Charmed by His Love

by Janet Chapman

  “Ohmigod,” she said in a winded whisper, breaking it off and burying her face in—did she just lick his neck? “We can’t do this, Duncan.”

  “Okay, we won’t,” he said, grinning over the top of her head.

  He was surprised she even knew the cuss word she muttered under her breath, and decided he better not kiss her again, afraid he wouldn’t stop until they were both naked and sweaty and too exhausted to move. Speaking of which, he noticed she didn’t seem in any hurry to move right now, and in fact actually snuggled into him.

  “Is this cave very far from here?”

  “Nay, it’s only about five miles to the entrance.”

  Her head reared back. “Five miles? All uphill? It’s going to take all night to get there. Wait, how far from the entrance to whatever the thing is I’m supposed to get?”

  He shrugged. “A little over a mile down.”

  She scrambled away with a small shriek. “Down? Inside the mountain?” She started backing away, and Duncan could see in the beam of the headlamp lying on the moss that she was shaking her head. “I’m not going a mile underground. Ohmigod, if I wasn’t claustrophobic before, I certainly am now just thinking about it.”

  “It’s a really big cave most of the way; only the last twenty or so feet are tight. There is one area we had to build a bridge across, but other than that the going is easy and not all that steep.”

  “Can’t you just get a long, flexible stick to reach whatever you’re trying to get?”

  “Sorry. I thought about sending the pup in, but Robbie believes it’s going to require someone with opposable thumbs,” he said, smiling when she stepped into a beam of moonlight and he saw her scowl. “I told ye that Mac made it impossible for me to reach all by myself.”

  “Again, what does Mac have to do with any of this?”

  Duncan walked over and picked up the jeans and sweatshirt and handed them to her. “Change your clothes and boots, and on our hike up the mountain I’ll tell ye everything I know about Mac.”

  Apparently not believing him, he saw her chin take on a stubborn tilt. “Tell me one thing about him now.”

  “Okay. Maximilian Oceanus is a theurgist. Or in laymen terms, a wizard, with the power to move mountains and turn freshwater lakes into inland seas.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Peg was finding it difficult to dress in complete darkness—she wasn’t about to use the light with Duncan sitting twenty feet away—what with her hands not wanting to cooperate. The only problem was, she didn’t know if she was shaking from being kidnapped, or from realizing the reason the name MacKeage had been familiar is that it had been on the card the kidnapping kiss-thief had given her eleven years ago. Because she really couldn’t be this rattled from Duncan’s telling her that Mac was a wizard, because that was absolutely impossible.

  What had Olivia called it? Earth-shaking, mountain-moving, anything is possible magic—which meant her best friend had knowingly married a friggin’ wizard.

  And Duncan needed her help to find something buried inside a mountain so he could get hold of some of that magic for himself. Magic that Mac had hidden in a place that would force Duncan to kidnap her because she had less broad shoulders and smaller hands—and opposable thumbs—and could climb into a really narrow twenty- or thirty-foot cave a friggin’ mile underground to get it for him.

  Okay. If this wasn’t the most bizarre dream she’d ever had, then she was tripping out on plumber’s glue or contact cement fumes or something. Yeah, her house hadn’t burned to its foundation; she was hallucinating and just imagining all this weird stuff—including, she hoped to God, her beautiful new truck being a mangled wreck.

  “Do ye need some help?” Duncan asked way too pleasantly.

  Peg gave a snort just as she finally managed to get the one-size-too-small jeans zipped up and fastened. She then slipped the hooded sweatshirt over her head, only to discover it came down to her knees and the sleeves hung six inches past her hands. “Jeesh,” she muttered, rolling up the sleeves as she walked over to the backpack and sat down. “Why would anyone think just because a woman might be a size twenty that she has gorilla arms?”

  “Ye look like a kid playing dress-up,” Duncan said, holding the beam of the headlamp toward her at an angle that didn’t shine it in her eyes. “I’m really sorry that I messed up on the sizes, Peg. Are the pants okay?”

  “Sure, they fit perfectly as long as I don’t breathe. I’m just glad the salesgirl wasn’t a size three.” She pulled off her knee-highs and slipped on the wool socks, then grabbed the boots and pulled them on and started lacing them. “What did you mean when you were trying to get me out of the boat that you need the magic to keep me safe?”

  There was what Peg considered an ominous pause before he answered. “I can’t say exactly, as it’s just a feeling I have that our little run-in with Dubois tonight won’t be the last.” He reclined back on an elbow and toyed with the headlamp even while keeping its beam trained on her feet. “I don’t like that he’s targeting you, and I have a worry that an army of sheriffs won’t be able to find him if he doesn’t want to be found. Ye said he’s a logger, so he knows these woods better than anyone.”

  She stopped lacing. “And you think if you have whatever’s in the mountain that you can catch Chris? Duncan, you can’t just take the law into your own hands like that.”

  “No,” he said, sitting up. “But I can make damn sure the bastard doesn’t get close enough to harm you—or your children. And with the magic, I’m fairly certain I can do it in a way that’s … well, that’s inoffensive to Providence.”

  “Providence?”

  “That would be the power of life, lass, the very heartbeat of the universe.” He grinned. “And ye don’t ever want to piss off Providence, so you make sure the magic ye work is always for the benefit of mankind.”

  “But didn’t your father tell me you flew helicopters in Iraq? How do you reconcile the benevolent magic you and Olivia keep talking about with being a soldier?”

  He snorted. “War is completely devoid of magic.” He grinned again. “But ye may recall I mentioned that a strong arm is sometimes needed to help benevolence along.” He started toying with the headlamp again, working the straps and making the beam wobble through the darkness. “I may have been raised a warrior, but I’ve never relished the fight.” He swept the beam through the treetops above them. “I much prefer to battle the elements in God’s cathedral. Ye like the outdoors yourself, Peg; I’ve watched you spend every day at your beach that ye could, and see you teaching your children to embrace nature.” He dropped the lamp and rose to his knees in front of her, and clasped her hands in his. “That’s why I wasn’t worried about bringing ye here to hike a living, breathing, magical mountain with me, and have ye sleep on the ground and drink from its springs and eat the food it willingly provides. You and I are kindred spirits, Peg, and that’s a gift I’d given up on ever finding. Will ye give me a chance to prove that together we can be stronger than a curse? If not for yourself, then would ye do it for Charlotte and Isabel?”

  “What do they have to do with … us?”

  “Together we can make sure your girls are given the chance to grow old with the men they love.” There was enough light for Peg to see his smile. “And also your mum and your aunt Bea. Wouldn’t ye like to see them find love again as well?”

  “You’re using my family to persuade me to have sex with you?”

  His smile widened and he nodded, and Peg was sure she saw a sparkle come into his eyes. “We MacKeages can be real bastards like that sometimes, especially with the women we love.”

  His hands tightened on hers when she flinched on an indrawn breath. He let her go to cup her face.

  “Yes, ye heard correctly; I love you, lass.”

  “You can’t,” she barely managed to whisper. “We’ve known each other a week.”

  “Nay, more than two.” He pulled her toward him even as he leaned closer. “But it’s been two weeks and eleve
n years for me,” he murmured just before he kissed her.

  And Peg was instantly transported to a mountain forest where she’d sat crying in the snow—lost and hurt and scared to death—when this big, strong, and way too handsome man in a TarStone ski patrol jacket had appeared out of nowhere and dried her tears, assured her that her ankle was only sprained, and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Oh, she remembered Duncan MacKeage, right down to how he’d made her insides clench and her mouth go dry and her heart pound so hard she’d thought she was going to pass out, only to then wake up to find it had been nothing more than a wonderfully exciting dream—just like she must be dreaming now.

  Had he really said he loved her? Out loud?

  He was kissing her like he loved her more than just wanting to have sex with her.

  She probably should kiss him back. But honestly, she was terrified that loving Duncan would kill him.

  His kiss ended with a sigh and he leaned his forehead against hers. “I hope ye consider yourself lucky that I’m a patient man, lass, with a healthy enough ego that your lack of response doesn’t send me into a hopeless depression.”

  “Excuse me. Did you say patient?” she whispered against his mouth as she fought a smile—because it was either smile or burst into tears. And hadn’t she already learned he would pounce on any sign of weakness? Okay, maybe two weeks was long enough to get inside a guy’s head. “This from a man who turned my life upside down within minutes of arriving in town,” she growled when she felt his thumbs lowered to the pulse on her neck, “and who made me sell him gravel too cheap and go on a picnic I didn’t want to go on, threatened to take the flat of his sword to my backside, tricked me into buying a truck for my own good, kidnapped me, bought me size twenty pants and size four panties but no bra, and … Should I go on, or are you going to kiss me to shut me up—again?”

  “Are ye wearing a bra now?” he asked way too quietly.

  “No.”

  She was flat on her back and he was settled between her legs before she even managed to gasp. “I had every intention of waiting,” he said thickly, “but I can see you’re quite eager to experience the consequences of my finding you outside after dark missing some important clothing.” He brushed the hair back from her face with a gentle hand and kissed her softly on the lips, then lifted his head. “Say ye want me, Peg. Give me permission to make ye mine; right here, right now, in this great cathedral.”

  “I want you so much it hurts, Duncan, but I’m scared.”

  “My word of honor, ye can’t kill me by loving me. You can only do that by not letting me prove I’m more powerful than a curse.”

  “How … But how can you know that for sure?”

  “I was born knowing. Go quiet, lass; can ye not feel the mountain humming through every cell in your body?” Except he apparently mistook her trying to feel the mountain for hesitation, and she heard him sigh again as he dropped his forehead to hers. “I’ll tell ye what: It’ll take us about two hours to reach a pretty little pool at the base of a gushing waterfall. Ye spend the hike listening to my magical tale, and tell me then if you want to continue on to the cave or …” This time he hesitated. “Or if ye want to make camp and share the one sleeping bag I brought.”

  About an hour and forty-five minutes into their hike, Duncan felt like he’d been walking for two weeks and eleven years. He’d spent most of the trek telling Peg how Mac’s father, Titus Oceanus, had built Atlantis on which to cultivate his Trees of Life; about the drùidhs—some of whom he was related to—and their role in protecting the Trees, one such species growing right here in Maine; about Robbie MacBain’s role as clan Guardian; and his, Robbie’s, and Alec’s fathers and Laird Greylen actually being eleventh-century highland warriors.

  Peg had quietly listened for the most part while asking only the occasional question, but had grabbed his pack and pulled him to a stop when he’d mentioned the time-travelers. Her big blue gaze—looking more fearful than disbelieving—had risen to the hilt of the sword on his back, and she’d asked if he could just disappear one day like the elder MacKeages had from their families eight hundred years ago. He’d assured her it wasn’t any more likely to happen to him than it could to her, and suddenly there had been no more questions or any more soft snorts of disbelief, even after ending his long-winded tale with why he needed her help to attain his calling.

  With the last fifteen minutes of their trek being made in complete silence, Duncan both assumed and worried that Peg was trying to decide if they would continue up the mountain tonight or bed down together in the sleeping bag—preferably naked—by the pool. He hoped she chose the latter, as it was important to him that she believed that together they could break her family’s curse before she witnessed the full extent of the power he was about to gain. Because, hell, he was just red-blooded enough to want his woman to want him for himself rather than what he could do.

  Had Mac had that same worry with Olivia? He knew Ian had captured Jessie’s heart before she’d discovered the truth about him, because Duncan had outright asked his nephew last weekend. Ian had grown amused and in turn had asked Duncan if he wanted to spend the rest of his life wondering if his woman had a believer’s heart before he had to hit her over the head with the magic to open her eyes.

  But Peg could hear the mountain breathing, which meant she must be a believer deep down inside where it counted, and he was also fairly certain that neither his mountain nor the whale would have so openly welcomed her if they didn’t know her heart.

  He was the only one who didn’t know a goddamned thing, apparently, which was why he needed Peg to willingly give herself to him before she saw what was in the cave. Because as he’d told her earlier, a man needed a little encouragement from the woman he was hopelessly in love with.

  Christ, why wasn’t she saying anything?

  “C-can we stop?”

  He stopped so quickly she bumped into his back, making him have to catch her even as he stifled a curse at how pale she was. “What’s the matter?” he asked as he tried to read her eyes in what stingy moonlight was filtering through the trees.

  “I … These new jeans are stiff and they’re … chafing me,” she whispered to his chest. “And my feet are starting to blist—”

  He dropped a hand behind her knees and swept her into his arms, not even trying to stifle his curse. “Just once could ye simply ask for my help instead of being so goddamned stubborn?”

  She also didn’t stifle a rather impressive curse, or even bother to mutter it under her breath. “I’m too heavy,” she growled right back, even as she wrapped an arm around him when he started up the trail again. “You’re going to trip and break both our necks. No, wait; I forgot you can see in the dark by magic.”

  “It’s the magic,” he said softly, this time stifling a smile. “There’s only one, lass, and ye seem to be forgetting what I said about offending it.”

  “I thought it was Providence we’re not supposed to offend.”

  “They’re one in the same. So,” he said above the sound of the gushing stream as he stepped into the clearing made by the glistening pool, “it appears ye don’t get a choice after all whether or not we’re spending the night here.”

  “I don’t?”

  “It’s another mile to the cave, and then another mile inside.” He skirted the pool, set her down on one of the boulders at the bottom of the waterfall, shucked off his pack and sword, then knelt at her feet and started unlacing her boots. “So here’s the plan: I’m going to build a fire while you strip off and go for a swim to soothe the chafing. Then,” he continued despite her gasp, “I’ll wash your jeans and give them a good beating on the rocks and set them to dry on a branch by the—”

  “That water’s got to be freezing!” she cried before he could finish.

  He grabbed the hand trying to push him away from her boots and held it in the water, smiling when she gasped again. “It’s warm!”

  He went back to taking off her boots, being caref
ul when he felt her foot flinch. “Isabel warned me you’re a warm-water bass, not a trout. Speaking of which, if ye feel little nibbles on your toes, see if you can’t sneak up on the lucky buggers and catch us a couple of trout for supper.”

  “That water’s too warm for trout to live in.”

  He reached up and gently tapped the tip of her nose, then straightened. “Not for a magical stream, it’s not.” He stood up. “Just leave your clothes here on the rock and I’ll get them as soon as I have a fire going.”

  “You promise not to peek?”

  He turned away with a snort. “No.”

  A boot hit him square in the back and another one dead center of his chest when he turned. He caught the sweatshirt that came at him next just as he saw Peg roll into the pool wearing her jeans, her laughter stopping when she slipped underwater.

  Oh yeah, the woman definitely owned his heart.

  And they weren’t leaving this mountain until she understood what that meant.

  The sting of her chafed legs having eased from lounging at the base of the falls to get the whirlpool effect, Peg lazily floated in the shadow of a towering spruce as she glanced across the moonlit pool at Duncan reclined beside the blazing fire he’d made. Charmed, Olivia had called him. But to Peg he was an old-fashioned, sword-carrying, kiss-stealing, scary-driving knight in leather armor, determined to save her from a five-generation curse she desperately didn’t want to pass down to a sixth.

  But could she chance it would be different this time, considering how high the stakes were? Then again, maybe it already was too late for Duncan, because she wasn’t sure if the curse applied just to husbands or if a man only had to fall in love with a descendent of Gretchen Robinson to meet a quick demise.

  But then yet again, if she hadn’t personally witnessed an earthquake that had moved several mountains and split Bottomless Lake wide open without cracking a window in Spellbound Falls and Turtleback Station, Peg might think Duncan was at the very least delusional and at worst insane. But she had felt the mountains moving and heard the booming thunder, and she had arrived home to find saltwater spilling into her gravel pit without so much as a chipped dish in her cupboards. So a good deal of his fantastical tale had to be true, considering the proof was staring her in the face every time she looked out her kitchen window.