Highland Yuletide Wish: The Highland Ballad Series, #3.5

By Kristin Gleeson

A Highland holiday historical romance filled with fun, intrigue and love from a USA Today bestselling author.

 

Snow is in the air at Glen Strae and Yuletide is approaching, a time of celebrations. But Abby has her own private sorrow and any hope of overcoming it before the holiday season is dashed when Iain tells her that he must leave to collect his brother from St Andrews. Abby knows it's a lie because to leave Glen Strae puts Iain at risk for his name and his life. He still insists he must go and it makes her fear his real reason for leaving, that his love is fading. Her doubts and suspicions take her to Stirling Castle where she finds her parents in danger once more and she realises she must not only rescue them, but also her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: An Tig Beag Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201846404

Kristin Gleeson

Originally from Philadelphia, Kristin Gleeson lives in Ireland, in the West Cork Gaeltacht, where she teaches art classes, plays harp, sings in an Irish choir and runs two book clubs for the village library.   She holds a Masters in Library Science and a Ph.D. in history, and for a time was an administrator of a national denominational archives, library and museum in America.  She also served as a public librarian in America and in Ireland.

Book preview

HIGHLAND YULETIDE WISH

BOOK 3.5 OF THE HIGHLAND BALLAD SERIES

KRISTIN GLEESON

An Tig Beag Press

Published by An Tig Beag Press

Text Copyright 2021 © Kristin Gleeson

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Cover design by J.D. Smith Designs

CONTENTS

Other Works

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Historical Note

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

The Hostage of Glenorchy

Chapter 1

OTHER WORKS BY KRISTIN GLEESON

In Praise of the Bees

CELTIC KNOT SERIES

Selkie Dreams

Along the Far Shores

Raven Brought the Light

A Treasure Beyond Worth (novella)

RENAISSANCE SOJOURNER SERIES

A Trick of Fate (novella)

The Imp of Eye

The Sea of Travail

HIGHLAND BALLAD SERIES

The Hostage of Glenorchy

The Mists of Glen Strae

The Braes of Huntly

Highland Lioness

RISE OF THE CELTIC GODS SERIES

Awakening the Gods

In Search of the Hero God

NON FICTION

Anahareo, A Wilderness Spirit

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CHAPTER 1

SCOTLAND, LATE NOVEMBER 1558

Abby folded her arms across her waist and felt a momentary pang that it was flat, as it had been month after month since the first year of their marriage. She still had her nightshift on and every curve, or lack of curve was patently obvious to her. She shoved the thoughts aside and the grief that came with them. There was no time for that now.

Iain, explain it to me again, why ye must travel to St Andrews and collect your brother? Alisdair is old enough to escort himself and his servant back here for the Yuletide festivities, no matter the ‘perilousness of the roads’ as ye so delicately put it. He’s a Highlander.

Iain looked up from shrugging on his leather jerkin. He ran his hand through his dark curls and gave Abby a patient smile. Ah, quean, ye ken it isna that simple.

Abby frowned, staring at the man she loved more dearly than she loved her own life. His piercing blue eyes, his dark curls, now just a little shorter and a little more fashionable than when she’d first met him less than three years before. It was difficult to believe. Just as it was difficult to believe the words he’d just spouted in a mixture of Scots and Gaelic. Her Gaelic had improved over the months, in part from her determination to learn and in part from the patience Iain and his family had shown her.

I dinna believe ye, she said. She fiddled with her plaited hair, now grown past her shoulders. Burnished copper, Iain had called it, and many other things accompanied by looks of such desire that she still blushed at the thoughts.

Iain moved over to her, catching her up in his arms and pulling her towards him. I love it when you speak Scots like a true Scot, especially when ye’re annoyed.

I am a true Scot, she said and hit his chest with the flat of her palm. But dinna try to distract me from this discussion.

"I wouldna do that tae ye, Francach, though I suppose I should stop calling ye that, now ye speak like a Scot."

She rested her head on his chest. I hope you won’t, she said, the accent strongly French now, her mother’s heritage on display. Because I can only imagine what outrageous name you would put in its place. She looked away, blinking back the tears that suddenly came, determined to be cheerful.

He kissed her head and stroked her cheek, but his eyes twinkled wickedly. It woudna be truly awful.

She pulled away, her eyes narrowing. Again, you try to distract me. What is the true purpose of your journey? Alisdair is fair enough with a sword now, surely. He’s sixteen. And the roads are nae that bad. Or have you heard otherwise? Ye didna say, if ye have.

Nae more than ye’d heard before, Abby, he said. He grabbed his boots and began to shove them on.

So, tell me why?

He looked over at her and sighed. It was the patient sigh, the one that she found the most irritating, because underneath it she knew was suppressed irritation and probably a thousand other things that summed up life at Glen Strae since he’d made the promise to remain here out of sight and danger.

It is as I said, he said, slowly, kindly. There is much unrest around St Andrews. The Dowager Queen has retreated tae Stirling. Our queen is married to the French Prince and heir, Glenorchy and Argyll are stirring up trouble with the Protestant Lords, Moray is uncertain in his loyalties—

Abby held up her hand. Yes, I know this. Her tone was clipped now, if only to show him that she wouldn’t be fooled. This is no different than last summer, when Alisdair went off to study at St Andrews.

Abby, his tone was sharp. It is different. The differences are subtle, I grant ye, but they are there. There is some trouble afoot.

She drew herself up. And how do ye ken that, my lord?

Her tone was mocking, her heart twisting. What was he keeping from her? There was something, she was certain. She knew him too well. The way his eyes were steady, staring, not so much at her, but past her. She knew that look from before.

Are ye spying for the Dowager Queen again? Is that what this is?

He drew back, the surprise on his face clear. What? Why would ye say that?

Because I ken ye well, Iain MacGregor. She could feel her face redden with anger, with pain, with frustration. Ye promised, Iain.

He gave her a hard look. I never break my promises.

She could make ye, said Abby. The Queen and her mother, the Dowager. If they needed ye.

She pulled tighter the shawl she had draped around her shoulders, suddenly cold, despite the fire burning in the brazier. Iain had lit it before first light, determined to be on the road as early as possible. It had only been last night that he’d broken the news of his departure, just before they’d gone to bed, announcing it briefly to the family as they gathered at the hearth in the hall. The timing had been poor, but deliberate, in her view. The timing had made her sleep non-existent and her temper short now as she watched him prepare, piling a few changes of clothes