scorch him like he’d never been scorched!
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
… a hike in the Highlands .
We walked through the gate and into one of the parks. Iain took my hand. I took it back. He took it again and tucked it into his arm. I took it back.
“A wee bit miffed about something, are you, love?” He took my hand again and this time held it tight. I tried to retrieve it and failed.
“Miffed? No, Iain, I’m bloody furious. Bridget dropped by while you were down in the shed.” I tugged harder on my hand. Iain held on to it firmly.
“Oh?” His eyebrows rose cautiously. “I take it she had words with you.”
“You could say that,” I managed to grind out, giving my hand one last heave.
Iain just squeezed my fingers and marched on, dragging my resisting self behind him.
My fury was fast turning to self-pity. This was supposed to be a wonderful holiday, my time bonding with Iain’s family, and yet it was nothing but a big old sham. Iain didn’t want to marry me, and he didn’t even have the balls to say so to my face. In a language I could understand. Bridget picked on me, Archie hated me, and Ewen was probably m
ocking me with that charming dimpled smile even as I stomped alongside his heartless brother. Life was just so bloody unfair.
“Do you feel like climbing to the top of Duma, love?” No, certainly not. I did not feel like climbing to the top of one of his hills. Not me. Not in that cold. Not when he couldn’t bother answering a question in a proper manner, I didn’t. Not in this or any other lifetime.
“Sure, why not. Maybe I’ll get lucky and contract hypothermia up there.” Iain just chuckled and started up the side of the Matter-horn. I gritted my teeth (not an easy thing to do considering they were chattering) and fought back the tears of self-pity that threatened to swamp me.
Oh, sure, he may say he loved me (now and then, when it suited him), but when it came time to put his money where his mouth was, he wimped out.
“Watch that rock, love.”
Love. He was always calling me love. But it didn’t mean anything. He called Joanna love. He probably used to call Bridget love. And that Fiona woman. I bet she was a love, too.
“Isn’t it a fine day, though?”
Yes, sure, it was fine if you were a sheep. But if you were human, and had human needs and desires and wanted to know you mattered to someone who meant more than life itself to you, then it was a bloody miserable day, thank you.
“Fine.”
Iain shot me a quick glance, then continued tugging me up the side of Mt.
McKinley. I wondered if I dropped down dead on the spot if he would bother to haul my corpse back to the house, of if he’d just leave me out there to be eaten by the crows. I had a mental picture of Bridget showing people around the farm, pointing to my bleached bones and telling everyone the story of the foolish American who thought Iain loved her.
“Still in a wee bit of a snit?”
Just one the size of the Grand Canyon. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
“Ah.”
That’s all he said. Ah . Not, “Oh, dear, I’m sorry my ex-mistress came round to torment you.” There was no, “I’m sorry I sired such a cruel and vindictive son.” Not even an, “I’m sorry I can’t be bothered to tell you what’s on my mind.” No, just an ah , and that’s it. The tears started forming. It might have been the wind, but I doubted it. Iain hauled me up the last bit of K-2 and turned to look back over his valley.