spot, teased it, moving in slick circles over the swollen nub.
She found herself on the crest, bliss drawing tight in her belly, then exploding in a warm rush, a flood of liquid delight. Morgan caught her cries with a kiss, groaning into her mouth as he followed her into oblivion and spilled himself inside her.
* * *
He made sweet, slow love to her twice more, once on the bearskin rug before their bedroom fireplace and then again in their bed. It was only as she lay in his arms, about to drift into dreams, that she noticed it.
" Le gui ." She did not know what the plant was called in English.
Morgan opened his eyes, a lazy grin spreading on his face when he saw it. "Mistletoe. Where did you find it?"
"I did not put it there." She sat up on one elbow. "I thought you’d hung it."
His brow furrowed. "Nay."
Amalie met Morgan’s gaze and knew he was as perplexed as she.
"Hmmm." His eyes narrowed. "My brothers."
Did he believe his brothers had done this?
Amalie blushed to think so.
But then Morgan settled her head against his shoulder, one strong arm holding her close, his other hand stroking her hair. "You know I’d gladly cut out my own heart and throw it in the dirt afore I’d hurt you. Can you forgi’e me, lass?"
"Of course." She slid her hand over his chest, her palm coming to rest over his heartbeat. "But leave your heart where it is, oui ?"
* * *
Christmas Day dawned quietly, snow still falling, the forest around them blanketed in white. Inside the cabins, all were warm and happy. They gathered for a breakfast of salt pork, eggs, and johnny cakes after the animals had been tended, and then exchanged gifts. Everyone received something made by the hands of those who loved them — hats, mittens, shawls, warm nightclothes.
It was clear to Connor, Sarah, Iain and Annie that something had changed overnight between Morgan and Amalie, something that had nothing to do with the beautiful ivory combs in Amalie’s dark hair. If their smiling faces hadn’t given that away, then their tender touches and stolen glances would have.
But it was Iain who noticed the smug look on his youngest brother’s face. "What did you do, for I ken you’ve done somethin ’."
"Do you remember the old oak by the burn?" Connor asked.
"Aye, for certain."
"I cut some mistletoe from its branches and hung it above their bed."
Iain’s gaze narrowed. "So that was you ?"
Connor grinned. "I had plenty, so I nailed some up in your room, too."
"I thought Annie had done that, and I…Well, that’s none of your affair. She no doubt thinks I hung it, hopin ’ to seduce her." And Iain remembered. "What of the mistletoe Miss Janssen brought wi ’ her? Was that your doin’, too?"
"I gave her a sprig in Albany and told her it was a gift from Killy ."
Iain threw back his head and laughed. "Merry Christmas, brother."
"Merry Christmas." Connor gave him a nudge. "And, Iain, you’re welcome."
* * *
The week between Christmas and Hogmanay passed in an air of celebration. The men finished the front room and bedroom of Connor and Sarah’s cabin, for it was there Killy and Hildie would spend their wedding night. Meanwhile, the women baked pies, cakes, and Black Bun for Hogmanay — what the British called New Year’s— and for the wedding. Hildie proved to be quite skilled in the kitchen and stepped in to direct the cooking and baking, but with such humbleness and humor that the other women were most grateful to have her help. And then Hogmanay arrived and, with it, Killy and Hildie’s wedding day.
Killy wore his cleanest breeches with a new white shirt, his jaw clean-shaven, his Scotch bonnet washed and repaired.
"I’ve never seen you so… clean ," Joseph observed, a grin on his face.
Killy glared at him. "You’d best pretty up your feathers, lad, or you’ll never find a bride of your own."
But it was the bride who took everyone’s breath away.
Her stature queenly, her blond hair hanging in a
She found herself on the crest, bliss drawing tight in her belly, then exploding in a warm rush, a flood of liquid delight. Morgan caught her cries with a kiss, groaning into her mouth as he followed her into oblivion and spilled himself inside her.
* * *
He made sweet, slow love to her twice more, once on the bearskin rug before their bedroom fireplace and then again in their bed. It was only as she lay in his arms, about to drift into dreams, that she noticed it.
" Le gui ." She did not know what the plant was called in English.
Morgan opened his eyes, a lazy grin spreading on his face when he saw it. "Mistletoe. Where did you find it?"
"I did not put it there." She sat up on one elbow. "I thought you’d hung it."
His brow furrowed. "Nay."
Amalie met Morgan’s gaze and knew he was as perplexed as she.
"Hmmm." His eyes narrowed. "My brothers."
Did he believe his brothers had done this?
Amalie blushed to think so.
But then Morgan settled her head against his shoulder, one strong arm holding her close, his other hand stroking her hair. "You know I’d gladly cut out my own heart and throw it in the dirt afore I’d hurt you. Can you forgi’e me, lass?"
"Of course." She slid her hand over his chest, her palm coming to rest over his heartbeat. "But leave your heart where it is, oui ?"
* * *
Christmas Day dawned quietly, snow still falling, the forest around them blanketed in white. Inside the cabins, all were warm and happy. They gathered for a breakfast of salt pork, eggs, and johnny cakes after the animals had been tended, and then exchanged gifts. Everyone received something made by the hands of those who loved them — hats, mittens, shawls, warm nightclothes.
It was clear to Connor, Sarah, Iain and Annie that something had changed overnight between Morgan and Amalie, something that had nothing to do with the beautiful ivory combs in Amalie’s dark hair. If their smiling faces hadn’t given that away, then their tender touches and stolen glances would have.
But it was Iain who noticed the smug look on his youngest brother’s face. "What did you do, for I ken you’ve done somethin ’."
"Do you remember the old oak by the burn?" Connor asked.
"Aye, for certain."
"I cut some mistletoe from its branches and hung it above their bed."
Iain’s gaze narrowed. "So that was you ?"
Connor grinned. "I had plenty, so I nailed some up in your room, too."
"I thought Annie had done that, and I…Well, that’s none of your affair. She no doubt thinks I hung it, hopin ’ to seduce her." And Iain remembered. "What of the mistletoe Miss Janssen brought wi ’ her? Was that your doin’, too?"
"I gave her a sprig in Albany and told her it was a gift from Killy ."
Iain threw back his head and laughed. "Merry Christmas, brother."
"Merry Christmas." Connor gave him a nudge. "And, Iain, you’re welcome."
* * *
The week between Christmas and Hogmanay passed in an air of celebration. The men finished the front room and bedroom of Connor and Sarah’s cabin, for it was there Killy and Hildie would spend their wedding night. Meanwhile, the women baked pies, cakes, and Black Bun for Hogmanay — what the British called New Year’s— and for the wedding. Hildie proved to be quite skilled in the kitchen and stepped in to direct the cooking and baking, but with such humbleness and humor that the other women were most grateful to have her help. And then Hogmanay arrived and, with it, Killy and Hildie’s wedding day.
Killy wore his cleanest breeches with a new white shirt, his jaw clean-shaven, his Scotch bonnet washed and repaired.
"I’ve never seen you so… clean ," Joseph observed, a grin on his face.
Killy glared at him. "You’d best pretty up your feathers, lad, or you’ll never find a bride of your own."
But it was the bride who took everyone’s breath away.
Her stature queenly, her blond hair hanging in a
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