"I ken ye do, my fine Highland laddie. And the headstrong lass wouldnae have it any other way."
"There’s too many people in here."
That low growl always made her bones vibrate with excitement. "Which is why I want to go outside."
"Why didnae ye say so earlier, you daft lassie?"
She sent him a sideways look that told him his teasing didn’t charm her, although it did. "Shall we go?"
She’d been wrong about nobody noticing them. It took much longer than she’d intended to leave the room. So many people wanted to talk to them and wish them
the compliments of the season and say what a lovely party it was. As Kirsty whisked Dougal out the front door and into the cold, clear night, the clocks were chiming the hour.
"Oh, blast," she muttered, taking his hand and drawing him down the steps to the gravel drive.
She clutched the shawl she’d snatched from the hall closer around her shoulders. Behind them she heard laughter and conversation and music. Above her sparkled the glorious stars.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, leading her toward the bare elm trees that edged the drive and which would hide them from observing eyes.
"I had a fancy to kiss ye on the stroke of midnight."
His soft chuckle melted her brief annoyance. "Och, who cares what time it is, mo chridhe? Come and kiss me anyway."
She leaned against him as he took her into his arms and kissed her with a tender care that made her feel like the most beloved woman in Scotland. With a sigh of pleasure, she responded with all the adoration and gratitude brimming in her heart.
When the kiss showed signs of heating up, she reluctantly drew away. "Wait, Dougal."
"Dinnae tease me, Kirsty," he groaned. "It’s as cold as a witch’s tit out here, and the only thing keeping me warm is holding ye close."
It was cold. Too cold to linger, but she’d been desperate for a moment’s privacy that the house wouldn’t provide. "I willnae make ye wait too long, my love, but I have something important to tell you."
In the light flooding from the house, she caught the flash of his straight, white teeth as he smiled. His hands settled in a loose hold at her waist. "This year ye want to go to Vienna and Rome?"
"No."
"Back to Paris?"
She shook her head, enjoying herself, but aware that the weather wasn’t conducive to alfresco discussions. "No, this year, we’ll be staying close to home."
He looked puzzled. "Aye, and why is that, love of my life? Have ye already tired of seeing the world?"
"No’ a bit of it." She stared up into his remarkable face. "But we have good reason no’ to go too far. At least until June or July."
"June or July," he echoed, and she noted the precise moment he understood just what she was telling him. Even in the uncertain light, she saw delight transform his expression. "A bairn? You’re going to have a bairn, my darling?"
She placed one hand on her still-flat stomach. "Aye, in the summer."
The hand Dougal rested over hers was shaking. She had a notion that her baby could already feel the power of its parents’ love. "A son or a daughter."
She gave a choked laugh. "That’s how it usually works."
His hand flexed over hers. "Och, Kirsty, I’m so happy."
"Me, too," she said as he tugged her against him for more kisses. When eventually he lifted his head, a husky laugh escaped him. "Is that no’ the best news that a man can hear?"
"Happy Christmas, Dougal," she whispered.
He sighed. "You’re crying, aren’t ye?"