Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “I—I wasn’t saying you’re pretty because I want to steal you!” he shouted, backing away from Sadie as he spoke. “I was only trying to explain myself.”

  Sadie couldn’t keep from smiling. “Oh, Dwayne. I didn’t mean Morgan was here,” she said. “What you said made me think of him, and that made me cry.”

  Dwayne relaxed slightly and lifted his brows at her. “Just thinking about your husband makes you cry?” he asked incredulously. He took a step closer. “What happens when you actually see him in person?”

  “I smile.”

  Her answer confounded him. He scratched his dirty hair and squinted one eye at her.

  “Does Morgan tell you you’re beautiful?” Dwayne suddenly asked.

  “Every day,” she told him truthfully. “Without words.”

  “How’s he do that?” Dwayne wanted to know, stepping closer.

  “By his actions,” Sadie explained. “By caring and worrying about me. By scolding and lecturing and bossing me around. By making me so mad sometimes I want to spit. He also teases me every chance he gets. He carries all the heavy supplies in his pack, lightening my load when we hike. He also makes sure I’m warm at night. And safe. And by doing all that, Dwayne, Morgan is telling me every minute of every day that I’m beautiful.”

  “Hell’s bells, Sadie. Am I going to have to do that kind of stuff for my wife?”

  Sadie wiped another threatening tear away and nodded. “You are. And you’re going to love doing it, Dwayne. Because your wife will understand by your actions how much she means to you. Each small deed will tell her you think she’s beautiful and that you cherish her and are glad she’s agreed to share your life.”

  Dwayne suddenly frowned at the ground. “I probably will have to show her instead of tell her, like your Morgan does.” He looked up, his expression confounded again. “Because I don’t know Russian, Sadie. Me and Harry got us some tapes to listen to, but we just can’t get the hang of the language. And, according to the book that came with the tapes, their alphabet is missing some letters and has some other ones that look mighty weird.”

  “The language of love is universal, Dwayne,” Sadie assured him, walking to her pack and slinging it onto her shoulders. She walked back to Dwayne and touched his arm. “It’s also timeless, I’ve discovered. Don’t worry. You and Harry are going to do all right. Because,” Sadie whispered, leaning over to kiss his blush-heated cheek, “you are beautiful, my good friend, deep down inside where it counts.”

  Sadie walked out of Dwayne’s camp then and decided it was time she found her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Sadie knew the first rule of searching for someone was that the searchee had to stay put in order for the searcher to find him. If both parties wandered around in the same hundreds of square miles of forest, they likely would pass within yards of each other and not even know it.

  But that theory only worked if the searchee really wished to be found, and it depended on how determined and tenacious the searcher was.

  Sadie was very determined.

  After wasting most of the afternoon hunting for Morgan, wearing out her boots and getting a sore throat from hollering his name over and over, Sadie finally conceded defeat. She knelt in front of Faol, who had suddenly appeared when she walked out of Dwayne’s camp, and held his big head between her hands and pleaded with the animal to help her.

  “You’ve got to find Morgan, big boy,” she entreated, getting her nose within inches of his. “Before he finds me first. It’s important that I go to him with my heart in my hand and remind him again that he loves me.”

  Faol whined, darting out his tongue and lapping her chin, his wagging tail shaking his whole body. Gripping the tufts of hair on the sides of his face, Sadie held him away.

  “Can you do that? Can you find Morgan for me?”

  He tried to wash her face again, then barked when she wouldn’t let him. Sadie let go and stood up, waving her hand at the forest.

  “Go on, then. Go find Morgan,” she told the wolf, giving him a nudge with her knee.

  Faol barked again, spun on his feet, and took off at a run down the trail. Sadie tightened the waist belt of her pack and started jogging after him, the thrill of the chase lifting her spirits until she was laughing out loud.

  Sadie lost sight of Faol but heard him bark someplace to her left. She turned off the trail and ducked under limbs, slowing to avoid getting poked in the face by low-hanging branches. She couldn’t see Faol anymore, but the wolf was making enough noise to wake the dead.

  Sadie broke onto a narrow game trail, this one obviously used by moose more than deer. She was able to stand upright and pick up her pace again, and within twenty minutes Sadie realized exactly where Faol was leading her.

  And she laughed again, at the irony of what was happening. Because it wasn’t all that long ago that she had been running down this very same trail—only away from a madman instead of toward him.

  Faol had stopped at the edge of the lake. He was sitting down, his tail wagging the ground clean, and looking over his shoulder at her. He darted a look at the lake and then back at her, whining and standing up and padding over to touch her fingers. He carefully grasped the fingertips of her glove in his teeth and gently tugged.

  Sadie took the hint. She pulled off her glove, knelt down, and took hold of his face again. “I know, big boy,” she whispered. “I might be hardheaded sometimes, but I eventually figure things out. I—I’ll take good care of your son, Mister MacKeage,” she whispered. “I’ll see that he’s happy and very glad he came to live in this time. We’ll give you some grand-babies and tell them all about your visit with us.”

  Faol whined and lapped her chin, then pulled his head free and turned and looked out at the lake again. He lifted his nose into the air and sent a howl over the valley that carried into the mountains on tremulous waves.

  Faol then trotted off into the forest without looking back.

  Sadie stepped to where the wolf had been standing and stared at Morgan sitting on the boulder in the middle of the cove, facing her, his large hands braced on the edge of the rock and his feet lazily stirring the water.

  He was naked, of course, despite the fact that there was ice lacing the shore of the lake and the air was below freezing. Steam wafted from his wet shoulders, his breath puffed in gentle billows around his head, and the water dripping from his long blond hair made icicles on the rock beside him.

  “I’m beautiful, Morgan.”

  “Aye, Mercedes, you are.”

  “And I’m your wife.”

  “I remember our vows.”

  “I—I’m a modern.”

  “Nobody promised us a perfect world, lass.”

  “I’ll continue to be strong-minded…sometimes.”

  “Aye. But only sometimes, gràineag.”

  “I know what that means now. And it’s not an endearment.”

  “But it fits you so well, wife…sometimes.”

  Sadie scowled, thinking this wasn’t going well. Not that she’d had a plan when she’d come searching for Morgan, but she had thought the man would be more…well, at least more eager to see her. Sadie took a deep breath and continued.

  “I broke your sword.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “And your waterfall was destroyed.”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “All the magic is gone, Morgan.”

  “Nay, lass. It’s more powerful than ever.”

  “Dammit, Morgan. I want you to forgive me.”

  “I did that two days ago, Mercedes.”

  “Then why didn’t you come for me?”

  “Because you needed to forgive yourself first.”

  With trembling hands, Sadie swiped at the tears that had escaped and flowed down her cheeks. This was proving even harder than she’d thought. He was just sitting there like a turtle on a rock waiting for the sun to warm him, his infuriatingly patient and calmly given responses making her insides quake.
Maybe he was a turtle, and she was the sunshine he was waiting for.

  “I’m beautiful.”

  “Aye, Mercedes, you are.”

  “And you love me.”

  “I must.”

  “Dammit, Morgan. This is hard.”

  “Only because it’s important, Mercedes.”

  “I love you.”

  “I’m glad. But it’s not me you must love, lass.”

  “I’m beautiful.”

  “Aye, wife. You are very beautiful.”

  With hands more shaky than useful, Sadie un-cinched the belt at her waist and let her pack slide off her shoulders, catching it and gently setting it on the ground without taking her eyes off her husband.

  Morgan lazily watched her as she sat down and unlaced her boots and pulled them off. She tucked her socks inside them and then stood, her trembling hands going to the buttons on her shirt. It took her a long time to get the shirt open, and even longer to work up the nerve to slide it off her shoulders. She let the shirt fall to the ground, reached behind her back, and unhooked her bra, pulling both it and her body sock off, letting them fall to the ground.

  And still she watched her husband.

  And still he sat there, not saying a word, not moving, not taking his eyes off her.

  Sadie unbuckled her belt and unsnapped her pants, pushing them down to her knees and stepping free.

  She couldn’t quit shaking, and she knew it wasn’t the cold making her tremble. Every nerve ending, every taut muscle, every inch of her skin felt as if it were on fire.

  She straightened her shoulders and forced her hands to her sides, now facing her husband as naked as he was.

  “Do ya see that sunset behind me, lass?”

  Sadie could only nod.

  “I was sitting here waiting for you to come to me, and I was thinking how the sky is the color of your eyes. It’s a very beautiful shade of blue, don’t you think?”

  She nodded again.

  Morgan stood up and held out his hand. “Then come to me now, Mercedes. Bring your beauty into my life.”

  She took a step forward, and then another. Each step was a bit easier than the previous one, and soon Sadie was running to Morgan.

  Until she was up to her knees in the ice-cold water. Sadie screamed at the feel of the icy water on her legs.

  “Goddammit, MacKeage! This lake is freezing!” she shouted, scrambling back to the shore.

  Morgan dove into the lake and swam until he could stand up. He rose, water cascading down his tall, masculine body, and waded toward her.

  Sadie took a step back. Morgan had never looked more like a warrior to her, even though she’d seen him like this before. He was different somehow.

  Or maybe she was.

  Or maybe it had something to do with the unholy gleam in his eyes, the look of a warrior about to possess the prize of his hard-won battle.

  Sadie took another step back.

  Morgan had certainly waged a fine war, if not a subtle one. But then, Sadie suddenly thought, stepping toward him instead of away, the prize he was receiving was well worth the effort.

  She ran and threw herself into his arms, grabbing his wet hair and kissing his wet face, laughing with the joy of knowing she was about to begin a dream life with this man. He wrapped his powerful arms around her and gently lowered them both to the ground, growling into her ear as he rained kisses through her hair.

  With lusty words and whispered promises, Morgan told Sadie as much as he showed her just what he thought of her body. His hands roamed over her skin with feather-light touches, his lips following the trail of his fingers.

  Sadie mimicked his actions and his words and made a few lusty promises of her own. She arched her back when his lips grazed her nipples, pushing her breasts into his mouth, yearning to be touched everywhere.

  Nothing was off limits any longer. Nothing stood between them, nothing obstructed the pleasure of loving each other. Passion took precedence over shyness, and Sadie was able to give herself freely to the wonder of love.

  They played and loved as they had that afternoon in the beautiful, mystical pool filled with the drùidh’s magic. And Morgan hadn’t been lying a moment ago when he’d said the magic was more powerful than ever.

  The magic was stronger, their love a brilliant rainbow wrapped around the pure white light of their passion.

  Driving definitely would have been easier if Libby could have kept her eyes on the road. And the trip wouldn’t have taken nearly as long if she hadn’t had to stop every half hour and get out and stare at the landscape.

  But the country was beautiful. Rugged. Over-whelming.

  The trees went on forever; fluorescent red and yellow and orange blanketed the mountains, broken only by the deep green of pine and spruce and hemlock. Cliffs of solid granite pushed up through the vivid colors occasionally, hinting at the massive foundation that lay beneath the forest.

  Since renting the small compact car at the airport in Bangor, Maine, and heading northwest on Rte 15, Libby had felt herself climbing, rising into the mountains until they wrapped completely around her. The tension of the last two weeks slowly seeped from her body, and home became a whispered mantra that repeated itself with every beat of her heart.

  After taking nearly three hours to travel the eighty miles from Bangor, Libby crested yet another hill and just barely caught herself from slamming on the brakes. The sight of Pine Lake, with its vast waters contained only by the sheer strength of the mountains, stole her breath. Libby guided her car to the shoulder of the two-lane road, shut off the engine, and stared through the windshield.

  Islands, some the size of houses and some several acres in size, dotted the large cove that fingered in from the lake toward the small town nestled on the shore. Mountains rose from the water’s edge like watchful guardians, several of their peaks shrouded by low clouds as they marched into the distance.

  Her life up until this moment seemed no more than a dream as she stared at the great reality in front of her. Miracles lived here. This was the realm of possibilities, whispering the promise of sanctuary to her fragmented soul.

  Her flight from California had ended. She’d been driven—or pulled—to this magical place by a guiding presence that needed no reason other than rightness. The how and why and what would happen next did not matter. Libby simply knew this was where she belonged.

  She had never given much thought to mystical powers—not until two weeks ago, when she’d found herself holding that very power in her hands. She was a surgeon who could suddenly heal people without a scalpel. She had touched a critically injured woman and willed her to get well. By the time the woman reached Libby’s operating room, less than ten minutes later, she was completely healed.

  Libby had run from the hospital that day two weeks ago, confused and very much afraid that the gift of her birthright was very, very real.

  Libby finally tore her gaze away from the lake and picked up her collection of printouts from Robbie MacBain. She shuffled the papers until she found the digital photos that had accompanied Robbie’s Internet ad to rent his mother’s home. She stared at the young boy of eleven or twelve, sitting on his pony in front of a field of Christmas trees, and tried to decide what it was about him that had made her choose to come here.

  His mother’s home was certainly enticing enough—a staid white New England farmhouse overlooking Pine Lake. And the mountains held their own allure, if only for their illusion of security.

  But Robbie MacBain had been the final deciding factor. There was something about him, something almost otherworldly. He was a child with the eyes of an ancient soul. There was a presence about him, as he sat so proudly on his pony and looked directly at the camera with a subtle, I-know-a-secret smile lifting his lips and the promise of magic shining in his young, pewter-gray eyes.

  Libby shuffled the papers again and found Robbie’s last e-mail to her. “Head northeast out of Pine Creek,” he’d written, “and drive until you see a large field of Chri
stmas trees on your right. I think it’s about five miles from town. I know it’s not a very long ride on the school bus, so it shouldn’t take you too long to find my home.”

  Libby adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see herself, brushed a stray curl from her face, and gave a quick fluff to her short, wavy hair. She blinked her huge brown eyes as she examined her reflection, hoping that her light touch of makeup wasn’t too much, and smiled to make sure a stray piece of lettuce from the sandwich she’d gotten in Bangor wasn’t stuck in her teeth. She wanted to look at least presentable when she met her new young landlord, so he wouldn’t realize that he’d rented his mother’s home to a desperate woman with secrets of her own.

  Satisfied that she looked like a sane, sensible, thirty-one-year-old jewelry maker, Libby started the car, waited for a pickup truck to drive past, and pulled back onto the road. She idled her way through the tiny town of Pine Creek, noticing with interest the few stores and three dozen or so people going about their business. She also noticed that her little car was dwarfed by the many pickups and huge logging trucks. She saw only one other car, squeezed between dust-covered pickups in front of Dolan’s Outfitter Store.

  She stopped at the intersection in the center of town and tried to decide which way to turn. She didn’t have a compass, but there were only three ways out of Pine Creek, and Libby picked the graveled but obviously much-used road that put the sun to her left, figuring it pointed her northeast.

  She traveled for six miles and still didn’t see a Christmas tree. Libby picked up the Maine Atlas and Gazetteer she’d bought at the airport in Bangor, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the road when a streak of white swooped past the nose of her car. She slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the left to avoid hitting the large bird.

  She was traveling too fast, and her car skidded towards the ditch. Libby jerked the wheel back to the right, and again she slid on the frozen gravel, fish-tailing into the sharp curve that suddenly loomed before her.

  She might have been able to maintain control if that damn suicidal bird had not flown past her windshield again. She cut the wheel to the left this time, only to skid on a puddle of ice at the edge of the road. Her car hit the ditch, shot up the embankment, and suddenly became air-born.