A HIghland Christmas Dream: A Highland Christmas, #1

By Fiona Grant

Bridget Rose is used to being teased by her friends Myra and Eimhir about being a dreamer, "waiting for her brave knight"—but Bridget knows that the right man is out there somewhere! 

What she isn't expecting is to see him in the courtyard of Chieftain Urqhart's castle when they all congregate there for Christmastide in the Highlands. Why is it that she feels she knows him? 

Her friends are shocked by her uncharacteristic behaviour, but Bridget is determined to get to know the handsome, smiling Alec Stewart. She throws herself into the fun of the season, but her heart is in her mouth: is this real? 

Will Alec feel the same way about her as she does about him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Gem Publishing
• Release date: Dec 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781922772169

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anticipation

Bridget loved the Christmas season. She always felt a thrill at the sight of bright garlands of leaves and holly that festooned the castles of the Scottish Highlands, and adored the dancing and festivities that went along with the week-long celebration. And what lass would not jump at the opportunity to don a bright gown and dance until she was breathless? 

Especially this Christmas, when she and her two best friends were, with their families, on their way to Chieftain Urquhart’s annual Christmastide celebration. Bridget’s eyes moved to the other two girls, and she felt a surge of anticipation mixed with affection. Myra, her pleasantly rounded body wrapped in a red woollen cloak, was clinging to her saddle with the anxious grip of someone who was not comfortable on a horse. She was well cocooned against the chill, with only a few blonde curls escaping from beneath the cloak’s ample hood. Despite her discomfort, she could still laugh at Eimhir’s jokes. 

Eimhir, in contrast, looked as at home on her steed as if she had been born there. Straight-backed and proud, with a mane of thick, red hair which she left uncovered, she was throwing her head back in laughter at her own joke. Her hair caught the thin morning sunlight and shone like fire as it tumbled over her midnight blue cape and down her back.

Sometimes, Bridget felt like an insignificant brown bird next to her two friends. She was smaller than either, and didn’t have either Myra’s curves or Eimhir’s confidence. Her light brown hair was twisted in a simple braid, with one white flower fixed into the end of it with a length of twine in an attempt to look festive. She was a dreamer, she knew: her mother was forever clucking her tongue and telling her to get her head out of the clouds and make more of herself. 

Bridget knew that ‘make more of herself’ was her mother’s way of saying that she should look favourably upon one of the suitors now coming to visit. She sighed at the thought. 

Bridget! Did ye no’ ken the joke? came Eimhir’s voice. 

Guiltily, Bridget started, realising that yet again she had let her mind drift, lost in thoughts of the festival and the clan pressure on her to wed. 

Aye, I did! she responded with a laugh. Sorry, I was… trying to think of a joke to tell you. Give me a moment. 

It’s a sennight we’ll need to give ye, not a moment, Eimhir said with a roll of her eyes. But listen now, I have another!

Bridget had to laugh. All right, keep on, then. 

The three families scrambled down the moor path together, raucous laughter and excited chatter swirling through the air. It was several hours now since they had left the comfort of the roadside inn in which they had spent the evening. They had left in the dark and watched the stars wink out one by one in the early morning sky as the light crept over the hills and dyed the thick moor grasses a golden green. 

As they rode on, Bridget watched the steam rising from the peat bogs as they warmed in the sun. The thick blanket of mist that lay across the moors, so reminiscent of a lady’s fine night rail, was dispersed by the chill wind that crossed the hills. The bite of snow was in the air, but most of the group seemed not to feel it as they moved through and around one another, up and down the hills. 

The celebrations at the Urqhart clan was to be three days and nights of feasts and dancing and general revelry. More importantly, ’twas the first such occasion that the three girls had been able to properly attend, as they had all come of age in the last twelvemonth.

Bridget, in particular, often found herself drifting in daydreams of dances with handsome young lads who would sweep her off her feet before declaring