Christmas romance

Highlander's Holly and ivy

Holiday Romance
holiday paranormal romance
Coming November 2025

Highlander's Holly and Ivy

In a world where ancient magic and the fires of rebellion collide, a Scottish broken heart and an English lady must fight for their love and the very soul of Scotland.
Torn between duty and destiny, the Lord Justice Clerk Alex MacDougall must safeguard the ancient Iona Stones. Alex has long buried his heart’s desires after losing his first love and the fabled Stone of Love to the evil Fae. Duty requires him to recover the lost stone, demanding he reopen his heart. Determined to learn more about the resilient Scots she has grown to admire, Lady Iris Erskine, the daughter of an English lord, disguises herself as a mute Scottish woman named Ivy. She immerses herself in the world of the Gaels, where she meets the enigmatic Alex. Despite the walls between them, an undeniable connection sparks. Navigating a world of political intrigue amid cultural clashes, both must confront the secrets that bind them. But with the English scheming to tear them apart and an ancient Fae curse threatening to destroy everything they hold dear, they must fight for their love and the very soul of Scotland.

an excerpt from Highlander's holly and Ivy

Iris strode down the street beside her faithful maid, Laurel. “Miss, yer Gaelic is awful, and that accent.” Iris clipped her reply. “What of my accent?” Laurel groaned. “It’s English, very English. Ye’ll stand out sticks out like a sair thumb among all the Gaels.” Iris wrapped the plaid, no arisaid tighter around her. “Sair, you mean sore?” She kept walking. “I am dressed like you. I can walk like you. I’ve un-styled my hair.” Laurel barked a laugh. “Ye walk like royalty, and no matter how much Gaelic ye learn, ye still sound like the Queen of England.” Iris stopped and turned to her maid. “I want to meet your people. Not because of the novelty.” Laurel rolled her eyes, making Iris smile. “Well, aye, the novelty, but I want to learn the culture, yer people.” Laurel’s eyes crinkled. “Ye really want this lass?” Iris nodded. Laurel took her arm in hers as they continued at a slower pace. “Then we need a plan, a canny one at that.” She breathed. “Ye’ll be my cousin. Ye wear the Comyn plaid, so ye’ll be a Comyn. Stay beside me, and for all that is holy, don’t speak. We’ll say ye have a throat injury, so ye can’t talk.” Iris stopped. “But what if I have a question or something to say?” Laurel pulled her along the lane. “Ye don’t have anything to say, and questions are for later. Just watch and listen. No talking.” They came up the bridge; many had already gathered as the slaughterhouse's smell blew their way. Iris held her wrap to her nose, wondering how they tolerated it. A woman approached and took Laurel into a hug. “So glad I am to see ye today.” Laurel hugged her back. “Mabina, glad I am to be here.” She waved to Iris. “My cousin, who is mmmm…” Iris’ eyes went wide. She didn’t want to use her real name and found out before it was all over. She panicked and glanced around. The pub beside the bridge already had decorations for the holiday season, and holly and ivy graced the doorway. She pointed to the ivy, and Laurel grinned. “Ivy. Ivy Comyn.” She leaned over, whispering to Mabina, “She doesn’t talk, an old injury from a redcoat who tried to have his way with her. Her throat don’t work no more.” The woman tsked, “Sorry I am to hear it, Ivy.” Iris nodded as the plaid fell away from her head. Mabina smiled. “Ye are a pretty thing, though.” The man in the blue plaid from last week approached and took Laurel’s hand. “Laurel Comyn, I am happy to see ye this week.” His regard drifted to her. “And yer friend as well.” His eyes went to her arisaid, “A Comyn as well. She’s ye…?” Laurel shifted closer to him as she waved to Iris. “John MacArthur, my cousin Ivy Comyn.” Mabina spoke from beside her. “She’s mute, John. Lost her voice.” Iris nodded and moved her hand to her throat. A voice deep and rich called out over the crowd. “Welcome all!”
Everyone turned and perched on a box stood—him, the man in the red plaid from last week. His deep black hair fell to his shoulders loose. As he raised his flask, his muscles undulated under the fabric of his shirt. Her focus traveled down, and today, he didn’t wear trews under his plaid. Bare knees exposed above his woolen socks and boots fit for working on a farm were on his feet. Her knees became weak, and she reached out to Laurel as she stumbled. Laurel took her hand. “First time ye seen bare knees, lassie? Does the same to me every time.” When Iris’ gaze returned to him, his eyes were on her. He nodded her way and called out. “To whisky and Scotland!” The crowd repeated his toast, and everyone broke out in conversation. Laurel turned to speak to John, leaving Iris beside the crowd. Many mingled and spoke lively. Men offered others sips from their flasks as the women huddled together, gossiping about whatnot. Iris picked up a Gaelic word here and there. Taigh for house and bonnach for bannock. She enjoyed the rich brogue of the men’s voices and the rolling of the r’s in the woman. Their outspoken banter brought a smile to her face. A gust of wind blew through the area, clearing the slaughterhouse stench but brought on a chill. Iris went to cover her head, and her arisaid fell on one side. “Here, lassie, allow me.” His rich baritone voice sent chills down her spine, and as she turned, she came face to face with—him. He’d caught her plaid and wrapped it around her body, tucking it into the folds so it stayed put in the breeze. “My ma taught me the simple fold to keep her plaid in place.” His hand lingered on the fabric near her face. “Comyn, ye are a Comyn, like my ma.”She swallowed and shivered again, but not from the cold. The light blue of his eyes lit up the night as they followed hers. She glanced down again, unsure what to do without a voice to converse with.When her face rose, his eyes crinkled. “Have I scared ye lass?” His hand dropped, and he blew his breath. “I didn’t mean to.” She stared at him, a highlander she craved to be near, her highlander. He cleared his throat; he’d asked her something. Iris shook her head, her hand going to her throat. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out but air, hoping to get her point across. Her Highlander’s eyebrows rose. “Ye can’t speak?” Iris shook her head.His smile bent kind of sideways. “I am Alex, Alex MacDougall.” He took her hand in his and caressed it. “What shall I call ye then?” Iris’s focus shot to the greenery décor, and he followed. “Holly?” She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his. He grinned. “Ivy then?” She nodded as his thumb brushed the back of her hand, and he stepped closer. “Did you know Ivy is also called lovestone due to its tendency to grow over bricks and stones? Ivy clings to any surface, making it a perfect representation of love and fidelity.”