Once Upon A Highland Christmas by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

the Munzie farm so early that morning. Their hosts had sent them off with much fanfare after Grim revealed their stay had inspired them to exchange vows in the wee hours, following the honored tradition of their Celtic ancestors.
    Grim hadn’t stopped smiling since. He’d even told her he didn’t know how he’d master his tasks at Duncreag now because she occupied his heart and mind so completely little room remained for anything else. His pleasure at their union, and in her, filled her with so much joy, she was sure no other woman could be more fortunate.
    Even now, he kept glancing at her in a bold, appreciative way that sent rivers of awareness flowing all through her.
    Not wanting to arrive at the MacGregor’s in a swoon, she returned her attention to the Yule beacon. “I didn’t expect the fire to be so beautiful.”
    “Some say such a balefire can make the devil envious.” Grim turned his own gaze back to the frost-hardened path they were following along the lochside. “That is so because the poor devil has only the flames of hell to ponder while a Highland chieftain’s Yule beacon blazes across the most stunning country this side of heaven.
    “Indeed”—his tone held pride—“to a Highlander, our hills and glens are heaven. I vow even Valhalla would pale by comparison.”
    “No doubt.” Breena agreed entirely.
    She, too, could lose her heart to the Highlands. She’d dreamed of someday going back to Ireland. Her heart still squeezed, her soul yearning, when she thought of Inishowen. The approach of Christmas, always such a joyous time in her village, had sharpened the longing. But she trusted her homesickness would lessen, especially now that she and Grim had wed.
    At the reminder, her pulse quickened and she felt the sweetest warmth curl low by her thighs, tingly anticipation of another night spent in Grim’s arms.
    She didn’t think she’d ever tire of his touching her, or of caressing him. Even now, she could feel her passion for him building, her heart swelling with love.
    “Do you think we’ll reach MacGregor Tower soon?” She glanced about as they rode away from the loch and entered the deep trough of a long and narrow glen.
    The Yule beacon lit the way, but it was now deepening twilight, the hour of gloaming. For the last few miles, the snow-blanketed hills and woodlands had been sinking into darkness, and frosty mist blew across their path. Breena was sure her ears were frozen, and the brittle air burned her lungs. The wind was also picking up, each new gust howling like a banshee as it tore through the glen, shrieking and ice-edged, so cold that her eyes stung.
    But the balefire’s leaping flames were reward enough for any discomfort.
    In truth, she found the wintry Highlands wild, glorious, and awe inspiring.
    The Yule beacon finally loomed near, a towering pile of wood with its huge red plumes coloring the night sky. It could’ve been ripped from a bard’s fantastical song about the myths and legends of old.
    “No’ at all like the pinprick of light we saw through the pines at Fergus Munzie’s farm, is it?” Grim edged his horse nearer to hers. He reached over, adjusting the great wolfskin cloak he’d again insisted she wear. “Thon flames can be seen for miles.” He nodded toward the fire, so high atop its rock-strewn ridge. “Like as no’, we’ll be seen as well. The MacGregor will have lookouts posted. Men set to watch who is attracted by his balefire.
    “We’ll be met at his door, you’ll see.” Grim kneed his horse, also clucking to Breena’s, encouraging the mare to keep pace. “There’ll be a welcoming hearth fire, ale and uisge beatha, and a good, warm meal. Like as no’ pipers will be strutting about in number, playing their hearts out to herald in the festive days. If we’re lucky, there’ll be plenty of sugared almonds and other sweetmeats. The MacGregor is said to be fond of the like.”
    “I have only one wish for this night.” Breena kept her chin