To Tame a Highland Warrior

But the Berserker wouldn’t go down so easily. The wildness in him rose to its full height and stared down at her through vulnerable ice-blue eyes, wordlessly beseeching her love.

Jillian raised her head slowly and gazed at him a long, silent moment. She drew herself upright into a sitting position and tilted her head back, her eyes wide.

Berserker.

The truth he’d struggled so hard to hide hung between them, fully exposed.

Although Jillian had known what Grimm was before that moment, she was briefly immobilized by the sight of him. It was one thing to know that the man she loved was a Berserker—it was another thing entirely to behold it. He regarded her with such an inhuman expression that if she hadn’t peered deep into his eyes, she might have seen nothing of Grimm at all. But there, deep in the flickering blue flames, she glimpsed such love that it rocked her soul. She smiled up at him through her tears.

A wounded sound of disbelief escaped him.

Jillian gave him the most dazzling smile she could muster and placed her fist to her heart. “And the daughter wed the lion king,” she said clearly.

An expression of incredulity crossed the warrior’s face. His blue eyes widened and he stared at her in stunned silence.

“I love you, Gavrael McIllioch.”

When he smiled, his face blazed with love. He tossed his head back and shouted his joy to the sky.

The last of the McKane died in the vale of Tuluth, December 14, 1515.

CHAPTER 34

“THEY’RE COMING, HAWK!” ADRIENNE SPED INTO THE Greathall where Hawk, Lydia, and Tavis were busy decorating for the wedding. As the ceremony was being held on Christmas Day, they’d combined the customary decorations with the gaily colored greens and reds of the season. Exquisite wreaths fashioned of pinecones and dried berries had been decorated with brilliant velvet bows and shimmering ribbons. The finest tapestries adorned the walls, including one Adrienne had helped to weave over the past year that featured a Nativity scene with a radiant Madonna cradling the infant Jesus while proud Joseph and the magi looked on.

Today the hall was clear of rushes, the stones scoured to a spotless gray. Later, only moments before the wedding, they would strew dried rose petals across the stones to release a springy floral aroma into the air. Sprigs of mistletoe dangled from every beam and Adrienne eyed the foliage, peering up at Hawk, who stood on a ladder, fastening a wreath to the wall.

“What are those lovely sprigs you’ve hung, Hawk?” Adrienne asked, the picture of innocence.

Hawk glanced down at her. “Mistletoe. It’s a Christmas tradition.”

“How is it associated with Christmas?”

“The legends say the Scandinavian god of peace, Balder, was slain by an arrow fashioned of mistletoe. The other gods and goddesses loved Balder so greatly, they begged his life be restored and mistletoe be endowed with special meaning.”

“What kind of special meaning?” Adrienne blinked expectantly up at him.

Hawk slid swiftly down the ladder, happy to demonstrate. He kissed her so passionately that the embers of desire, always at a steady burn around her husband, roared into flame. “One who passes beneath the mistletoe must be kissed thoroughly.”

“Mmm. I like this tradition. But what happened to poor Balder?”

Hawk grinned and planted another kiss on her lips. “Balder was returned to life and the care of mistletoe was bequeathed to the goddess of love. Each time a kiss is given beneath mistletoe, love and peace gain a stronger foothold in the world of mortals.”

“How lovely,” Adrienne exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “So essentially, the more I kiss you under this branch”—she pointed up—“the more good I’m doing the world. One might say I’m helping all of humankind, doing my duty—”

“Your duty?” Hawk arched a brow.

Lydia laughed and tugged Tavis beneath the branch as well. “It sounds like a good idea to me, Adrienne. Maybe if we kiss them enough we’ll lay all the silly feuding in this land to rest.”

The next few minutes belonged to lovers, until the door burst open and a guard announced the arrival of their guests.

Adrienne’s gaze darted about the Greathall as she fretted over anything that might be yet undone. She wanted everything to be perfect for Grimm’s bride. “How do I say it again?” she asked Lydia frantically. She’d been trying to perfect her Gaelic so she could greet them with a proper “Merry Christmas.”

“Nollaig Chridheil,” Lydia repeated slowly.

Adrienne repeated it several times, then linked her arm through Hawk’s and smiled beatifically. “My wish came true, Hawk,” she said smugly.