Highland Christmas - A HIGHLAND BOOKS SHORT STORY

The unexpected gift

"Merry Christmas!" I roll onto my front and kiss the tip of Jack's nose, dislodging Mildred from my chest. She yowls in protest.

Jack pulls the duvet over his face. "Wha' time issit?" sleep making his speech indistinct.

"Six am! Rise and shine! Oh, are we still allowed to say that? Hasn't one of Caitlin's sisters trademarked the words?"

A drawn-out groan. "No. You're no' allowed to tell folks they can't say things! And anyway, why, why, why are you waking me up at this time?"

"Because we have TONNES to do. I need to call my mum, which will take an hour. Then Nanna Cooper. That'll take even longer. Plus, I promised Ashley I'd do an hour in the Lochside Welcome helping behind the bar and after that, I need to set up your mother's stall at the Royal George."

By this, I mean bully all the guests into attending, get them to give us their names and researching them online. All so Psychic Josie can say rubbish such as, "I sense pain... have you just split from your significant other?" because she's read a ranty post on Facebook.

"And I want you to open your presents!"

More indistinct mumbling from under the duvet. Possibly a suggestion as to where I stick those gifts. Clue: where the sun don't shine. Still, when I drag the pillowcase from under the bed and plonk it on top of him, he peers out, red hair emerging from the covers and dark eyes gleaming.

"They better be good, Gaby-sketch!"

Revoltingly goodie two-shoes of me but it is better to give than receive, isn't it? Especially when your present is guaranteed to surprise.

He pulls one wrapped package and rips off the paper.

"Factor 50 sun cream?"

"Yes," I say, stroking his face. "As you're a red-head, you'll need it in a few months' time."

"In Scotland?"

No. In Lochalshie, we're lucky if the sun shines long enough to justify Factor 15. I mime zipping my mouth shut as I want him to work it out for himself. Next, he tears the paper off a packet of cards and two dice. He wrinkles his brow and I grin. Finally, an envelope. Out falls two plane tickets to Las Vegas—flight mid-March just ahead of the tourist season in the UK so Jack isn't doing his Highland Tours.

"Gaby!" He rolls on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. "How much did this cost?"

"Not that mu-mu-ch... Stop it! You're distracting me! And it's ticklish!"

Never admit you're tickly to a Scotsman. They will use it as a weapon against you, as this one does now. Feather-light kisses that move along the underside of my arms and my ribcage make me wriggle, although it's tricky when you've the weight of a man on top of you. The more I beg him to stop—too bad, Gaby, tickling you whenever I want was in the small print of the marriage contract!—the more he continues. Gradually, the tingly stuff stops making me squirm and does other... things.

"My schedule!" I protest. "Mumph!" A mouth lands on top of mine, tongue exploring, and intent made clear. I join in and then break off. "Katya's here, remember!"

He responds with words that would make a sailor with Tourette's blush. But our home isn't that big. The spare room, currently occupied by my best friend, is across a small landing. And our bed creaks like mad.

I jump out of it. "All I had to pay for is the plane tickets to Las Vegas. Do you remember Darcy?"

Jack lies back on the pillows and nods, puzzled. Darcy has been on numerous Highland Tours. Partly because she's a huge Outlander fan and my husband bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain Jamie Fraser. She and I keep in touch. When I told her Jack and I were getting married, she whoop-whooped. Our wedding preparations were... fraught. Ever tried arranging your nuptials in less than three months? I told her the whole story and she phoned me a week ago.