Read Online A Highlander Christmas by Sophie Renwick Cindy Miles Dawn Halliday - Free Book Online Page B
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babe.”
“Did you?” he murmured.
“In our fifth month of marriage, I discovered I was with child.”
Logan fought the stiffening of his muscles as some emotion he couldn’t decipher clawed at his chest.
“But,” she continued, “I lost the babe a few weeks later. And then, before the midwife said I was healthy enough to try again, Duneghall was killed.”
A sudden, hot burst of possessiveness nearly overwhelmed him. He wished she’d never been married. He hated that another man had her first. If he’d known her then, he never would have allowed it.
He slammed the lid on those roiling emotions as quickly as they’d flared within him. Those were thoughts he shouldn’t be having. He and Maggie were from different clans from different regions. They led separate lives. He couldn’t let his feelings for her stand in the way of the responsibility that had been his sole focus since he watched his brother die.
He wasn’t even certain she felt anything but a temporary carnal attraction toward him.
He laid her on the bed and tucked the covers around her. Vulnerability softened her oval face and his heart tightened. Leaning over her slight form, he stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “I’m sorry you lost a child.”
She gazed up at him with shining eyes. “I still feel sad sometimes, but it was long ago.”
He glanced back at the hearth, remembering it was Christmas Eve. “I should stoke the fire.”
“Aye.” She smiled. “We must keep the elves away.”
As he stacked another block of peat on the dwindling flames, she asked, “Why haven’t you married?”
He shrugged. “I never felt compelled to. My brother was the heir, and he married young.”
“Does he have sons?”
“No. Three daughters.”
“So you were his heir, and his holdings are now yours.”
He nodded. Logan had always coveted his independence. He’d never wished for his brother’s many responsibilities, but now that they were his, he wouldn’t shirk them.
He turned back to Maggie. There was a chance that she could be carrying his heir. Yet another newfound responsibility, but not one he wished away, he realized with no small measure of surprise.
He wanted her beside him. He never felt so right as he did with Maggie MacDonald.
He hesitated, staring at her flushed cheeks, the contrast of her black hair against her pale skin. She roused him in every way. He wanted to lie beside her, and yet . . .
“Come to bed,” she said quietly.
“You don’t wish me to sleep on the floor tonight?”
“No.”
He moved onto the bed and turned on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
“You were so cold that first night after you awoke,” he murmured.
“Aye, I was.”
“After you fell asleep . . .”
She lay very still, waiting for him to continue.
“I lay beside you for a while. I couldn’t let you suffer,” he said. “Not even in sleep.” He turned to her, and when he saw the understanding in her expression, relief washed through him.
“I needed your warmth, but I was too proud and too afraid to admit to it.”
He turned back to face the ceiling beams, staring up at the wisps of smoke gathering in the thatch.
“I dreamed about it, you know,” she murmured.
“Did you?”
“Aye. I dreamed that someone was near, keeping me safe and warm. It felt so right, in my dreams. In life, though . . . well, I spurn such closeness, even from people I know. I’m accustomed to being on my own, you see.”
“As am I.”
“Nevertheless . . .” Her voice dwindled and she tried again. “I find I like the feeling of you lying beside me. It’s . . . comfortable.”
“Aye,” he agreed.
“It feels safe.” She made a small noise of confusion. “It’s an odd feeling.”
He gazed up at the ceiling in complete understanding. “Aye.” They lapsed into a companionable silence, comfortable and warm, the lengths of their bodies touching lightly as they lay side by side.
“Did you
“Did you?” he murmured.
“In our fifth month of marriage, I discovered I was with child.”
Logan fought the stiffening of his muscles as some emotion he couldn’t decipher clawed at his chest.
“But,” she continued, “I lost the babe a few weeks later. And then, before the midwife said I was healthy enough to try again, Duneghall was killed.”
A sudden, hot burst of possessiveness nearly overwhelmed him. He wished she’d never been married. He hated that another man had her first. If he’d known her then, he never would have allowed it.
He slammed the lid on those roiling emotions as quickly as they’d flared within him. Those were thoughts he shouldn’t be having. He and Maggie were from different clans from different regions. They led separate lives. He couldn’t let his feelings for her stand in the way of the responsibility that had been his sole focus since he watched his brother die.
He wasn’t even certain she felt anything but a temporary carnal attraction toward him.
He laid her on the bed and tucked the covers around her. Vulnerability softened her oval face and his heart tightened. Leaning over her slight form, he stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “I’m sorry you lost a child.”
She gazed up at him with shining eyes. “I still feel sad sometimes, but it was long ago.”
He glanced back at the hearth, remembering it was Christmas Eve. “I should stoke the fire.”
“Aye.” She smiled. “We must keep the elves away.”
As he stacked another block of peat on the dwindling flames, she asked, “Why haven’t you married?”
He shrugged. “I never felt compelled to. My brother was the heir, and he married young.”
“Does he have sons?”
“No. Three daughters.”
“So you were his heir, and his holdings are now yours.”
He nodded. Logan had always coveted his independence. He’d never wished for his brother’s many responsibilities, but now that they were his, he wouldn’t shirk them.
He turned back to Maggie. There was a chance that she could be carrying his heir. Yet another newfound responsibility, but not one he wished away, he realized with no small measure of surprise.
He wanted her beside him. He never felt so right as he did with Maggie MacDonald.
He hesitated, staring at her flushed cheeks, the contrast of her black hair against her pale skin. She roused him in every way. He wanted to lie beside her, and yet . . .
“Come to bed,” she said quietly.
“You don’t wish me to sleep on the floor tonight?”
“No.”
He moved onto the bed and turned on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
“You were so cold that first night after you awoke,” he murmured.
“Aye, I was.”
“After you fell asleep . . .”
She lay very still, waiting for him to continue.
“I lay beside you for a while. I couldn’t let you suffer,” he said. “Not even in sleep.” He turned to her, and when he saw the understanding in her expression, relief washed through him.
“I needed your warmth, but I was too proud and too afraid to admit to it.”
He turned back to face the ceiling beams, staring up at the wisps of smoke gathering in the thatch.
“I dreamed about it, you know,” she murmured.
“Did you?”
“Aye. I dreamed that someone was near, keeping me safe and warm. It felt so right, in my dreams. In life, though . . . well, I spurn such closeness, even from people I know. I’m accustomed to being on my own, you see.”
“As am I.”
“Nevertheless . . .” Her voice dwindled and she tried again. “I find I like the feeling of you lying beside me. It’s . . . comfortable.”
“Aye,” he agreed.
“It feels safe.” She made a small noise of confusion. “It’s an odd feeling.”
He gazed up at the ceiling in complete understanding. “Aye.” They lapsed into a companionable silence, comfortable and warm, the lengths of their bodies touching lightly as they lay side by side.
“Did you
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