A Highlander for Christmas by Debbie Macomber, Christina Skye

a grant from William himself. Since then a Draycott has always held this quiet corner of England for King and Crown.” The Scotsman’s lips curved. ‘‘Of course there was that period when these lands fell into the hands of a zealous religious order that required a strict vow of silence. The only sounds to be heard here then were tolling bells.”
    “I wondered if it had actually been an abbey.”
    “Absolutely. The monks were hard workers and built all the vaulted ceilings you see through the house. The current structure was completed around 1255. Cromwell’s men were all set to demolish it four centuries later, but one of Nicholas’s wily ancestors managed to convince them that it was a bad idea. In the 1790s more reconstruction was begun.” Moonlight played over Jared’s face as he studied the imposing walls. “Three wars have been planned here. Four American presidents have stayed here Two British monarchs have honeymooned here.” Mist trailed across the parapets, flowing white around the heads of carved animals.
    “I’m impressed.” Maggie looked up at the dark walls. “There’s probably even a ghost or two hovering around the back corridors.”
    “So it has been said.”
    A cold wind played over her neck. “You’re kidding.” She studied his face uncertainly. “Aren’t you?”
    “I’m afraid not. He is seen on quite a regular basis by visiting tourists. But you’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”
    Maggie didn’t move. She fancied she could feel those ghosts now, lingering around her. In the same way, she could feel the love of generations of Draycotts who had cared for this beautiful old structure.
    Too much imagination, she decided.
    She should have been delirious with happiness, but she wasn’t. As usual, the nagging uncertainty had returned. Soon she would have to smile and perform, digging deep and remembering a thousand details that her father had taught her. Perfection was expected of Daniel Kincade’s only child.
    Did she have it in her?
    Maggie watched a pair of swans glide over the moat’s restless currents. She had a centuries-old necklace to repair using authentic period materials. Then she had to diagram the process exactly, explaining each step in terms that any amateur could understand. That part was daunting enough. After that came the task of completing her own designs for the Abbey Jewels collection.
    No, she wasn’t smug or delirious; she was terrified.
    But she straightened her shoulders and studied the trees beyond her. She would succeed with her newest designs.
    She already had two projects in mind, the first a delicate silver tree inset with pave diamond fruit, the other a moat of bronze carrying swans of hammered platinum. Even now the graceful shapes whispered softly, beckoning her to begin the painstaking work of construction.
    Jared put down the last of the suitcases. “Is something wrong?”
    “Not really.” She crossed her arms, shivering as tendrils of mist brushed the moat. “I was just thinking about two designs I have planned. Already I can see a dozen more. There really must be some kind of magic at work in this place.”
    “Everyone who comes here says that.” Jared studied the distant trees, gray with mist. “And yet everyone feels the magic in a different way.”
    “What about you?”
    He shrugged. “All the usual things. Grand mental panoramas of knights on horseback and arrogant statesmen who struggled to hold this place of beauty and keep its future safe.” He gave a dry laugh. “Everyone experiences a different vision of the abbey’s past, and some people seem to be affected more deeply than others. I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow if you like, but I think we’d better go inside now.” He studied the dark slope of the woods, then turned south to the long gravel drive.
    “Did you see something out there?”
    He shook his head. “Only shadows. Are you certain you aren’t hungry? I can produce a tolerable omelet when