“Dastard.” Callum gripped his sword hilt, a twist of his gut making him eager to spirit Lady Alanna away to Skerray. “Who would harm a woman?”
“We shall see.” Grim touched the Thor’s hammer amulet at his neck, an almost identical one to Callum’s.
“I’ve nae doubt,” Callum agreed, wondering as so often how easily his cousin dragged him into his adventures in service to the Crown. Duties few would wish to execute, and even less would care to know about, too busy in their own lives to ponder how peace in the land rolled along so seamlessly, given the hotheadedness and intrigues rampant between the clans of Scotland.
How disturbing that he was sure this was something else.
Something personal.
Sure of it, he gripped his cousin’s shoulder. “Tell Dunwhinnie to watch his back. The next sword swipe might be a real one.”
“He knows that.”
“Guid, then.” Callum nodded. “Then I’d best head back to the lady. Gubbie’s getting restless and I’ll no’ be stopping should he need a break.”
Grim chuckled. “’Tis easier with dogs and dreagans,” he said, smiling again.
“There’s no such thing as stone dragons.” Callum smiled, as ever amused by his cousin’s belief in the mythical beasts said to roam his home, Nought territory in the Glen of Many Legends. “You’ll ne’er convince me.”
“Dinnae be too sure.” Grim’s smile deepened, crinkling his smoke-gray eyes.
This time Callum laughed. “I’ll tell you what is true. Next time it’ll be me plowing into you, you heathen ox.”
“Have bruises, do you?”
“A few.”
“Then we can enjoy a good, friendly fight once all this is behind us,” Grim proposed, thrusting out a hand. “Agreed?”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Callum grasped his cousin’s wrist, nodded when Grim returned the grip. “Till then.”
“Take care of the lass,” Grim urged him, serious again.
And then he was gone, disappearing into the slanting snow and mist, all that remained of him, the clacking of his beard rings and the rustling of his bearskin cloak.
Callum pulled a hand down over his own beard, his mind once more on Lady Alanna Grant.
He felt a powerful urge to race back to her.
A desire that had little to do with her troubles and – the gods help him – everything to do with his heart.
He just didn’t know why.
Chapter 10
She’d found theLovers.
Alanna drew her captor’s two tatty plaids tighter about her shoulders and ignored the chattering of her teeth, the numbness in her toes and fingers, and even her surety that her nose and ears had turned to ice and may never thaw.
Who cared that frost coated her brows, or that blowing snow kept landing on her eyelashes?
Other much more serious matters concerned her.
TheYuletide Loversweren’t a myth.
The two entwined trees were right before her, their almost-fossilized lengths, prone in the snow. As she’d always believed to be true, the trees did indeed embrace. And now, just as legend claimed, the magic of Yule let their love and devotion shine silver-bright in every root, along the trunks, even sparkling where the branches clutched, the ancient trees’ crowns so close they could be kissing, or resting their heads on pillows of snow. The frigid air shimmered around them, the silvery glow almost too beautiful to behold.
Alanna stood awed, touched deeply by such incredible love.
