“What have you lost?” he asked.
Michael stopped and faced Grey. “Daar’s staff.”
“His cane?” Greylen lifted one brow.
“Nay. His old staff. The one ya threw in the high mountain pond nine years ago.”
Libby took a step back when Greylen’s face suddenly changed from inquiry to a look of dangerous anger. The man pulled himself up to his full height and took a step toward Michael.
“Are you saying thatdrùidh’s staff still exists?”
“Aye,” Michael confirmed. “It seems it shot free of the waterfall just before Morgan blew up Fraser Mountain.”
“And how did it end up here?” Greylen asked, waving a hand at the ground where Michael and Libby had been looking.
“Robbie’s pet owl brought it to Libby. But I took it and hid it.”
“And?” Greylen asked gutturally.
“And we needed it tonight to save my son’s life.”
Greylen looked from Michael to Libby, then back at Michael. “And now Daar and the staff are missing,” he said, not as a question but a statement.
Michael nodded, and both men looked off toward TarStone, in the direction of Daar’s cabin, their faces drawn pale and their fists clenched at their sides. Libby also looked, as did Ian, who had come to stand beside her and listen to the conversation.
There was a sudden detonation halfway up the mountain, and the sky over TarStone lit up like the Fourth of July.
Michael reached out and pulled Libby into a protective embrace as they all watched colorful bolts of lightning sizzle over the summit. There was another powerful blast that shook the ground under their feet, trembling the trees with enough force to dislodge the snow from their branches.
Ian started cursing under his breath.
Michael tightened his hold on Libby.
And Greylen MacKeage started laughing.
“There,” he said when they all looked at him in surprise. He pointed halfway up the mountain, at the smoke rising into the still crackling sky. “I’m betting it’s Daar’s cabin that just blew up. The crazy old fool has been so long without the magic, he’s blown his cabin to hell.”
“And himself, I hope,” Ian interjected.
Libby gasped.
Michael tightened his hold on her, cutting off her words of concern before she could voice them. He turned her around and led her back to the snowcat. Robbie was standing on the track, Rose clutched to his chest, gawking at TarStone.
Michael urged him back inside, helped Libby into the passenger seat, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, softly closing the door.
Ian silently climbed in, started the engine, turned the snowcat around, and headed them home.
Daar sat on a half-rotted stump, fingering what was left of his old staff, and stared at the burning remains of his cabin. God’s teeth, he’d done it this time. He’d destroyed not only his home but his ancient book of spells.
It would take him nearly a century to replace it. He’d have to petition the powers that be, stand before them and explain what had happened, then beg their forgiveness. He’d have to bribe and barter and beg yet again for the other wizards to let him copy from their own books.
He looked down at the now shrunken staff in his hand. It was useless without his book of spells.
Daar lifted his head as a sound came to him, whispering up from the ridge below. He cursed when he realized that it was Greylen MacKeage he could hear, laughing his head off.
Well, dammit. He’d see who got the last laugh—for Daar would make sure that young Winter MacKeage would lead her parents on a merry and maddening chase through her childhood.
Chapter Twenty-six
It was nearly three in the morningbefore Michael’s home finally quieted down. A perfectly healthy and happy Rose was with her daddy, both on their way to Dover-Foxcroft to be with Leysa. Libby had called the hospital for an update and was relieved to learn that Leysa would recover fully and that she’d most likely be back with her family by the New Year.
Kate had stayed at Michael’s house waiting with John, and Ian had taken her home in the snowcat. Robbie had gotten his belly filled and had finally fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago.
And now, Libby and Michael were sitting on the floor in the library, in front of a roaring fire. Michael was leaning against his worn leather chair, and Libby was sitting between his thighs, absently staring up at the oak-paneled hearth.
It suddenly dawned on her exactly what she was looking at, and Libby finally knew what she’d been helping Robbie build for his father for Christmas.
“Tàirneanaiche,” she whispered, scrambling to her feet and walking to the hearth. She reached up and ran her finger along the blade of one of the three swords hanging over the mantel.
“Have a care, Libby,” Michael said. “It’s sharp.”
She turned to face him. “This is your sword. From…from before.”
“Aye,” he said, rising to his feet and coming to stand beside her. He took down the sword she’d been touching, grasping it in his right hand, the tip pointed toward the ceiling.
Libby knew she was gawking but couldn’t help it. She was seeing Michael the warrior from eight hundred years ago, holding his sword as he was now, comfortable and confident and ready to meet any challenge.
And she fell in love all over again.
“You’re staring at me as if you’re seeing a ghost,” Michael said, quickly replacing the sword over the mantel.
“No, I’m seeing the man I’m marrying today.” Libby wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him fiercely. “I love you, Michael MacBain.” She looked up and smiled. “So much so that when we were searching for Robbie and had Daar’s staff, I decided that if we all got zapped back in time, I’d still be happy, as long as we were all together.”
Michael’s arms tightened around her, and he leaned down and kissed her smile. “Aye. I had the same thought myself,” he whispered. “It was a hard life back then, lass, but it had its good points.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Not anymore.”
He swept her off her feet and carried her back to the chair, placing her on the floor and then settling himself behind her. Libby snuggled into his embrace and stared at the fire again. It seemed there wasn’t anything else that needed saying, and she was content simply to sit in silence.
But just as she was about to close her eyes and nod off to sleep, a package suddenly appeared in front of her nose.
It was a small package, brightly wrapped in Christmas paper and tied with an elaborate bow. Libby reached out and took the gift, leaning her head back to stare up at Michael. He was smiling down at her, his eyes lit with anticipation.
“What would this be?” she asked, waving the package.
He kissed her on the nose. “It’s not a bureau to match your bed, I’m afraid,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning down in a lopsided grin. “I’ll make ya a new one, Libby.”
Libby’s smile disappeared. “You hid Daar’s staff in my bureau,” she scolded. “That took more nerve than brain.”
He was far from contrite. “Really? I thought it was genius myself,” he contradicted with a shrug. “I didn’t dare destroy it, and what better place to hide it? I knew you’d look after that bureau come hell or high water and that it would eventually be passed down to Robbie. And what better tool could I give him when he meets his destiny?”
“Daar has it now.”
“Aye. But Grey’s probably right. I don’t think we need fear the olddrùidh . Not for a good while, anyway. And we’ll deal with him then, if that time ever comes.”
Libby shook her gift. “What’s in here?” she asked.
“Why don’t ya open it and find out?”
She needed no more urging. Libby carefully pulled off the bow and tore through the wrapping to find a small velvet box. She opened the lid and gasped.
“It’s tourmali
ne,” Michael told her. “Mined right here in Maine.” He took the ring out of the box, picked up her left hand, and slid the ring onto her finger.
“There,” he said thickly. “You’re mine.”
“I guess I am,” she murmured, holding up her hand to admire the large forest-green stone shaped like a teardrop. She looked over her shoulder at Michael. “So I guess you’re also mine.”
“Aye,” he softly agreed, kissing her nose again.
Libby turned until she was on her knees facing him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and stared directly into his eyes. “I love you, Michael,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he repeated with thick emotion. “I love ya, too, Dr. Elizabeth Hart. Will ya marry me, lass?”
“Yes.”
He smoothed a hand over her hair and let his fingers trail down to her cheek. “Then I’m giving ya a nine-hour engagement, so ya might want to make the best of it.”
“Time only matters to clockmakers,” she whispered, leaning up and halting her mouth just short of his. “And the only time that matters is what’s left of the rest of our lives.” She gave him an open-mouthed kiss, then pulled back and smiled into his molten gray eyes. “I’ve always wanted to make love in front of a noisy, messy fire. Is it finally going to happen?”
“Aye,” he whispered, turning them both until Libby was stretched out on the rug in front of the hearth with Michael beside her. He brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her cheek just under her ear. “It’s going to happen right now, lass.”
A shiver ran through Libby, and she rolled against him, throwing one leg over his hips and capturing his mouth in a kiss filled with the promise of passion. And with careful attention to detail, they undressed each other, enjoying each new patch of skin that was revealed and each small measure of pleasure they shared.
It was just as Michael was slowly entering her that Libby caught sight of the ring on her left hand as she clutched his shoulder. The firelight hit the jewel, and she was sure she saw a Christmas tree winking at her from the center of the stone.
Libby sighed in contentment.
She was in love with an ancient Highland warrior. Life didn’t get any more real—or more magical—than that.
Wedding the Highlander Page 31