A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift

"Yes, thank heavens." Isabella leaned into Mac's embrace, loving that she could now be with him in relief. "Poor Ainsley. We should give her some tea, perhaps with whiskey."

"Splendid idea," Beth said, though her gaze was all for Ian, coming in with the rest of the dogs behind Hart.

"No, ye ladies can leave her alone to Cam and her babe," Mac said. "Danny will take care of them."

Hart, below, directed the housekeeper Mrs. Desmond to take everyone who'd searched to the dining room where they could enjoy whiskey and a light repast. Ever the generous host, Hart ushered them down the corridor himself. He looked impatient, though, wanting to return to Eleanor.

Ian didn't follow the others, but came straight upstairs to Beth. Not looking at Mac, Ian brushed his brother out of the way and caught Beth in an embrace.

"What happened?" Isabella asked him. "Where did you find her?"

Ian directed his answer to Beth. "Under the stables. With a cat. Achilles kept her safe."

"Thank God for our misbehaving and useless dogs," Mac said. "How on earth did she get under the stables?"

"That, I'm sure will be the question," Isabella said.

Below them, Cameron and Ainsley held each other, Gavina between them. Daniel rested his hands on their shoulders, speaking in a low voice.

"We should leave them to it," Beth said. "I for one, have the greatest desire to check again on my children."

"Indeed," Isabella said.

The two men didn't argue. The four mounted the stairs to the nursery, to find Nanny Westlock, already informed of Gavina's return, making sure the girl's bed was ready. Miss Westlock pressed a firm finger to her lips when the two couples came inside, indicating the sleeping children.

Isabella pulled a blanket a little straighter over Aimee, then smiled down at the dark red heads of Eileen and Robert, snug in their cots. Mac leaned down and pressed a kiss to all three children in turn, then led Isabella out.

Ian wouldn't leave, to Nanny Westlock's distress, and Mac laughed softly as he and Isabella went back to their wing of the house.

"Trust Ian to stand guard." Mac stopped on a shadowy landing and closed a comforting arm around Isabella. He smelled of paint and turpentine, and the heady scent of himself. Isabella sank into his warmth, her body shuddering in reaction. She'd shared Ainsley's fear, knowing what she'd feel if one of her own babies went missing.

Mac ran his finger under her chin, leaning down to kiss her. He tasted of spice and oolong tea, sweat and worry. But his stillness calmed her, as only Mac could.

Their lips met, and met again. Far away, the sounds of the household had turned joyous, laughter and raucous voices replacing the bowstring tension.

Mac's warmth flowed through his kiss, down through Isabella's body, loosening every limb. Isabella needed him, the reassurance that he was here and solid, protecting her and her children from harm.

Mac skimmed his fingertips over her cheek. "Let's seek someplace a bit more comfortable, eh, lass?"

Isabella smiled, loving his low voice and the promise in it. He put his arm around her waist, hand cupping, and led her on to their wing of the house.

Relief made Isabella giddy, wild need for Mac warming her blood. Instead of turning in at their bedchamber, a decorous married woman ought, Isabella broke loose from Mac's hold and ran on up another flight of stairs to his studio.

In the early days of their marriage--and again when they'd first been reunited--they'd made love in Mac's studio, shamelessly naked on the couch, or on drop cloths on the floor. Young, innocent Isabella had learned to be wicked and wanton with the decadent Mac Mackenzie, and she wanted that wickedness tonight.

Mac vaulted past her, boots thumping, and put himself between Isabella and the studio door. "Where are you going?"

Isabella touched a paint splotch on his cheek. "I thought we could reminisce. You know, about old times."

Mac started to smile. He loved reliving their first days together, when he'd stolen her from her debut ball at her father's house, eloped with her that very night, and had her in his bed before dawn.

He deliberately erased the grin and pressed his back to the studio door. "Our bedchamber's warmer, my love."

"Your studio will be plenty warm, if Bellamy has had his way." Mac used to grow too absorbed in painting to feed the fire, but Isabella had put in place instructions for Bellamy to check it and stoke it if necessary.

"Bellamy will have gone to bed by now," Mac said. "Or joined in the repast. I imagine he's exhausted."

Isabella's eyes narrowed. He was speaking a bit too glibly. "Mac, why don't you want me to go inside?"

"Because I think the bedroom will be more comfortable, love, that's all. We'll want to sleep after, cuddle under warm blankets. Not be stiff and cold in the studio." He leaned his arm on the doorframe, blocking it.

"You are a bad liar, Mac Mackenzie."

Isabella darted under his arm, going for the doorknob and the key in the doorplate. Mac had his hands on her arms, whirling her around and pinning her to the wall next to the door before she saw him start to move.

He leaned to her, copper-colored eyes dark in the shadows. "A liar, am I? Thought I was a rogue."

He pressed Isabella against the wall, her bustle squashing against the molded trim of the wainscoting. Mac brushed her hair from her face with his thumb, then he drew back and gave her a slow smile, his eyes half closing.