O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,12

‘detailed’, ‘highly romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles, passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for both women AND men – an unusual crossover for a romance author – and Kathryn has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective, the action, and the adventure.

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The Laird’s Yulebringer

Caroline Lee

The Mackenzies are in mourning, and none so much as their laird. Since the loss of his wife, leaving Callan to raise a young son alone, he believes he’s lost his chance at happiness. As his extended family gathers to celebrate the Yule together, they can do naught to raise his spirits…until a midnight visitor—of the ghostly variety—brings him hope for the future. Check out the next generation of The Sinclair Jewels!

Clan Mackenzie was in mourning.

The laird’s wife had died in childbirth almost a year ago, along with her stillborn daughter. The clan had an heir already, but they still felt the loss keenly…and none so much as her husband.

It felt wrong to celebrate the Yule season without Fia. It seemed somehow insulting to have put aside his mourning for his wife, for the sake of the season.

Still, Callan knew his clan needed this tradition, as did his son, so he’d given his aunt approval to invite her family.

But that didn’t mean he was going to enjoy himself.

No matter how his cousins pestered him.

“Ye’re certain ye’ll no’ have another cup of ale?” Beck waggled his flagon in offer, even as he waggled his brows. “’Twill warm ye.”

When Callan shook his head, the other man belched loudly. “Suit yerself.”

“Stop pestering the poor bastard,” growled Nolan from his spot by the hearth. This stoic cousin was a year older than Callan—two years older than his brother Beck—and as serious as Beck was carefree. “Can ye no’ see he wants naught to do with us?”

His brother had one leg hooked over the arm of Callan’s favorite chair. It had been Uncle Jaime’s for years, but Callan had taken it over when he’d assumed complete control of the clan on his majority. And he suspected his cousin knew that; ’twas why Beck was so irreverent.

Stifling a sigh, Callan rubbed his temple. He might be young, but he knew enough about dependence to avoid ale when possible. Still, there were some nights—when the grief welled up in him, or his cousins were being particularly annoying—that he wished he did indulge.

“While I appreciate yer attempts to distract me—”

“Attempts?” Beck snorted, lifting his flagon in a salute. “’Tis working, is it no’?”

“I’m distracted with annoyance,” Callan said blandly.

“But ye’re distracted, and that’s what matters.”

Nolan made a sound which might’ve been an irritated grunt, had the man done anything as crass as actually show emotion. “Sorry, Callan. I couldnae convince him to leave ye in peace.”

His brother snorted. “Ye wanted to be left in peace? On a night such as this? When the wind is howling, and the snow is making the whole place colder than a witch’s tit, and ye’re surrounded by black drapes instead of boughs and berries?”

Of course, Beck didn’t understand. There were times Callan himself wondered if the last years with Fia had been a dream, anyhow. They’d been so young when they’d married, and now…

He’d lost her.

“I dinnae expect ye to understand, Beck,” he said quietly. “But respect my choices, aye? I ken ’tis no’ as merry a Yule as ye expected, but then…” He shrugged. “I expected to have my wife and daughter with me to celebrate, as well.”

“Och, Callan, I’m sorry.” Slowly, Beck swung his leg back into position and leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees, the ale dangling between them. “I ken ye’re mourning,