Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “You’re mine,” he growled, pulling her so forcibly into his chest that the air rushed out of her lungs with a gasp.

  You’re mine?

  That was it?

  Morgan’s mouth covered hers with that same downright possession she’d seen in his eyes. He kissed the outrage right out of her before it could gather a foothold. And he kissed her some more, until the impatient coughing of a scandalized priest broke them up.

  “It’s done, then,” Father Daar said with finality, rather loudly. “Now, let’s eat. We’ll have us a wedding feast of nice tasty trout. Stop mauling your wife, Morgan, and catch us some supper.”

  But her husband wasn’t paying the priest any mind. Sadie pinched Morgan in the side to get him to come up for air.

  “Go catch us some trout from one of the cooler pools below, Morgan,” Father Daar said, taking Sadie by the arm now that she was free of Morgan. “We’ll build a fire, cook your catch, and then you and I will set our minds to convincing your wife that we all have many years left before we finally see heaven,” he added, walking her toward the sandy beach by the pool.

  He looked back over his shoulder at Morgan and crackled with laughter. “Not that you have any chance of getting there yourself, warrior. They rarely allow pagans through the gates.”

  Sadie didn’t know what surprised her the most, that the priest had called her husband a pagan or that he’d called him a warrior.

  Morgan picked up his sword and settled it over his back, his glare fierce enough to fry Father Daar where he stood.

  “You may begin the explaining without me, old man,” Morgan said. “Faol. Tàr as. Falbh,” he added, waving the wolf toward the exit of the pool, then walking through the towering trees himself.

  Staring at the spot where he’d disappeared, Sadie posed her question to the priest. “What did he just say?”

  “Tàr as?” Father Daar repeated. “It means ‘move off’ or ‘go.’ And falbh means ‘guard.’” He started walking around the cathedral-like grotto and picked up small pieces of wood. “He’s set the wolf to guarding the entrance,” he said as he continued his work, putting the branches into a pile. He straightened and looked at her. “I told you befriending Faol would come in handy one day.”

  Sadie put her hands on her hips and faced the priest. “So you’re saying this Maine wolf knows Gaelic?” she asked. “A language that’s been dead for hundreds of years?”

  He sat down on the moss near the pile of branches he’d made and looked up at her. “It’s not dead, girl. Gaelic’s still spoken in some parts of Scotland.” He suddenly grinned. “Now, watch,” he said, touching the branches with his skinny cane while he muttered some words under his breath.

  The wood erupted into flames, and Sadie stepped back. She quickly stepped closer, glaring at the now crackling fire.

  “That’s not magic,” she said. “Not in heaven. Anything’s possible here,” she said, waving at the tall granite walls.

  Father Daar sighed loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the waterfall and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked up at her and patted a place beside him. “Come. Sit with me, Mercedes, so that I can explain what has happened to you.”

  With a sigh of her own, Sadie sat down beside the crazy old priest and stared at the softly crackling fire.

  “Do you remember my visit last week?” Daar asked, using his cane to push more wood onto the fire. “And your feet? Were the cuts not healed the next morning when you woke?”

  “They were gone,” she admitted, frowning to herself.

  “And were you not alive when that little miracle happened?”

  She looked at him. “It wasn’t a miracle,” she disputed. “Miracles are big things that happen to deserving people.”

  “And you’re not deserving?”

  “That’s not the point. God wouldn’t trouble himself with small cuts on my feet. He has much more important things to worry about.”

  Daar harrumphed and scrubbed his face with his hands again, shaking his head. He finally looked at her, his expression confounded. “The whole world is still sitting out there, Mercedes, just beyond those trees,” he said, pointing at where Faol and Morgan had disappeared. “Your valley, your mother and Callum, your two simple-minded friends, and the man who shot you. All are still there, all still waiting for you.”

  Sadie looked toward the trees. She hadn’t even thought about trying to leave. “Then, if I’m not really dead, will my scars return if I leave here?” she whispered. “Will I be ugly again?”

  “Ya can’t be what you never were,” Daar snapped. He blew out a tired breath. “But no, the scars are gone for good.” He frowned. “Which will be hard to explain to your mother, I’m guessing. She’s a modern, too, and won’t be able to understand any better than you can.”

  “What do you mean, ‘a modern’? You say that as if you and Morgan are ancient or something. And Morgan’s not in the military. So why did you call him a warrior?”

  Daar kneaded the back of his neck and finished by scratching his beard. “Because that’s what he is. Or, rather, what he was,” he said. “I had a little mishap with the magic six years ago and brought Morgan eight hundred years forward in time.”

  “You what?”

  He frowned at her incredulousness. “I made a mistake,” he said, lifting his hairy-white chin. “I was only wanting to bring Morgan’s brother, Greylen, forward, but nine other men came with him, including Callum and Ian and Morgan. And MacBain,” he added with a scowl.

  “Callum?” Sadie squeaked. “Are you saying the man my mother is going to marry is like…like Morgan? That he’s old…and also a warrior?” Sadie scrambled to her feet and balled her hands into fists. “What are you saying?” she shouted.

  Father Daar lifted his cane into the air and began muttering words softly to himself again. Sadie’s eyes widened as she saw the cane grow to nearly double its size and start to hum with gentle vibrations.

  “Take hold of this, Mercedes,” Daar said, holding it out to her. “If ya want to understand, hold this, and I’ll show you.”

  She stepped back. “No.”

  “Aw, come on, girl,” he cajoled. “Where’s your spirit of adventure? Do ya not want to know who your husband truly is?”

  She didn’t understand any of this. What he was saying was impossible. But her scars were gone, she was in a veritable rain forest that shouldn’t exist anywhere near Maine, and the old priest’s cane was now glowing like a finger of lightning.

  Hesitantly, but with more curiosity than fear, Sadie reached out and took hold of the surprisingly cool cane.

  Light entered her head, flashes of brilliance that should have blinded her. But she was able to see something slowly appear in her mind’s eye. A scene out of a picture book. Men on horseback, carrying swords and dressed strangely. Actually, some of the men were naked. They were fighting a mighty battle.

  She could smell the dust being kicked up by the trampling feet of the horses. She could hear the clash of the swords striking each other. Sadie immediately recognized Morgan. And Callum. She could see Callum trying to unseat a man whose face was covered in paint. Lightning flashed over their heads. Thunder boomed. The very air around them became charged with the energy of a quickly descending storm.

  A torrential rain suddenly blanketed the chaos, darkening her vision. There was an intense explosion of light, the detonation making Sadie flinch in surprise. She tightened her grip on the priest’s cane. Suddenly, there was only silent white light as pure as the center of the sun, muted spectrums of color shading the edges.

  The men reappeared, no longer fighting but scattered in dazed disarray on an earth that was the same but different. It was more lush. Greener. There were buildings. Cars and trucks were zooming by.

  Sadie looked for Morgan. He was first holding his head, covering his eyes with his hands, then suddenly patting his body as if he didn’t believe he existed. She cried out at the fear she saw on his face, the confusion, the very terr
or of what had happened to him.

  Horses lay scattered around the men, dazed with terror and screaming, trying to stand. Sadie watched Morgan run to one of them and recognized the horse he’d been riding the first day she’d met him.

  “What’s its name?” she softly asked the priest standing and watching beside her in her mind’s eye.

  “Gràdhag,” Daar answered. “It means ‘pet.’”

  Sadie let go of the cane and stepped back. The vision left as mysteriously as it had come. She turned and stared out over the still shimmering pool made by the waterfall.

  “That’s why Morgan is afraid of thunderstorms,” she said. “He was caught in one and ripped from his home and brought…brought here.”

  “Aye. He did not care for the journey,” Father Daar said from right beside her, also looking out at the waterfall. “Nor has he cared much for the new life he’s found himself living.”

  He took hold of her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “Until now, child. He’s found you, Mercedes. And he’s not going to let anything come between the two of you. Not my magic, not the blackness visiting this valley, not even your own inability to believe. He’s said his vows before God and man and claimed you as his. You belong to each other now. So accept what I have shown you for the gift that it is.”

  “Morgan called you drùidh. What does that mean? Who are you?”

  “I’m what your modern language would call a wizard, and I’m nearly fifteen hundred years old.”

  “A wizard?” she repeated, taking a step back.

  He frowned at her. “And a priest,” he said defensively. “And a hungry one at that,” he tacked on, looking toward where the pool spilled into the valley. He walked back to the fire and sat down again, working it back into flames.

  Sadie stared at the cane he used as a poker. What he was saying, what she had just seen, it was…it was the stuff of fantasies and ancient legends that continued to survive despite modern science explaining it away.

  But science couldn’t explain her missing scars or the very fact that she was alive right now. And neither could she. Her dead theory made more sense, but she hoped with all her heart that she was alive. She had a new baby sister coming soon, and she wanted to be here when she was born. She wanted to see her mother get married. She wanted to have babies of her own.

  So, yes. She wanted to believe in the magic.

  Morgan stepped through the towering trees just then and stopped and stared at her. There were several trout hanging from his belt, his sword was still on his back, and if she looked hard enough, she could see that same warrior from the vision the priest had given her.

  And Sadie knew then, no matter what means had brought them together, that she loved Morgan.

  She launched herself into his arms, breaking into overjoyed laughter, confident that he would catch her and hold her safe—forever.

  “We’re alive, Morgan.” She laughed into his startled face, which she couldn’t stop kissing over and over. “Wonderfully alive, thanks to a wizard’s magic.”

  He held her so tightly that her last words were squeaked rather than spoken. He buried his face in her neck, his whole body trembling with what she suspected was relief.

  “I swear you two spend more time cuddling than looking to practical matters,” Father Daar called from the fire. “Ya have a lifetime for that foolishness, Morgan. I want my supper.”

  Still crushing her tightly to him, Morgan carried her over to the fire and set her down by the priest. He tore the trout from his belt and tossed them at Father Daar’s feet.

  “Eat, then, old man,” Morgan said, darting a look at Sadie and then back at the priest. “I haven’t the time right now. I’ve got to go find our sniper before he finds us again.”

  Sadie was standing before she finished gasping. “You will not! The man has a gun, and all you’ve got is that…that sword,” she said emphatically, waving a hand at the inadequate weapon sticking up past his head. “You’re staying right here.”

  Morgan took hold of her shoulders and pinned her with his eyes. “As beautiful and warm as this place is, we cannot hide here forever, gràineag. We have to leave eventually, and we cannot do that until I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

  He pulled her against him gently and cupped the back of her head into his shoulder. “I’ll be careful, wife. He won’t even see me coming.”

  “It—it’s not Dwayne and Harry,” she muttered into his shoulder, trying to wiggle back to look at him. But he wouldn’t loosen his hand. “Don’t hurt them. It’s someone else.”

  “I know, Mercedes. I will not hurt them.” He finally leaned back to look at her, now holding her hair in his fist, his grip emphasizing his words. “In return, you must promise to stay here with Daar. You’ll be safe with the drùidh.”

  He was holding her so tightly she couldn’t even nod. His entire body was filled with tension.

  “I’ll protect Father Daar,” she told him instead.

  Father Daar snorted at her response.

  The right corner of Morgan’s mouth curved in amusement. He kissed her soundly on the lips, then stepped back.

  “Wait.” Sadie turned to the priest as she untied the leather cord she was still wearing. “Father Daar. Give Morgan another cherrywood knot to take with him,” she said, handing the leather to the priest.

  Father Daar clasped his cane to his chest protectively, fingering the empty leather cord now in his hand. “I can’t,” he said, darting a look from her to Morgan. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve only one decent-sized burl left that would have enough power to do any good,” he explained. “And if I take it off, my staff will be useless.”

  “Then give him your whole cane,” Sadie insisted, reaching for it.

  “Nay!” Daar yelped, quickly tucking the cane behind his back. “He’s liable to set this entire valley on fire. The magic’s too powerful for mere mortals.”

  “Well, he needs something.”

  “I have you, wife,” Morgan said, turning her to face him. “Nothing can stop me from coming back to you, Mercedes.”

  “You’ll have your clan’s help,” Daar interjected. “Callum and Charlotte stopped by my cabin yesterday on their way to Gu Bràth. Callum said he’d return with Greylen and Ian.” He waved in the direction of the valley. “They’re probably already out there, hunting for whoever broke into Mercedes’ cabin.”

  Morgan gave Sadie a reassuring smile. “See? You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Does your brother or Callum or this Ian fellow have guns?”

  “Aye. We all do.”

  “Then where’s yours?”

  “Home in my gun cabinet. I’ll be okay, gràineag. Now, make our priest some supper,” he said, kissing her quickly on her still protesting mouth. “And try not to kill the man with your cooking,” he said as a parting shot, turning and loping into the darkness at the end of the pool. He disappeared before Sadie could tell him at least to take Faol.

  She turned back to Father Daar.

  “Did you know that burned trout is an acquired taste?” she asked the man of the cloth who was still eyeing her suspiciously, still guarding his cane behind his back.

  “I do know what that word is now, that you asked me about the other day,” the old priest said instead, his clear blue eyes suddenly sparkling with mischief.

  “Gray-agch?” Sadie whispered, stepping closer. “What? What does it mean?”

  The old man rubbed his beard with the end of his cane and sent her a satisfied smirk. “Well, girl. Gràineag is Gaelic for ‘hedgehog.’”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Morgan stepped through the towering trees that protected the pool and out into the cold night, letting his eyes adjust from the bright glow of the grotto to the darkness of the forest. Faol whined beside him and stood up, his tail wagging and his eyes glowing green with their own inner light. The wolf was licking his lips, finishing off the trout Morgan had given him earlier.

  “You be ready, my fri
end,” he told the wolf in Gaelic. “I give Mercedes only an hour before she comes sneaking out here. Guard her, and keep her from wandering off the side of this mountain and getting herself killed.”

  He hunched down and ruffled the wolf’s fur. “It seems we’ve gotten ourselves a gràineag, wolf, who has more heart than common sense sometimes. Nothing else can explain her acceptance of us.”

  Morgan smiled into the night as he thought about the afternoon he’d just spent with Mercedes. She’d been so playful and passionate when they’d made love. And so open with her now perfect body. Not an ounce of shyness did she possess, now that she felt beautiful. He would give his sword arm to have possessed her that way before she’d been healed. He’d never have that chance now, thanks to the magic. He would never be able to prove to Mercedes that love did not come with conditions.

  Morgan stood up and let his gaze scan the quiet forest. “I’m going to find Greylen and the others,” he told Faol. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of gold nuggets he’d taken from the pool. “I won’t go after Mercedes’ sniper. Grey and Callum and Ian can do that. I’ll set out bait and wait for them to push our prey into my trap.”

  He gave Faol one final pat and a warning. “Be alert,” he told the wolf. “And keep our woman away from the river.”

  And then Morgan walked into the night, towards the dark force that roamed his valley.

  Though Sadie didn’t know it, her husband’s prediction was off by a good two hours. Sadie paced to the edge of the pool and stared down at the shimmering water which continued to glow with magical intensity. It appeared to be daylight within the confines of the granite cliffs, but when she looked skyward, the mist rose into blackness. It was the deep of night outside her own little heaven, and Sadie couldn’t stop thinking about her shooter and the danger Morgan was walking into.

  Sadie wished she had bought a handgun. But even if she had, it most likely would be back at the old logging camp, with the rest of her stuff.

  And that was another thing that was bothering her. The logging camp and her backpack. Jean Lavoie’s diary was there as well, with the section pertaining to this cliff, and its approximate location, circled in red ink. If whoever shot her stumbled onto it, he would know where to look for the gold.