A giggle erupted past her lips. Oh, no. This was too much. Too perfect.
Blair blinked in surprise, then tracked her gaze to the lintel overhead—where Livie had hung a large clump of mistletoe.
“You see?” Amelia’s face split into a wide grin. “It’s happening already. Magic and miracles.”
A low rumble began in Blair’s throat, breaking into a deep chuckle. “I’ll be damned. I suppose…” His gaze drifted down to her, and when she met his eyes, all the mirth was suddenly gone. “I suppose we should kiss, then. For tradition’s sake.”
The breath caught in her throat. “I-I suppose we should.”
When Blair’s eyes slid to her lips, she fought the urge to shiver. His gaze moved slowly over her features, gentle as a caress. Then it settled on her mouth once more.
Ever so slowly, he lowered his head. An eternity seemed to pass as his lips drew toward hers. He was giving her time, she realized in a distant nook of her mind. Time to put a stop to this.
But she wouldn’t dream of turning away. Not from this kiss, and not from Blair.
When his lips met hers, the air suspended motionless in her lungs, even as her knees began a delicate tremble beneath her skirts. This close, she could smell his shaving soap, as well as the faint, sweet bite of the whisky he’d sipped earlier. His mouth was soft on hers, no more than a gentle brush.
But then his hand rose to cup her cheek, to angle her chin so that he could press firmer, deeper. Yes. This was the kiss she longed for—steady and sure and solid, just like Blair himself.
His fingertips grazed her temple, her ear, slipping into the loose hairs that had fallen from her bun. Lightning forked through her at each point he touched her. Of their own accord, her toes curled inside her house slippers. A breath rattled in her throat but did not escape, for her lips were fastened too tightly to Blair’s.
His arm slid around her, easing her closer with a large, warm hand on the small of her back. When they connected, Blair felt like a wall of living stone against her. Though her legs wobbled in earnest now, she knew she wouldn’t fall—not with him holding her steady.
With a further tilt of his head, he drew her deeper still into the kiss. His lips pressed then softened, plucking ever so softly at first her top then her bottom lip.
The velvet heat of his tongue swept slowly along the seam of her mouth. A quavering sigh at last broke free. When his tongue caressed hers, she felt she would melt right out of her clothes, dissolving into a puddle at his feet.
For an instant, his hand tightened in the hair at her nape. Before she could comprehend the electric jolt of sensation that followed, Blair hastily broke the kiss and stepped back. Thankfully, he kept hold of her elbow, else she would have crumpled like a wrung-out rag to the floor.
He cleared his throat, dragging his free hand through the dark waves of his hair.
“Now that tradition is satisfied,” he said, his voice rough as the crunch of gravel, “we had best turn in. Any more of this magic and miracles business and what’s left of my honor might desert me.”
It was more than gratifying to know that he was just as affected, just as discombobulated, by their kiss as she was.
“Indeed,” she breathed. “Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
Forcing the porridge from her legs, she mounted the stairs. But she’d only climbed a few steps when Blair’s voice halted her.
“Amelia.”
She spun on a swift exhalation. “Yes?”
Blair’s strong, handsome features curled into a roguish smile. “I think I know what my tradition will be.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, but ye’ll have to wait until tomorrow morn to find out.”
She huffed in mock impatience, then flashed him a shy grin before continuing up the stairs.
Yet even before she reached her modest room, she knew sleep would not come that night—not when she thrummed with the aftermath of their kiss. And what new adventure might tomorrow bring? The morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Fourteen
“The game is called Hopsy.”
Blair glanced between Amelia and Livie’s expectant faces across the dining table from him. When they remained blank, he frowned. “Or at least that’s what I always called it.”
As it was Christmas Eve, Cook, along with Thom and Betta, a brother and sister duo of ten and twelve who assisted her, were hard at work preparing all of tomorrow’s special dishes. Because of that, a simple breakfast of honeyed oat bannocks and tea had been served. Blair didn’t mind, though, for he was all too eager to share his game.
But it seemed he had some explaining to do.
“The day after Hogmanay, when all the crofters’ families would enjoy a day of rest, the village lads would gather at Brenmore manor. We’d use the entire house, plus the outbuildings, for a grand game of Hopsy that would last until supper.”
“How does it work?” Livie asked, clearly skeptical of Blair’s newfound enthusiasm.
“One person is the seeker, and the others hide. Once the seeker finds ye, ye’re out, and the last to be found is the next seeker.”
“Och, ye two dinnae stand a chance!” Livie replied, brightening. “I know all the best hiding places.”
Blair couldn’t quite suppress a smile at the girl’s confidence—which was no doubt well earned. “That is why I’ll volunteer to be the first seeker,” he said. “If ye start as seeker, Livie, the game will be over too quickly.”
“Fair enough, but dinnae expect that I’ll go easy on ye just because ye arenae familiar with Glenrose.”
A chuckle rumbled up in him. “Very well. I’ll consider myself warned. I’ll give ye both to the
