Once Upon a Highland Christmas Read Free Page B

him.”
    â€œA Christmas present?” Penelope looked shocked. “Do you do that in Scotland?”
    â€œAye, we do.”
    â€œWhat will he give me?” Penelope asked.
    Fiona raised her eyebrows. “Christmas is about giving gifts—­at least here in Scotland.”
    Penelope raised her chin. “Well then, what would he like?”
    â€œSomething from the heart,” Fiona said, sure Penelope didn’t have one.
    â€œSuch as?” Penelope asked, frowning now.
    Fiona kept her tongue behind her teeth and smiled. If Penelope didn’t already know, hadn’t spoken with the man she wanted to marry enough to know what he liked and disliked, then Fiona couldn’t—­wouldn’t—­help. She was knitting her brother a scarf with wool she’d carded, spun, and dyed herself. He would make her something with his own hands as well, as he did every year: usually something carved from wood
    The door opened again. Fiona looked up hopefully, but it was Auld Annie.
    â€œDon’t servants knock in Scotland?” Penelope said.
    â€œDon’t young folk respect their elders in England?” Annie shot back. She glared until the English girl looked away first.
    Annie sniffed the air. “I smell meadowsweet, lavender, and yarrow,” she said, and pinned Fiona with a sharp gaze. “What kind of spell?” she asked in Gaelic.
    â€œA love spell,” Fiona replied.
    â€œFor that one?” Annie asked, sliding her eyes over Penelope.
    Fiona shook her head. “For Elizabeth and me,” she said, and Annie cackled.
    â€œYou’re too young for that yet, lass.” She cast a look at the fireplace. “What did you see?”
    â€œNothing really. Sparks,” Fiona said, and Annie crossed to look into the hearth.
    â€œSpeak English, and put more fuel on the fire while you’re there,” Penelope ordered, but Annie ignored her.
    â€œJust sparks? Something brought the snow,” Annie continued in Gaelic. “I didn’t foresee it was coming, and Sandy’s elbow didn’t ache the way it usually does when the weather’s set to change.”
    She got close enough to the flames to burn the arisaid she wore, and the fire lit up the muted colors of the MacGillivray plaid—­orange-­red, teal, and green. She pointed a boney finger at the hearth. “Ah! You see that string of soot, just there, hanging from the grate?” she said in English Elizabeth rushed over to look as well.
    â€œIs it an omen?” Elizabeth asked. “Is it true love?”
    â€œIt means we’re going to have a visitor,” Annie said. “Soon, too.”
    Fiona looked into the old woman’s firelit eyes, saw the flame reflected in the dark depths, as if it burned inside Annie, and felt the thrill of magic rush through her limbs.
    â€œThe snow will bring someone to our door,” she said, leaving the fire and moving toward the window. She frowned. “Iain has been gone since morning. I told him to hurry back, but it’s near dark, and he’s not home yet.” She looked out at the blank whiteness of the park. Fiona felt her heart rise in her throat. The storm was a bad one, and if Annie of all ­people was worried—­
    But Annie turned to her and grinned. “No need to be afraid, Fiona. I see nothing ill happening to the laird, and Iain knows these hills like the back of his hand. He’ll take shelter till the storm breaks, and no harm will come to him.”
    But Fiona knew how easy it was to get lost on the moor in winter, to lose the track and wander off into the wilderness. If the landmarks were blotted out by the storm . . . Fiona refused to think of it. Annie squeezed her hand, her gnarled fingers remarkably strong.
    â€œYou can sleep soundly, lass. All will be well,” she soothed, her gaze boring into Fiona’s.
    â€œWhen will dinner be ready? Is there any chance of tea?”