Wedding the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “And what dream would that be?” she asked, raising one brow as she returned his contagious smile. “How do you even know what I dream about?”

  “Mary told me,” he said succinctly. “She knows all kinds of stuff like that.”

  “Mary told you what I dream about?” Libby asked in alarm.

  Robbie patted her shoulder and rolled his eyes again. “She can’t see into your head or nothing,” he assured her. “She just knows what’s good for people.” His smile returned. “And she say’s Papa’s gift is exactly what both of ya need.”

  He turned at the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway. “There’s Leysa and Rose. I gotta go.” He turned back to Libby, threw himself into her arms, and hugged her tightly. “I’ll see ya tonight. Make sure there’s plenty of cheesecake. I really love cheesecake,” he said, squeezing her tightly and then letting go, running to the waiting truck.

  Michael emerged from his workshop and caught Robbie just as he was opening the truck door. He handed the boy a folded piece of paper, gave him a hug good-bye, and settled him in the backseat, snapping the seat belt closed. He spoke a few minutes to Leysa, tickled Rose’s chin, and then softly shut the door and watched as they drove away.

  Libby saw Michael turn and cross his arms over his chest. And he just stood there, contemplating her in silence from across the empty yard.

  Libby forced herself not to fidget. Lord, but she missed making love to him. It had been four long weeks, with even longer nights. More than the Christmas carols, his stubborn patience was driving her crazy.

  She knew what he was doing. She knew he was waiting for her to come to him and talk about what had happened that night at the Brewers’.

  But being near him every day, even without the intimacy, was better than not having him in her life at all. And that’s exactly what would happen if he ever learned the full scope of her secret.

  “I noticed ya sitting on the snowmobile the other day,” he said, still standing across the yard, his eyes focused intently on her. “Would ya like to go for a ride, lass?”

  “Right now?” she asked, trying to decide if he was being sincere or merely calculating his chances of getting her alone, far away from any distractions. “But what about the shop?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve and won’t be so busy today. Most people have already put up their trees. Kate and Ian can look after things.”

  She did want to go for a ride, but she really, really didn’t want to be alone with Michael. She’d either attack his beautiful body or break down completely and blurt out all her worries.

  “I have to help get ready for tonight’s party.”

  He uncrossed his arms and set his hands on his hips.

  “We won’t be gone long,” he said, his coaxing voice sending chills down her spine. “I’ll have ya back in two hours.” He turned and headed to the machine shed. “Get your coat and mittens,” he instructed over his shoulder, apparently decided they were going. “Ya can wear Robbie’s helmet.”

  Libby stood rooted in indecision, rubbing her hands on her thighs. And then she ran into the shop, told Kate where she was going, promised to be back in time to help out with the party, and stormed out through the front door as she slipped into her jacket.

  More than her life, she was putting her heart in Michael’s hands, but this was one ride she could no longer avoid. They were settling things between them this morning.

  And Libby figured she had a fifty-fifty chance of coming off the mountain with a soul mate or walking back alone with nothing but misery for company.

  Michael started the engine of the powerful snowmobile and let it idle to warm up while he picked up Libby’s helmet and watched her come running from the shop.

  She didn’t look like a person thrilled with the prospect of riding a snowmobile for the first time. No, she looked like a woman rushing headlong to a hanging, and Michael knew it was her own neck she was feeling the noose tighten around.

  His heart ached for her. And for himself. He, too, felt as if this trip might be the death of him, because if Libby couldn’t handle what he was about to tell her, his heart probably would break clean in half this time.

  “I’m ready,” she said, coming to a halt just outside the machine shed. She took the helmet from him, turning it upside down and ducking her head inside. She straightened and smiled tightly and fastened the strap under her chin. “Can I drive?”

  “No,” Michael said, turning to hide his smile. She might be suspicious of his motives, but that didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm for the ride itself.

  He climbed onto the sled and revved the engine, inching it out of the shed. He grabbed his own helmet off the handlebars, put it on, and patted the seat behind him. As soon as she hopped on, he tucked both of her feet securely on the foot rails and guided her hands to the handles by her side.

  “Just lean against the backrest, and try to relax,” he instructed. “Ya needn’t worry about keeping your balance. It rides more like a car than a motorcycle. And I’ll take it slow.”

  “Not too slow,” she chided, peering at him through the open face of her helmet.

  He flipped down her visor and started up through the rows of Christmas trees in the direction of TarStone Mountain. But he turned at the trail that led to her house and pulled to a halt in her yard a few minutes later.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked, lifting her visor.

  “I thought we could pick up some lunch to take with us.”

  “A picnic? In the middle of the winter?”

  Michael shrugged and climbed off the snowmobile.

  “Why not? We’ll find a sunny spot out of the wind.”

  She was running to the house before he could finish and disappeared through the door. Michael turned and looked toward TarStone, thinking about what he intended to do just as soon as he got Libby far enough away from civilization that she couldn’t run screaming for help.

  For a woman who’d just given birth to her seventh daughter four days ago, Grace MacKeage had still had enough energy last evening to give him a scathing lecture on a woman’s need to know she was about to get married.

  Michael had visited Gu Bràth last night, on the excuse that he and Robbie had wanted to see the newest MacKeage bairn. But the moment Robbie had left the room to go play with Heather and the girls and Greylen had left with his brand-new baby in his arms, Michael had sat down in front of the fire next to Grace and told her of his intention to marry Libby on Christmas Day.

  He’d expected Grace’s surprise but not her anger. She’d stood up, leaned over him, and poked him quite sharply in the chest. And with that same finger waving in his face, she had proceeded to educate him on the finer points of romance, timing, and modern women’s minds.

  Which was why he was here now with all of Grace’s words rattling around in his head, stealing Libby away so that he could propose properly.

  Michael snorted, took off his helmet, and rubbed his neck in an attempt to keep the sweat from trickling down his back. Grace also had made him promise that he wouldn’t propose until after he’d explained his journey through time.

  Which is why they were going up the mountain. He’d learned his lesson with Mary and was not letting Libby out of his sight until she was calm enough not to run.

  He turned at the sound of the storm door slamming shut and saw Libby, her arms hugging an overstuffed pack, running back to the sled. He took the pack and secured it on the backrest, climbed back onto the sled, and waited for her to get settled behind him again.

  “Do I have to hold on to the handles?” she asked. “Can’t I just hold on to you?”

  “Whatever’s comfortable, lass,” he said, starting the engine. “Ready?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

  He saw her take a deep breath, slap down her visor, and nod. The moment her hands came around his waist, Michael set off up the back trail to West Shoulder Ridge. They rode in companionable silence for several miles, until Libby tapped him on the shoulder.
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br />   “I want to drive,” she demanded when he stopped to see what she wanted. “It doesn’t seem very difficult.”

  He stood up so she could scoot forward and climbed on behind her. “This is the throttle,” he said, placing her thumb over the lever on the right side of the handlebar. “Push softly, as it’s quick to respond. And this is the brake,” he added, wrapping her fingers over the lever on the left. “Ya must always keep your feet on the rails, Libby, even if it feels as if we’re tipping, or ya might break an ankle. It steers just like a bicycle but without the leaning.”

  She used her elbows to nudge his arms away and pushed on the throttle. They shot off like a rocket. And then they came to an abrupt halt when she slammed on the brakes. Michael braced his feet to keep from crushing her against the handlebars and closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

  “It’s touchy,” she complained in a shout through her visor, just as she pushed on the throttle again.

  She didn’t brake this time, and Michael was suddenly glad he’d decided not to give Libby her own sled for this trip. For the next two miles, they flew like a drunken jackrabbit up the mountain as she slowly got a feel for the powerful machine. Michael had to intervene only four times to keep them from bouncing off trees.

  He finally reached around her and took over the controls, guiding the sled to a small clearing at the base of a south-facing ledge. He shut off the engine and climbed off, pulled off his helmet, and watched as Libby’s head slowly emerged from her own helmet to reveal a beatific smile.

  “That was wonderful,” she said, her eyes gleaming with delight as she patted the sled affectionately. “I’m buying one of these babies. I saw a map at the Dolans’ store that showed how you can travel the entire state on a snowmobile.”

  Michael took her helmet, tossed it onto the ground, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her beautiful smile.

  She tasted sweeter than ever, with just a hint of hot apple cider laced with cinnamon. She felt so precious and tiny, even in her plump down winter jacket, that he couldn’t get enough of her. He lifted her off her feet and groaned in satisfaction when she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth.

  He strode up to the ledge and found a place free of snow and covered with dry, fluffy grass. He set her down and followed her, until she was comfortably beneath him—all without breaking their kiss.

  Not that she’d let him. She was gripping his hair, wiggling restlessly against him until he thought he would burst into flames, making sweet little mewling sounds of urgency.

  Aye, it had been far too long since they’d made love.

  With herculean effort, he stopped, pulled Libby’s hands from around his neck, and clasped them between their bodies as he stared into her passion-filled eyes.

  “We can’t, Libby.”

  “I put three condoms in the backpack. And a blanket.”

  Michael shook his head, smiling tightly at her obvious want. “Nay, lass. I brought you up here to talk.”

  “We will. After. Please, Michael, make love to me.”

  He shook his head again, kissed the tip of her nose, and rolled over until he was sitting upright beside her. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at the distant, frozen waters of Pine Lake tucked in the valley below.

  “Have ya not wondered, Libby, why I so easily accept Daar as a wizard?” he asked softly.

  She sat up beside him, and Michael could feel her eyes fixed on his face. He did not look at her but continued to stare at Pine Lake.

  “I wondered,” she admitted. “But there was so much I was trying to deal with that I…it didn’t seem important.” She set one tiny hand on his arm. “Why do you believe in wizards?”

  He finally looked over and met her turbulent, worried, and somewhat frightened gaze. “He really is adrùidh, lass. I know, because I have personally felt his powers. It was in the yearA .D. 1200, and I was engaged in a battle with Greylen MacKeage.”

  “A battle with Grey? Wh-when?” she whispered.

  Michael turned and lifted her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her, bringing her eyes level with his. “I was born in the year 1171, Libby. I’m more than eight hundred years old.”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

  He continued his tale. “During this battle, I caught sight of an old man standing on a bluff above us, his arms outstretched and a long staff held high in his hand. A great storm broke over us, darkening the sky to night, filling the air with a powerful wind and sizzling bolts of lightning. And suddenly, I was falling, tumbling through what I can only describe as blinding white energy. I felt as if I did not exist for that brief moment of time, merely consumed.”

  The woman on his lap had gone deathly still, her eyes wide and her complexion pale. Still Michael continued, determined to make her understand exactly who he was.

  “My next conscious thought was that I hadn’t died, after all. I was lying in a field of tall grass and could hear the moans of my men, broken only by the screams of our frightened horses.” He tightened his hands on her arms, more to keep them from trembling than to hold her.

  “Greylen MacKeage was lying beside me. Five of my own warriors were there, and Callum and Morgan and Ian MacKeage. Our horses struggled to their feet and stood quivering, breathing hard and snorting in terror, not knowing which way to run to safety. We knew not what had happened or where the threat lay.”

  Libby lifted one tiny gloved hand to his face and ran a finger down his taut cheek. “Where were you?” she whispered.

  “In modern-day Scotland.” He captured her hand and held it against his chest, over his pounding heart. “That was twelve years ago, Libby. The five MacBains who were with me are dead now. Only the MacKeages remain from that day. And Daar. His real name is Pendaär, and he is adrùidh .”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She simply turned her gaze to her hand held against his chest.

  Michael lifted her chin and smiled. “Your secret is not so terrible, lass, when compared with mine. That ya have this gift to heal people is a wondrous thing, Libby. And that I can understand your powers is my gift to you.”

  She was frowning now, staring at his chest again. “You’re saying that you traveled eight hundred years through time? That you were born in medieval Scotland, and a wizard cast a spell and brought you here?” she finished softly, raising turbulent, misting brown eyes back up at him.

  “Aye, Libby. That is what happened. As God is my witness, I don’t know how or why, just that it is. And for the last twelve years, I have been learning to live with the fact.”

  She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely, her lips touching his ear as she whispered, “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”

  He took hold of her shoulders and held her away, staring into her tear-soaked eyes. “Don’t ya dare be sorry,” he growled. “I have accepted my fate, and it is you who must do the same now.”

  She blinked, clearly surprised by his anger. “But—”

  “You are born of a time whendrùidhs and magic and miracles are considered suspect, Libby,” he continued with gentle force. “Ya cannot comprehend what ya cannot touch or see. But I am from a time where magic was almost a religion and very much a part of everyday life. It is through me that you can come to accept your abilities and embrace them instead of fearing them. It may very well be the reason I’m here, lass.” He suddenly smiled. “And Robbie. He was needing to be born, I think, from a wonderful woman who was very special herself. Robbie’s destiny is yet to be revealed, but I do know that it’s my destiny to be here with him. And with you.

  “Which is also why,” he continued before she could respond, keeping the steel in his voice, “we’re getting married tomorrow.”

  “Married! Tomorrow!” she sputtered, her own voice cracking with surprise.

  Michael nodded curtly.

  “But you d
on’t want to get married!” she hissed, scrambling off his lap. She pointed her finger at him. “I will not live with a man who can’t love me.”

  He leaned back against the ledge, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest. “But I do love you,” he softly declared.

  She suddenly looked as if she might explode. “You do not! You can’t. You said you have nothing left to give a woman.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “I’m an aberration. A freak of nature.”

  “Then we will be freaks together.” He stood up until he towered over her and smiled. “But we will be married freaks, Libby. You belong to me. And we will spend the rest of our unnatural lives as man and wife, embracing our destinies together.”

  Michael reached for Libby the moment he realized she was about to crumble in a mess of overwhelmed confusion and quickly sat down again, cradling her against his chest.

  “Ah, lass. For as much as you’ve been needing an anchor, so have I. We can ground each other, Libby. Our combined strengths can keep us sane, and together we can help Robbie grow into a fine man as he sets out to find his own destiny.”

  He lifted a hand and fingered the white lock of hair on her forehead. “And maybe we can have one or two more bairns. Girls if ya want, with cute little locks of white hair and six toes on each foot.”

  She slapped her hand over his and gave him a horrified look. “My children will be normal,” she sputtered.

  He tugged on her white curl. “But what’s the fun in that? Anyone can be normal.”

  She had to think about that, and from the look on her face, it was difficult for her to embrace such a concept. So Michael figured he’d help her along by kissing her cute, pouting lips.

  “Marry me, Libby,” he whispered into her mouth.

  “Tomorrow at noon, make me the happiest man in the world.”

  She pulled back with a gasp. “Robbie knows!” she squeaked. “He said those same words this morning.” She poked him in the shoulder. “He knew before I did!”