Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(25)

“Why is that?” she asked.

His expression grew tender, causing her breath to catch. “No woman ever gained my interest, because none of them were you.”

Overwhelmed, and needing more air due to the building heat between them, she turned away from his penetrating gaze but remained within the comfort of his arms as she stared at Isobel’s Christmas tree. A few small candles now flickered from within tiny glass jars that hung on only the sturdiest branches. Pieces made of gold and many other shining surfaces twinkled with light. Each person here tonight had placed a piece of themselves upon that tree—a collection of brilliant unique gifts brought together into one beautiful whole.

Her mark hadn’t been left there, but she’d only come upon their family by happenstance, not plan. She felt detached from it all, an outsider in their unfamiliar world.

“Happiness...’tis not possible for me, Robert.”

He touched a finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his dark eyes. “Everythin’ is possible. When we least expect it and have given up all hope of findin’ what we want, suddenly it appears in the most unlikely of places.”

The words he spoke were amazing, and he made her want to believe. Her heart pounded with the excitement of what his idea promised...mixed with great fear of it not being true. She’d never had what Isobel had spoken of. And yet, in Robert’s arms, it seemed within her grasp.

A fragile feeling of hope flickered within her heart like a newborn flame. She only wished she knew how to protect that delicate flame from the fierce wind blowing.

Suddenly, an unmistakable wave of power rippled through her body. She and Robert both snapped their heads toward the source.

She gasped. The magnificent black-winged creature stood in the entrance of the great hall.

“Robert, do you see...that?” she whispered.

He bent his head down, whispering, “Aye, love. ’Tis quite the sight.”

“’Twas not my imagination,” she said.

“Nay. His name is Skorpius. And he...aids...Lady Isobel from time to time,” Robert said.

“But he...he has...”

“Aye. Wings. ’Tis a real-life angel.” Robert hesitated, his voice dropping lower, “Brodie Castle possesses a great amount of magick that I need to properly explain when we have the time.”

Susanna couldn’t take her eyes off the breathtaking creature. A wild mane of black hair framed a beautiful face with eyes like faceted jewels that glittered between emerald and sapphire. Wings of darkest midnight arched high above his shoulders, their long-feathered tips nearly brushing the gray stone floor. His chest and arms were muscular and bare—his only attire: black leather pants and worn, black leather boots with their strings untied.

Isobel made her way toward Skorpius, waddling between the chairs and tables with Iain right by her side.

“Warrior-of-time turned holiday-errand-boy, at your service,” Skorpius announced.

“Oh, pipe down, Cupcake. You grumble more than an old woman crippled with arthritis,” Isobel said.

A growl reverberated so deeply from the creature, Susanna’s bones vibrated.

A green bundle hung from a red ribbon in Skorpius’ fist.

“What’s danglin’ from the ribbon in his hand?” Susanna asked a bit too loudly.

“It’s mistletoe,” Isobel replied.

Skorpius muttered, “Enchanted mistletoe, as none grows here. I stole this from a Victorian entryway in the dark of night, circa 1867.”

“Shush, Cupcake. I’m warning you.” Isobel glared at him. “Hang it from the hook above you.”

The warrior stood easily a foot taller than any Brodie clansman and with a single reach up, he caught the ribbon on a hook embedded into a thick wooden crossbeam over his head. “Keep calling me Cupcake and nothing will shush me,” he grumbled.

“What is he doin’ here?” Brigid shouted.

Skorpius fell silent at the sound of Brigid’s voice. His chest rose and fell more deeply as he stared at her, and the feeling of animosity from the creature vanished, affection emanating from him instead.

Susanna blinked hard at the change...that she felt.

“What is this mistletoe for?” Robert asked.

“It’s from an ancient Norse legend. Those that stand under the mistletoe are to kiss. It brings the couple luck and good health. It’s a symbol of peace, of love. I’ve always made a wish during the kiss,” Isobel replied.

Robert suddenly grabbed Susanna’s hand and pulled her through the crowd. She tugged her hand back, trying to resist him, but in spite of her attempts to escape his iron grip, he dragged her toward the front door.

“Let me go, you brute!” Susanna growled.

Conversations fell silent as Susanna dug her heels into the wooden floor, the scrapes sounding shrill to her ears; she imagined shavings flying up in her wake. Despite her resistance, Robert’s unyielding hold and his supreme strength powered their momentum until he stopped and turned to face her, directly under the hung mistletoe.

He’d halted so abruptly, Susanna crashed into his chest. Before she could push away, his arms folded around her, banding hers to her sides.

He crushed an unexpected kiss onto her lips. She gasped and his tongue gained entrance, his sizzling heat and demanding possession overpowering her. On a sigh, she melted into his arms, taking everything Robert gave as delicious warmth spread through her body.