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    A Lovely Little Christmas
    A Lovely Little Christmas
    A Lovely Little Christmas
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    A Lovely Little Christmas

    By Debbie Mumford

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    About this ebook

    Christmas and romance belong together! What's better than a heartwarming tale of love, especially if it blooms during the holidays? Not a single thing.

    In this collection you'll find six romantic short stories by Debbie Mumford from across the ages, from medieval Scotland to a paranormal version of contemporary Oregon.

    Join Ms. Mumford as she discovers love and romance in multiple places and eras, and learns that it blooms in every single one!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWDM Publishing
    Release dateDec 7, 2024
    ISBN9798227650603
    A Lovely Little Christmas
    Author

    Debbie Mumford

    Debbie Mumford specializes in speculative fiction—fantasy, paranormal romance, and science fiction. Author of the popular Sorcha’s Children series, Debbie loves the unknown, whether it’s the lure of space or earthbound mythology. Her work has been published in multiple volumes of Fiction River, as well as in Heart’s Kiss Magazine, Spinetingler Magazine, and other popular markets. She writes about dragon-shifters, time-traveling lovers, and ghostly detectives for adults as Debbie Mumford and contemporary fantasy for tweens and young adults as Deb Logan.

    Read more from Debbie Mumford

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      Book preview

      A Lovely Little Christmas - Debbie Mumford

      CHAPTER 1

      Lady Catriona Logan swept into the great hall of Lastalrig Castle, her tartan skirt swishing around her ankles and her corsage laced so tightly she could feel her every breath. Hands fisted on hips, she paused to admire the decorations. The huge stone hearth at the far end of the room was swept clean, ready for the lighting of the Yule log when the men returned from procuring the traditional birch tree. The brass candle sconces fairly shone, having been polished for the festivities. Once the wicks were lit, the beeswax candles would cast a pearly glow on the rough stone walls. Fresh rushes were strewn across the flagstone floor, and the tables and walls were bedecked with holly, ivy, and mistletoe. In pride of place hung a beautifully woven kissing branch. The large spherical ornament was suspended from the rafters above a spot right in front of the head table where Cat and her highland laird Eideard would be seated.

      Christmas at Lastalrig was like nothing Cat had ever experienced.

      In the six months since she’d fallen through time to land in Eideard’s life, she’d grown accustomed to the Scotland of 1452, but Christmas … well, Christmas was a time for family and friends, for beloved traditions like twinkling lights on a decorated tree, caroling in the snow, and lazy Christmas mornings with hot chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and beautifully wrapped presents under the tree.

      At least, that was what every other Christmas of her life had been. But this wasn’t 2012 and she wasn’t in North Carolina with Gran Da. No, this year she was the Lady of Lastalrig Castle in the year of our Lord fourteen hundred and fifty-two. And it wasn’t even Christmas they’d be celebrating tonight. It was Yule, and the festivities would last twelve days, with the biggest celebration occurring on Twelfth Night, January 5 th, the Eve of Epiphany.

      Eideard had explained it all to her, making sure she understood her role for the various saints’ days that fell between Christmas and Epiphany, and she was somewhat familiar from her university studies of medieval literature, but reading about something that happened hundreds of years ago and experiencing it first hand were vastly different beasts. At least she knew she could rely on Eideard to guide her through the intricacies of the season.

      Eideard. Her highland laird. The love of her life and the reason she was here, in a castle that was little more than a moldering ruin in the time she’d been born to. Eideard. He’d loved her enough to discover a way for her to choose her fate, and once she’d recognized his forbearance as love, she’d followed her heart and chosen to stay.

      She smiled, remembering his declaration of love, Ye are a trial, Catriona. How could ye doubt my love? Have I nae forborne tae beat ye when all my kinsmen hae counseled me that ye needed naught but a good lashing tae learn your place?

      A giggle escaped her lips and she glanced around to be sure she was still alone. She’d actually had to explain to the poor man that not beating her didn’t equal love in a 21 st century woman’s mind!

      But regardless of their vastly different communication styles, not to mention world views, Eideard did love Catriona, and Cat loved him so deeply, so completely, that she’d given up the opportunity to return to her own time, and instead worked daily to settle into her new life as the laird’s wife, the Lady of Lastalrig.

      And even though it was Yule, not Christmas, and gifts would not be exchanged for centuries yet to come, Cat would hold to her own traditions. Her hands relaxed from their fists and slid across the folds of her tartan skirt to rest protectively over the slight swell of her belly. Tonight, in the seclusion of their bedchamber, she would give Eideard the most precious gift she’d ever held: the knowledge that she carried his child.

      CHAPTER 2

      A few hours later, Cat sat beside Eideard at the high table enjoying a meal of roast goose and mince pies. The Yule log crackled merrily on the hearth providing both warmth and a rosy glow to the crowded room. Many of the members of Clan Logan had come to Lastalrig for the Yule celebration, and the castle teemed with life. Every room, except the bedchamber Cat shared with Eideard, boasted extra inhabitants, and the kitchens scurried to keep everyone fed.

      Cat glanced at Eideard and her heart did a familiar little flip, raising her pulse. Her husband was easily the most handsome man in the room. Powerfully built with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his dark auburn hair glistened in the firelight. He’d clubbed it at the back of his neck for the night’s festivities, though Cat loved it best when it hung loose around his shoulders. As though feeling her gaze upon him, Eideard turned his head and smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling.

      Are ye enjoying the meal, love? he asked, his English lilting with the Scots brogue she loved.

      She nodded, heat suffusing her cheeks as she thought of how his accent thickened when they made love in the private paradise of their marriage bed.

      He grinned, and grabbing her hand, lifted it to his lips. Ye are especially lovely tonight, Catriona. That new gown suits ye.

      Thank you, Eideard, she said, lowering her eyes demurely. I’m glad my appearance pleases you.

      Eideard chuckled, squeezed her hand, and, leaning close, whispered for her ear alone, That was well said, my love. Ye’ll have the clan believing ye are a well-bred lass yet. He kissed her cheek before continuing, but ‘tis a lucky man who knows the truth of who and what ye are … and that man is me.

      Heat rose throughout her body, and she knew that her cheeks flamed to match the red of her new gown. She widened her eyes, met his gaze more boldly than any fifteenth century woman would dream of, and said with a very good imitation of innocence, Why, my lord, I cannot imagine what you mean. I can assure you, my breeding is excellent.

      Eideard guffawed. When his mirth had settled, he raised his goblet to her. To yer health, wife.

      Cat lifted her own cup and said with a smile, And to yours as well, husband, and took a sip. Alone of all the revelers in the great hall, Catriona drank water. Boiled water. Though the castle’s supply of drinking water came from a pristine spring, Cat had given Mistress Mac, the castle’s headwoman, instructions that any water she and Eideard consumed was to be boiled first. As soon as she suspected her pregnancy, Cat had stopped drinking the ale that was served with every meal and insisted on water. Mistress Mac might think her strange, but the headwoman had long since accepted that the laird’s wife held some distinctly odd notions.

      After the remains of the meal had been whisked away to the kitchens, several of the clansmen pushed the large trestle tables away from the center of the room, clearing a wide area before the high table.

      What’s happening, Eideard? Cat asked, leaning close to her husband.

      Eideard’s eyes

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