Wedding the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Robbie, pleased that Libby was talking to his pet, walked off the porch and into the night with Mary, all the time keeping up a whispered conversation of his own with the bird.

  Libby turned to find Michael hunched down in front of the now very noisy box. Robbie must have brought her a pair of kittens. She pushed Michael out of the way, knelt down, and lifted open the flaps.

  Three sets of eyes blinked up at her.

  Libby caught one of the kittens when it made a leap for her. She picked it up and held it in front of her face. “Well, hello there,” she said, smiling at the huge green eyes staring back at her.

  The kitten let out an impatient mew and wiggled to be set down. Libby set it on the floor and pulled out the other two kittens, holding them up to get a good look at them. They were such small, squirming things that she laughed out loud and put them down beside the other one.

  The first kitten immediately began exploring its new home, another one sat down by the box and watched, and the last little ball of fluff hid under the flap and trembled.

  Michael swept the frightened kitten up and cradled it against his chest.

  Libby smileed at him. “What am I going to do with three kittens?” she asked.

  “That’s the entire litter,” he told her, caressing his noisily purring bundle. “Robbie didn’t have the heart to separate them. Any way he figured it, one would be left alone. So you’re stuck with all three.”

  “He knows which one is the female,” John said, coming over and picking up the quiet, watching kitten. “And he’s got a list of names a mile long but said you should choose, since they’re yours now.”

  Libby plucked up the brave one trying to climb Robbie’s jacket and cuddled it against her chest. Three. She was the proud parent of three gorgeous kittens.

  Robbie burst through the door, rubbing his hands together against the chill of the night. “What do ya think, Libby?” he asked, smiling like a proud father. “Ya gotta take all of them, ’cause ya shouldn’t separate a family.”

  “I’ll take all three,” she assured him, rubbing her chin against the kitten’s soft fur. “Which one’s the girl?”

  “That one,” he said, pointing at Michael. “Uncle Ian says she’s the runt of the litter and needs special attention ’cause she’s scared of everything.”

  “Why don’t ya get the supplies from the back of the truck,” Michael suggested to Robbie, “and set them up in the downstairs bathroom for Libby?”

  “What supplies?” Libby asked. “I’m not going to feed them in the bathroom.”

  “The litter box,” Michael explained, handing her the female kitten and going to the counter. He picked up the apple pie and carried it to the table.

  The man was still hungry after the supper he’d just eaten? John handed her his kitten and joined Michael. Libby turned the box on end and pushed all three kittens inside. The brave one immediately shot back out, but the female and the other one started licking each other.

  Careful not to step on the exploring kitten, Libby cleared the table of empty plates and reset it with clean ones. She took the ice cream out of the freezer and brought it to the sink before she opened the sticky bag. The ice cream was a bit soft but still edible. She slid it into a bowl and brought it to the table, along with clean forks and spoons.

  Robbie came in carrying two bags and a large bin. He disappeared into the bathroom, and Libby sat down at the table.

  John rubbed his hands together. “Oh, boy. You topped it with brown sugar crumble and cheddar cheese,” he said, eyeing the pie. “And you didn’t skimp on the apples.”

  More interested in eating it than in admiring it, Michael cut the pie into four pieces and started dishing it out. Libby’s eyes nearly crossed when he set one of the plates in front of her. He expected her to eat a quarter of a pie? She watched as nearly a pint of ice cream landed on top of her piece. She wasn’t going to gain five pounds this winter, she was going to grow wider than she was tall.

  The brave kitten started climbing up her pants leg, and Libby reached down, dug his claws out of her knee, and held him on her lap. Robbie came to the table, wiping his newly washed hands on his shirt, and sat down and grinned at the kitten peering over the top of the table.

  “What are ya going to name them?” he asked.

  “This one will be Trouble,” she told him.

  “Nay. He won’t be any trouble,” he said worriedly. “Ya just have to keep an eye on him, is all.”

  “I don’t mean I don’t want him,” Libby quickly assured him. “I’m naming him Trouble. And I’m calling the female Timid.”

  Robbie was surprisingly quick to catch onto her theme and smiled with relief. “Then I think ya should call the other one Guardian, ’cause he’s always looking after his brother and sister. And he’s really the smartest of the three. Trouble doesn’t always pay attention to what’s happening around him. Uncle Ian and I had to move a whole row of hay just to get him unstuck, after Guardian alerted us to the problem. And he always stays close to his sister, no matter how much he wants to explore.”

  Libby noticed that Michael had stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth, to listen to Robbie’s story. His features had tightened, and he had gone deathly still.

  “Guardian, huh?” she said to Robbie, keeping her attention on Michael. “Then that’s what I’ll name him,” she agreed, setting Trouble down on the floor and pushing him toward his siblings. “How’s the pie, Michael?” she asked.

  “Too tart?”

  “What? Oh, no. It’s perfect,” he said, finally lifting his fork to his mouth.

  Libby looked down at her own plate. She couldn’t possibly eat another bite. She pushed the dish away and stood up to clear the table of everything but the men’s dessert. Michael snatched her own plate closer so she wouldn’t take it away.

  “If you’re not going to eat it,” he said, “then I can’t see letting it go to waste. Robbie, where did ya come up with the nameGuardian?” he asked, turning his attention to his son. “Why notAngel orWarrior or something like that?”

  “Ya can’t call a boy cat Angel, Papa,” Robbie said, rolling his eyes. “AndGuardian andWarrior are different. A warrior has a duty to protect, but a guardian has a higher calling. And the kitten knows this, and so that makes him a guardian.”

  Libby stared in fascination. The boy sounded more like a philosopher than his daddy did.

  She kept an eye on Michael as she walked to the fridge with the butter. His eyes were gleaming, but his fist was clenched tightly, his complexion was pale, and he was eerily still again.

  “What higher calling?” he softly asked.

  Libby saw Robbie shrug as he ate a mouthful of pie. He swallowed and said, “I don’t know, Papa. It’s just something I understand but can’t explain.” The boy shot his father a worried look. “But being a warrior is good, too. And very noble.”

  “Aye,” Michael agreed. “Very noble,” he softly repeated.

  “How about we call him Noble?” Libby suggested.

  “That’s a nice name.”

  “Nay,” Michael whispered, turning his attention from Robbie to her. “Call him what he is. Guardian.”

  Libby had never witnessed such an odd conversation. It was as if Robbie and Michael were the only ones who knew what they were talking about. John, apparently having witnessed many discussions like this over the years, was happily eating his pie and ice cream.

  Libby turned from Michael’s intense stare and started running hot water into the sink of dirty dishes. She added soap, listened to the silence broken only by the clink of forks touching plates, and contemplated the imagination of an eight-year-old boy. She thought about Michael’s reaction, both to the stick Mary had brought her and to Robbie’s choice of a name for a tiny kitten.

  Libby decided that she may have come to a good place when she’d moved to Pine Creek, but it was also a weird place. A little off kilter. Maybe otherworldly.

  It was as if she were standing in the middle of th
e Twilight Zone. She’d actually befriended a snowy owl that shouldn’t even be living this far south, she’d met an old priest who thought he was a wizard and claimed to be almost fifteen hundred years old, she’d seen dead flowers brought back to life, and she was trying very hard not to get emotionally involved with a philosophical and very sexy man whose actions and beliefs made her think he was centuries old himself.

  And then there was her own gift.

  Yes, she fit in perfectly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael stared down at histwo empty dessert plates and considered how long it had been since he’d had such a tasty meal.

  Too bad it had settled like lead in his gut.

  He glanced toward the living room, toward where thedrùidh’s stick sat on the mantel. He knew it was the other half of Daar’s missing staff; the old man had been hunting for it for five years, since it had shot free of the waterfall when Morgan MacKeage had blown up half of Fraser Mountain.

  Where had Mary found it? And why in hell had she brought it to Libby, of all people?

  “Why don’t I take Robbie home?” John suggested, standing up and rubbing his own full belly as he headed for the door. He put on his hat and jacket and went over to Libby and kissed her on the cheek. “That was a wonderful supper,” he said, smiling contentedly. “But Robbie and I can’t stay to help with the dishes. We both need our beauty sleep. You’ll stay and help, won’t you, Michael?” he asked, turning to the table. “You don’t mind the walk home if Robbie and I take the truck?”

  Michael nodded to John. “Robbie, why don’t ya collect the kittens?” Michael instructed. “Make a bed out of their box, and lock them in the bathroom for tonight. Then ya can go home with John and tuck each other into bed.”

  “You want to lock them in the bathroom?” Libby asked from the sink, turning to look at Michael, sending soap suds flying in front of her. “But why?”

  “Ya haven’t owned kittens before, have ya?” Michael asked, standing up and carrying his two empty plates to the sink. “These are barn cats, mostly nocturnal. They’ll keep ya awake all night, get into God knows what trouble, and leave little presents all over the place until they learn where their litter box is.”

  “Oh,” Libby said, looking at Robbie and nodding. “That sounds like a plan. Here,” she added, taking two bowls out of the cupboard and handing them to him. “Use these for their food and water.”

  John started collecting the scattered kittens while Robbie went into the bathroom and made up their new home. Michael helped John search, but it took him a good five minutes to find Trouble. He was in the living room, climbing up the back of the couch.

  “Come on, Trouble,” he said with a chuckle, plucking the young daredevil off the couch. He turned the scrawny kitten until they were looking eye to eye. “You’ve been properly named, I’m afraid,” he said, carrying Trouble into the bathroom.

  “Ya don’t have to worry about tucking me in, Papa,” Robbie said after John had deposited his kitten and left to warm up the truck. “Mary said she’d follow me home and stay until morning.”

  Michael looked up from setting Trouble in front of the food dish and stared into his son’s eyes. “Mary told you I would be staying here all night?” he choked out.

  Robbie nodded. “Aye. She really likes Libby, Papa, and thinks ya should fall in love with her.”

  Michael gently took hold of the boy’s shoulders. “We’ve had this talk before, son. I don’t want ya getting your hopes up. I cannot love another woman, and I know you understand why.”

  Robbie patted his cheek. “Ya can if your heart gets healed,” the boy contradicted. “And Mary said Libby can do that. She’s special, Papa.”

  “Mary?”

  “Nay, Libby.” The boy frowned at the wall, obviously thinking. “What did she call it? Oh, yeah,” he said, looking back at Michael and smiling. “Providence. She said providence brought Libby to us.”

  Michael sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and scrubbed his face with his hands. He just might return Daar’s staff and have thedrùidh cast a spell that would send that owl back where she came from in a storm of flying white feathers. Dammit, he would not risk his heart again.

  Robbie patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Papa. I know it’s scary, but you’re the bravest person that ever lived. You’re a warrior, remember? And warriors fear nothing.”

  Michael looked up to find the boy grinning at him.

  “So ya can’t be afraid of one tiny woman,” his wisdom-speaking son explained. “And Mary said Libby needs us. Both of us. That we can’t spit on providence when it comes calling.”

  “Mary saidspit?” Michael asked, eyeing Robbie suspiciously.

  The boy shook his head. “Nay, I saidspit . I think she saidre-rebuke or something like that.”

  Michael didn’t know whether to hug Robbie or put the boy over his knee. “Son,” he said with a growl, “ya’re interfering in matters beyond the both of us.”

  Robbie nodded agreement. “Aye. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain, Papa. That you’re wasting your time being afraid of Libby. Didn’t ya tell me, when we buried Gram Ellen, that life happens whether we like it or not?”

  The boy was eight, and already he was haunting Michael with his own words. He scrubbed his face again, stood up, and turned Robbie to face the kitchen. But before the boy could open the bathroom door, Michael leaned down and whispered to him. “The next time ya have occasion to talk with Mary, ya tell her for me to mind her own business. Because it’s my higher calling to raise you, and I’ll do it without interference from her, your aunt Grace, or anyone else who tries to have a say in the matter. Understand, young man?”

  Robbie twisted around and threw himself against Michael. Michael lifted him up and hugged him tightly.

  “I love ya, Papa,” the boy whispered shakily. “And it’s my duty to see ya smile again.”

  Michael took a shuddering breath and buried his face in Robbie’s shoulder. “I’m smiling like the village idiot every time I look at ya. And I love ya more than life itself, son.”

  “Is everyone settled in here?” Libby asked, cracking open the door.

  Michael turned, shielding Robbie’s tears from her. “Everyone’s settled,” he said to Libby’s startled, blushing face. “We’re just saying good night.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course,” she stammered, backing out and closing the door.

  Robbie sat up in his arms, swiped away his tears, and grinned. “How can ya not love her, Papa? She’s so…so…”

  “Small?” Michael finished for him.

  The boy clasped Michael’s face in his hands and tried—but failed—to give him a serious look. “I think her hair has grown a wee bit, Papa. And she looks to be gaining weight. She’ll probably have curves by spring.”

  They were back to their discussion of two nights ago. “And the spring after that, she’ll probably be so fat we can roll her down TarStone like a snowball,” Michael added, deciding that if he couldn’t discourage the boy, he might as well join him.

  Robbie shook his head. “Nay, Papa. She won’t.”

  “Son,” Michael said with a chuckle, giving him a squeeze. “It’s not only beauty a man wants from a woman. It’s who she is that’s important.”

  “Mama was beautiful.”

  “Aye, she was. But that’s not why I fell in love with her.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Nay. I fell in love with Mary’s sass,” Michael told him through a smile. “And her compassion and strength of heart.” He nodded. “But mostly her sass, which I’m frightened to say you’ve inherited,” he finished, putting Robbie down and turning him to face the door again. He gently swatted his backside. “John is growing old waiting for ya. Go home, brush your teeth, and go to bed. I’ll have breakfast cooking when ya get up.”

  Robbie visibly shuddered. “Cereal,” he said, opening the door and finally walking out to the kitchen. “And toast,” he added as he sassily swaggered to his co
at. “You’ve gotten pretty good at toasting bread.”

  Michael followed his son and helped him button his coat. “Tell John to bank the fire in the woodstove,” he instructed, setting Robbie’s hat on his head. “Don’t let him add more wood. I’ll do that when I get there.”

  “Aye,” Robbie promised, walking over to Libby. “Thank ya for the delicious supper,” he told her. “You’re a good cook.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, hugging him good-bye. “Oh, and I finished the little job you gave me,” she added, going over to the sideboard and picking up the box, handing it to Robbie. She straightened the collar on his jacket and smiled crookedly. “I hope it’s exactly what you wanted.”

  Robbie looked at Michael. “You’ll compensate her, Papa?”

  Michael nodded and pushed his son toward the door. “I will. Now, good night.”

  Robbie finally stepped onto the porch but stopped again to look at Libby. “I’m making ya a surprise for Christmas,” he told her. “And even Papa doesn’t know what it is. So don’t bother trying to get him to tell.”

  Robbie turned without waiting for a response, carrying his secret box to the waiting truck. Michael watched until their taillights disappeared down the driveway and then softly closed the door and turned to Libby.

  She was rubbing her hands on her thighs and looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  “You’ve had a couple of busy days,” he said as he approached her. “Ya look tired, lass.”

  She started backing away. “I like being busy. And…and I’m not tired.”

  Michael followed her retreat. “Then what seems to be bothering ya?”

  “You,” she said, finally stopping against the wall, her large brown eyes rounded with the caution of a deer.

  “You’re the one who was bothered tonight. By Mary’s gift and by Robbie’s talk of guardians.”