A Christmas Kiss for the Highlander by Collette Cameron

Author:Collette Cameron [Cameron, Collette]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2020-07-17T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“Of course, she should come,” Skye agreed at once. “I would very much enjoy meeting her.”

“I didna ken ye had any family,” Liam observed, his probing stare attempting to peel away the layers of subterfuge Quinn had hidden behind for so long. “I’d like to make her acquaintance as well.”

“I should warn ye,” Quinn said, recalling the oversized purple wig complete with a miniature ship she’d been wearing when he’d called upon her. “She’s outspoken and more than a bit eccentric. I believe at last count, she had nine cats—named after one mythological goddess or another—and they each have a place set for them to dine each mornin’ and evenin’. I believe it would do her a world of good to socialize.”

Maybe she’d stop treating the furballs like pampered children if she spent more time with humans.

“She sounds delightful.” Skye took a dainty bite of what now must be cold porridge. “Is she your maternal or paternal grandmother?”

“Maternal. A dotty, but dear thing.” Oddly, the usual ire Quinn experienced whenever his thoughts took him down the unpleasant path to his paternity didn’t burgeon within him. Mayhap, he could put the ugliness that had haunted his soul to rest at last.

The dowager baroness nodded, her face contemplative. “Aye, I like the idea. What we do in the privacy of our home is our business. And as Liam said, ’tis no’ illegal to celebrate Christmas. Emeline, ye are mistress of this house. What are yer thoughts?”

Emeline sent Skye an encouraging smile. “Why dinna we meet in the rose salon this afternoon at three of the clock and discuss our thoughts and ideas?” She gravitated her gaze to the dowager baroness and Kendra to include them as well.

Afternoon was perfect.

Quinn intended to request a meeting with Liam to ask for Skye’s hand in marriage, and then he’d invite Skye for a stroll later this morning and ask her to marry him. He cut Liam a side-eyed look and couldn’t help but chuckle at his wry, befuddled expression. “It seems, my friend, the ladies have this under control.”

“’Tis a good thing, too, because beyond a Christmas goose and a yule log, I havena the first idea what is called for. A right good scotch or cognac, I suppose. I dinna recall Christmastide ever bein’ celebrated in this house.” A hoary, grayish snout appeared over the table’s edge, snuffling loudly and clearly seeking a treat.

Liam obliged with half a scone, and the snout disappeared only to be followed by loud chomping.

“Do stop feedin’ him at the table, Liam. His manners are already atrocious,” his mother admonished, shaking her head. “As for Christmastide, it hasna been observed here. But that disna mean we canna start new traditions.”

“Precisely,” Emeline said, one finger on her chin and eyes slightly narrowed. “I’ll speak with the cook today. I have several ideas for festive foods. Black bun for one.” She clasped her hands. “We simply must have black bun and clootie dumplin’, of course.”

With each passing minute, Quinn appreciated the idea of Christmas festivities more and more.

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