Wedding the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Michael quickly captured her hands and nodded. “So does Kate. And Grace. And John. We’ve been planning the ceremony for almost a week.”

  He’d have gotten poked again if she could have freed her hands. “And just when were you going to tell me?”

  “I had originally thought to wait until morning,” he admitted, feeling heat creep into his face. This was one time he was certainly glad that Grace had interfered. “I have your ring wrapped in a small box, hidden in our Christmas tree. I—er—I was going to surprise you.”

  “With a ring,” she repeated softly, her eyes searching his. She suddenly sighed, all the fight draining out of her. She shook her head. “Every woman dreams of that kind of surprise.” She glared at him. “But she usually has a few months before the ceremony to get used to the idea.”

  “Why wait?”

  “Why not wait?”

  Michael cupped her face with his hands and rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Because I want you in my bed at night, lass. When two people decide to spend the rest of their lives together, a long engagement is wasted.”

  She went back to thinking, and Michael decided that Libby’s thinking too long and too hard might very well be a dangerous thing. So he went back to kissing her.

  She was hesitant at first, more distracted than responsive, until he was able to wiggle his hand under her coat and find her firm little breast. He also found that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  How nice. And how convenient.

  Her skin was toasty warm under several layers of clothes and the down jacket. His much cooler hand sent shivers coursing through her body and beaded her soft, silky nipple into a pebble. He ran his thumb over it, captured her gasp in his mouth, and rolled them both over until he had nestled himself comfortably between her legs.

  Finally, Libby joined in the love play and darted her sweet little tongue into his mouth as she arched her breast into his hand.

  He thought about the blanket and the condoms in her pack and decided they were no longer needed. They were lying on a soft bed of dried, sun-warmed grass, and it was okay now to start making Robbie a brother or sister.

  With tenderness and a newly declared love, they undressed each other in a wonderfully erotic dance that slowly stripped away all the barriers that had stood between them.

  Finally, with both hearts fully engaged, Michael slowly entered Libby. Passion flared in her eyes as she lifted her hips to take him deeper, and her smile, which outshone the sun, hit him smack in the center of his heart—in exactly the same spot her well-aimed snowball had hit him just five short weeks ago.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Libby sat on the top stepof her porch, bundled up to her nose in wool, enjoying the serenity of the night. Huge snowflakes were falling with quiet intensity, steadily building a pristine blanket over the slumbering land. The silence was absolute, broken only by the muted sounds of conversation coming from inside the house.

  Kate was in there, sitting in front of a roaring fire, cuddling four-day-old Winter MacKeage. Grace was sitting beside her, sipping tea. Greylen had deposited his wife and new baby about an hour ago but had left to get his six other daughters before Libby could ask him why he hadn’t brought them in the first place.

  Which was why she was out there now, waiting to see what Greylen had said would be a wonderful surprise.

  It seemed all these Scots were big on surprises.

  While she waited, embraced by the peace of the night, Libby thought about Michael’s secret. And Greylen’s. And Ian’s and Morgan’s and Callum’s. They were all men born in another time, Michael had told her. Once enemies, they were now united by their determination to make new lives.

  How was it possible they had traveled through time?

  What had Daar said that morning when he’d zapped her flowers awake? Time, he had told her, existed only for clockmakers.

  And, apparently, it could be manipulated by wizards.

  How unsettling. And frightening. Could Daar send Michael back to his natural time?

  No, the old man must never get hold of his powerful staff. She was glad Michael had taken it, and she hoped he’d had the presence of mind to destroy it.

  With no sound of warning, Mary quietly glided out of the darkness and landed on the porch rail above Libby.

  “Well, hello there,” Libby said to the owl. “I see you got my invitation to our party.”

  Mary blinked, then turned her head toward the living-room window.

  “Have you seen your newest niece yet?” Libby asked.

  “She’s quite an adorable little bundle of joy.”

  The silent snowy sidestepped along the porch rail until she was even with the window. She sat in silence and watched her sister and her niece.

  Another sound gently echoed through the night, a soft jingling that slowly drew closer, interlaced with faint voices.

  Libby stood, suddenly excited beyond words. Those were sleigh bells. And carolers, their song keeping rhythm with the beautiful bells. Heavily plodding hoofbeats added to the chorus, the symphony resounding through the air.

  Libby ran down the length of her driveway to the road and watched as the huge sled slowly came into view. Two giant horses were pulling it, their bells jingling loudly and the lights hanging from poles at the corners illuminating more than a dozen people.

  Libby continued to run down the road. The sled was full of MacKeages, some singing, some laughing, the children bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls. Ian was driving, the slash of his grin showing through his beard peppered with snowflakes. He pulled the horses to a stop, and Libby took his offered hand and climbed up beside him.

  “Oh, my God. This is wonderful,” she said, turning to smile at the others. “What a perfect way to go to a party on Christmas Eve. Where’s Michael? And Robbie?”

  “We thought they were here already,” Ian said, slapping the reins to move the horses forward. “No telling what Michael’s up to,” he said with a snicker, giving Libby a wink. “They’ll be along soon, I reckon.”

  Libby grabbed the side of the seat as the sled jerked forward and couldn’t quit grinning as they turned into her driveway, the horses breaking into a trot to power them up the steep incline.

  They stopped in front of the porch, and Kate came out, her hands on her cheeks as she stared mutely in awe. The men jumped off first and started handing down children before helping their wives.

  Libby refused to budge from her seat. “Go inside, everyone. Ian’s going to take me for a short ride,” she said, weaving her arm through his, giving him a sweet, pleading look.

  “Only if yar mama can come,” he said gruffly, crowding against her and patting the seat beside him. “Come on, Kate. Get yar cute little behind up here.”

  “I need to get my coat.”

  “Nay. I’ll keep ya warm, lass,” Ian countered, patting the seat again. “We’ll just go for a short jog around the field.”

  Kate needed no more coaxing. She stepped off the porch, waving their party guests into the house as she ran past, and raised her arms for Ian to lift her onto the sled.

  Libby eyed the reins. “Can I drive?” she asked, again smiling sweetly at Ian. “It doesn’t look that difficult.”

  He scowled at her, holding the reins protectively against his chest. “Nay. They’re temperamental beasts and will act up if they realize a woman is handling them.”

  Libby scooted over, all the way to the edge of the seat. He could have just said no, without the woman comment. She was hiding the apple pie Kate had baked especially for him, and she was putting a good amount of cinnamon in his cider.

  The chauvinistic old coot.

  They made one full circle around the field before Kate’s lips started to turn blue, and Libby and her mom ran into the house and left Ian to deal with his precious horses.

  Boisterous chaos greeted them; children were running and crawling after the overwhelmed kittens, the men were standing around the food table filling their
mouths more than their plates, and the MacKeage women, holding babies of varying ages, were telling their men to save some food for the guests yet to arrive.

  Libby’s eyes immediately went to Sadie MacKeage. Her height was like a magnet, and her blond hair shone like a beacon in the crowded room. Libby had met Sadie and Morgan just last week, when they’d come to the shop to buy their Christmas tree. She’d noticed then, when Sadie had taken off her mittens to pay, that the palm of her right hand was covered with burn scars.

  The tall, beautiful woman set her daughter on the floor, and the toddler immediately took off in a tear after Trouble. That was when Libby realized her mistake. She never should have tied red ribbons around the kittens’ necks. The child—Jennifer, if she remembered correctly—nearly strangled Trouble. Jennifer’s grandmother Charlotte came to the rescue, quickly untying the ribbon and picking up Trouble for Jennifer to pet.

  Libby immediately found Guardian and Timid and removed the dangerous decorations.

  A glass of wine was handed to her, and Libby looked up to say thank-you but instead found herself smiling into the glaring eyes of Father Daar.

  “Don’t say a word tonight, girl, about my staff,” he whispered through a tight smile of his own. “I don’t want Greylen knowing it still exists.”

  “Oh? Why not?” she guilelessly asked, giving him back an equally quelling grin.

  “Ya just never mind,” he muttered. “Is the eggnog spiked?”

  Libby thought about telling him it wasn’t, then quickly thought better of getting a wizard drunk. “There’s a whole fifth of rum in it,” she told him. “Maybe you should stick to apple cider.”

  He harrumphed and headed to the table of food.

  Libby scanned the room, her gaze landing on Greylen MacKeage, who was wearing a pack that sat on his shoulders and draped over his chest. Grace was tucking Winter into it.

  Libby watched as Greylen cuddled the newborn’s bottom with one of his large hands and turned and used his free hand to start eating again.

  Grace looked at the grandfather clock standing in the corner, then back at Libby. “I would have thought Michael and Robbie and John would be here by now. This party is the only thing Robbie’s been able to talk about all week.”

  “And I wonder what’s keeping Dwayne and Harry,” Sadie MacKeage said, joining the conversation. “The house looks wonderful, Libby. You have stars on the ceiling in your bathroom,” she added, tilting her head in question. “When I went in, the whole ceiling sparkled just before I turned on the light. So I ran back out, got Jennifer, and showed her. You should have seen her face when she noticed. Where can I get some? I’d love to put them on the ceiling over her bed.”

  “There’s a neat little what-not shop in downtown Bangor,” Libby told her, waving the two women toward her bedroom. “Come on. You have to see my bedroom ceiling.”

  The stars were a hit, but not nearly as much as her moose bed. Sadie couldn’t stop running her hands over it. But Grace…Grace couldn’t stop smiling like a woman who knew a secret.

  “You know who made this bed, don’t you?” Libby said, looking her directly in the eye.

  Grace’s smile turned impish as she tapped her chin with her finger. “Let me see. I remember seeing it in someone’s workshop…now, where was that?” She shook her head and shrugged in unremorseful apology. “Nope. I just can’t seem to remember whose shop it was.”

  Libby sighed. She almost didn’t care anymore, as long as Santa brought her a matching bureau tomorrow morning. The three of them left to rejoin the party and were just walking into the kitchen when the porch door slammed open and Michael came rushing inside.

  His face was drawn taut over protruding cheekbones, his skin paled gray, and his eyes filled with a sharp anguish that bordered on terror.

  “I need help,” he said with palpable urgency to the crowded room. “There’s been an accident two miles east of Pine Creek. Leysa Dolan’s truck left the road. She’s being taken to Dover-Foxcroft by ambulance.”

  The collective silence lasted mere seconds before the men in the room moved almost as one. They handed off children to their women and rushed to find their jackets, no questions, no comments, only concern darkening their features.

  Libby ran up to Michael. “Robbie?” she asked, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Is he okay?”

  The men stilled. The silence returned.

  Michael took hold of her shoulders. “I donna know,” he thickly told her. “When Dwayne found the accident, there was no sign of him. Robbie and Rose were not in the truck.”

  Libby tightened her grip on his jacket as his words started her heart racing. “Then where are they?” she cried. “They were with Leysa.”

  Michael gently pulled free, turned, and took her coat from the peg. With steady, rock-solid movements, he slipped it on her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her tightly against him as he turned his attention to the men.

  “I’m thinking he’s on foot, trying to make it home by way of the woods. I was able to find faint tracks leading northwest, but the snowfall quickly covered his footprints.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have stayed on the road?” Libby asked, frantic now. “Why go into the woods?”

  “He’s not even nine years old,” Kate said, coming to stand beside Libby, gripping her arm in support. “He’s confused.”

  “Nay,” Michael contradicted. “He’s acting on instinct. It was a shortcut Leysa had taken. A back road that’s traveled only through the week to haul logs. He knew the quickest way to find help was over the ridge.”

  “Then how did they find Leysa?” Libby asked, drawing Michael’s attention again.

  “Dwayne went looking for her when she was late getting home.” He ran his finger over her cheek, brushing away a tear. “Libby, there was blood on the backseat,” he said softly. “Either Robbie or Rose is hurt. I’m guessing that when he couldn’t wake Leysa, he decided to take Rose and go for help.”

  He looked at Greylen. “I need you to start from Gu Bràth and head over the ridge to the logging road. If we spread out, we should be able to find him.”

  Grey nodded. “We’ll turn on all the ski-slope lights before we go. There’s a chance he’ll see them,” he finished, heading out onto the porch. He stopped and let Ian and Callum and Morgan move past. He looked back at Daar. “Come on, old man. You will help us.”

  Daar was already putting his coat on and quickly moved to join the other men. He came to a halt in front of Libby, his crystal-blue eyes deeply piercing hers.

  “I’m guessing you’ll have yar answer tonight, girl. And I will pray it’s the one ya was hoping to get,” he said cryptically before turning and walking out to the waiting men.

  Michael stopped Libby from following and looked at the women. “John is home, waiting by the phone. One of you should go stay with him. Harry and Irisa are on their way to be with Leysa, and Dwayne is already searching for his daughter with the state police. Make phone calls to those who can help. Have them concentrate on the area between TarStone and Pine Lake.”

  With those quiet orders given, Michael finally guided Libby outside. He opened the driver’s side door of his truck, all but tossed her inside, and climbed in after her.

  He didn’t immediately start the truck but sat staring out the windshield, his features drawn and his whole body as still as the night. “There was a lot of blood, lass,” he said quietly, still looking forward. “And palm prints the size of Robbie’s.” He finally turned to her. “He wrote something on the window, in blood, that I can’t make sense of.”

  “Wh-what?” she whispered, covering his clenched hand on the steering wheel with a trembling hand of her own.

  “Three words, in Gaelic. One was spelled wrong, but I’m thinking he was trying to tell me what to do.”

  “What were the words?”

  “The first one is simple.Pet. He was saying his owl could find him.”

  Libby shot her gaze to the porch rail. “Yes. Mary!” s
he cried, looking back at Michael. “She was here. Earlier. But she’s gone now.”

  “She might be with Robbie,” he speculated, finally starting the truck and backing it up, turning it around, and heading it down the driveway.

  “And the other words?” Libby asked. “What did they say?”

  Michael watched the road, deep in thought. ‘‘Feargleidhidh.It’s Gaelic for ‘guardian.’ I think he was telling me his duty to Rose. Andfiodh, which could mean ‘a piece of wood.’ Or it could mean ‘forest,’ like the path he intended to take. Hell,” he growled in frustration, looking over at her. “It could damned well mean anything, for all I know. It was spelled wrong.”

  “But why would he write in Gaelic?” she asked, quickly fastening her seat belt as they sped down the snow-covered road, traveling faster than the headlights could shine.

  “Robbie might be born of this time,” Michael said roughly, downshifting as he turned, skidding onto an unplowed logging road. “But he has the soul of an ancient. He’s in crisis, Libby, guided by an instinct as old as his ancestors.” He shot her a desperate look and then quickly returned his attention to his driving. “The boy knows Gaelic, but he’s not been taught to write it.”

  He stepped on the accelerator, pushing the truck dangerously fast over the narrow tote road. “Dammit,” he growled, slapping the steering wheel. “He’s been out there for hours.”

  “Hours?”

  “Aye. When Dwayne found their truck, the engine was cold, and there was nearly four inches of snow covering it. Leysa was hypothermic as well as seriously injured. Which means the accident happened at least three hours ago.” He looked at Libby, his eyes dark with anguish. “How long can he survive in these temperatures, if he’s losing blood?” he asked thickly.

  “It really depends on his injuries,” she told him, laying a hand on his arm. “Sometimes very little blood looks like gallons when smeared around the inside of a vehicle. And he’s smart enough to try to stop the bleeding. And he’s good-sized, Michael. He has enough body mass to hold heat.”