A Christmas Spirit by Cindy Miles Page A

scraping the ice. “Sure.” She smiled even wider. “It’s Christmas Eve, you know.”
    Gabriel watched excitement dance in her blue eyes. “Aye, indeed I do.”
    He had a surprise for her. Actually, ’twas a bit o’ a surprise for himself, as well. And he couldna wait to bestow it upon her. “Come, then, you wee little bottomless pit. I hear your poor belly growling again.”
    Paige skated to the edge of the pond, stepped off, and moved to the bench. With one knee raised, she unlaced her skates.
    “ ’Tis wi’ regret that I cannot prepare a Yule Eve supper for you, Paige MacDonald,” he said. “I should have had Ethan call—”
    She looked up, and the expression in her eyes softened Gabriel’s heart even more. “Honestly, Gabriel, I don’t need so much fuss. I am perfectly content eating whatever.” She took off her other skate and pulled on Craigmire’s Wellies. Then, she smiled. “As long as it’s with you.”
    That sentence alone gave Gabriel the verra courage he needed to bestow Paige her Yuletide gift. “As with me, lass,” he said quietly. He dropped down onto the bench beside her and met her shy gaze. “Had I the substance, I’d toss you in yon snow pile and kiss you breathless.”
    Paige visibly gulped. Then, once she’d turned several shades of red and pink, she gave a bashful smile. “I’d let you, too.”
    Gabriel shifted his head to one side, lowered his mouth to hers, and grazed her lips. How he could lose himself in a mind’s-eye vision of what it might actually feel like to have those soft-l ooking lips moving fervently beneath his, to have her hands push through his hair, and to feel her tongue against his. After a moment, he pulled back. “You’re makin’ me daft again, lass. Inside. Now.” He grinned. “Your lips are blue.”
    With a tinkling laugh, Paige gathered Mrs. Craigmire’s skates, and together they walked back to the castle. They spent the rest of the daylight hours walking about the halls, in the larder where he insisted Paige prepare a filling Yuletide supper—no’ just a grilled cheese sandwich and soup. She’d found a Cornish hen in the freezer, a few yams and other vegetables, as well as a frozen custard pie Craigmire had purchased from Tesco and hidden from his wife.
    Once the hen had finished baking, they sat down to eat. Gabriel conjured up a mixture of candles and ornaments for the meal, and Paige had glowed with excitement.
    As she poked her fork into a baked yam, she glanced at Gabriel. “I feel funny, sitting here eating while you can’t.”
    Gabriel watched her mouth delicately close over the fork and chew the yam. Then she lifted her glass of wine and drank. “I enjoy watching you eat. Besides. I’ve no’ eaten in centuries. Trust me—this suffices as the closest thing to actually tasting food.”
    She smiled and before long, finished eating. “I’m stuffed.”
    “Miracles never cease round here,” he said, and grinned.
    His stomach twisted into knots. ’Twas nearly time for Paige’s gift, and damn him, but he was as skittish as a whelp meetin’ his first virgin.
    Bloody hell.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked, and cocked her head to the side to study his face. “You look ill.”
    He forced a smile. “ ’Tis impossible, that. Come.” He inclined his head. “Let’s worry about the dishes later. I’ve a mind to sit with you before the fire.”
    “Hmm,” she said, tapping a finger to her temple. “Wash dishes, or sit before a roaring fire on Christmas Eve with the handsomest Highlander in the universe.” She rolled her eyes, then grinned. “Okay. Let’s go.”
    That somehow eased his mind, and Gabriel laughed. Together they walked to the great hall, he watched helplessly as Paige stoked the fire she’d built earlier, and then they sat.
    “ ’Twill be the Yuletide in a couple o’ hours,” he said.
    “Yes,” she answered, staring into the flames. She looked at her hands. “I wish I had something more appealing to wear