For the first time in what seemed like forever, Robbie woke up to the smell of breakfast and the sound of a woman in the kitchen downstairs. He lay in bed, smelling and listening and smiling. Catherine Daniels was up early this morning, not that he should be surprised. She appeared to be a determined little thing—determined to protect her children and now obviously determined to do her job in exchange for shelter.
Heavenly, strong-smelling coffee. Bacon. Toast. And he would bet his farm the little cat had raided his henhouse again.
Robbie threw back the covers to jump out of bed, only to be stopped by the sharp pain in his side. He finished rising more slowly, uttering curses, and leaned over to examine his wound.
Catherine had done a neat job of stitching him up, though she had used bright pink thread. He looked in the bureau mirror at his chest, running his finger lightly over the cut on his shoulder. It would barely leave a scar once it healed. He carefully stretched his arms over his head, slowly working the kinks out. He would ride back up the mountain to Daar’s cabin today, before the priest showed up here and scared off Catherine and her children.
That brought his thoughts to Mary. Why had that contrary owl stayed behind? What could she possibly hope to accomplish? He had to go back and get her, just as soon as he was healed enough to survive another journey through the storm. Only this time, he was taking both plaids.
Robbie pulled some clean but wrinkled jeans out of his bureau and struggled into them. Then he found an equally wrinkled shirt and slipped it on, whistling through his teeth at his protesting side. Bending down to put on his boots wasn’t even worth contemplating, so he carried them down the stairs in his hands.
He found the table already set. And obviously clairvoyant, Catherine had poured his coffee. It was sitting—steaming, smelling divine—at the head of the table. His new housekeeper was nowhere in sight.
Someone came treading down the stairs, also obviously awakened by the smell of coffee and perfectly cooked bacon. Gunter peeked around the corner, only to scowl. “You haven’t been cooking. This must be the lady’s doing.”
Robbie nodded and sat down at the table while Gunter poured himself a cup of coffee. The boy stopped, lifted the lid of the frying pan on the stove, and sniffed.
“We can’t lose this one,” he said, coming to sit down across from Robbie. “I had a talk with the others while we unsaddled the horses last night. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep her here.”
“Then no running girdles up the flagpole,” Robbie suggested. “And no live fishing bait stored in the fridge.”
Gunter snorted. “I doubt the lady wears a girdle,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee.
Robbie took a sip of his own coffee, that Catherine had poured for him, realizing it was more than any of the other housekeepers had done. Hell, none of them had ever been up early enough to make a pot!
Catherine walked out of the downstairs bedroom, where she and her kids had slept last night, stopped in the middle of the kitchen, and hesitantly smiled. “Good morning,” she whispered, her face turning a warm pink. “I bet you’re both starved,” she said, going over to the stove and filling two plates with bacon and eggs and toast.
“Good morning,” Gunter said when she set one of the plates in front of him. “And thank you.”
“Thank you,” Robbie echoed. “And good morning.”
She murmured something in reply, and hearing the pounding of feet on the stairs, poured three more cups of coffee and filled three more plates, setting them on the table as each one of the boys came down, their eyes blinking and their mouths watering.
“Oh, Lord,” Cody groaned. “I’ve died and gone to heaven. Will you marry me?” he asked Catherine, his hand over his heart as he eyed his breakfast.
“Are you asking me or the eggs?”
“Both,” Cody affirmed, his morning grin rusty but visible. Then he spotted Robbie. “Hell, man, you look like you ran into a train.” He turned incredulous eyes on Catherine. “I retract my proposal,” he whispered. “I don’t want to mess with anyone who can do that to him.”
“I did it to myself,” Robbie said, fingering the bruise on his cheek. “When I fell.”
“Hey, lady. I hate scrambled eggs,” Peter growled, pushing his plate away and glaring at Catherine.
Robbie went to rise from his chair, ostensibly to kick the boy in the butt, but at the sight of Catherine’s returning scowl, he sat back down. Maybe he shouldn’t be too quick to intervene but should simply sit back and watch. After all, this could prove to be interesting…or the worst idea of his life.
“My name’s Catherine, to those of you who are interested. But I will respond to ‘lady’ or ‘ma’am’ or ‘hey, you,’ so long as the tone is civil. Now, boy, if you tell me how you like your eggs, I’ll fix you some new ones.”
Well, damn. If that didn’t beat all. Peter actually looked contrite. The rest of the guys looked startled.
“My—uh—my name’s Peter. And I prefer my eggs over easy, with catsup,” he quietly informed her.
She rewarded Peter with a smile and then looked at the others. “I know you introduced yourselves last night, but I can’t put faces to names this morning. I was…it was a bit confusing last night.”
“I’m Rick, and I’ll take my eggs any way you want to cook them. And he’s Gunter,” he said before Gunter could open his mouth. “But don’t pay him no mind. He only looks scary.”
“My name’s Cody, and I’ll eat anything.” Cody darted an accusing look at Robbie. “Well, almost anything. So long as it ain’t burnt or covered with grit.”
“And you can call me Catherine,” she offered, darting a shy look at Robbie before she turned back to the boys. “And my son’s name is Nathan—he’s eight. And my daughter’s name is Nora—she’s six.” She took a steadying breath. “If they act shy with you, please try to be patient. They haven’t been around many strangers, and never around so many men.”
The men label scored the woman several points, Robbie noticed. So, Catherine wasn’t going to talk down or tread lightly around them. That was good. And she definitely could cook. All the plates were cleaned in record time and chairs scraped back and school things quickly hunted up. Until Peter suddenly groaned.
“Damn!” he cursed, slapping his head with his hand as he tossed down his school bag. “I had an assignment for Mrs. Blake. She’s going to have my ass if it’s not in today.”
“Oh! I’ll write you a note,” Catherine said, rushing over to the counter and grabbing a pen. “I’ll explain how you spent the night rescuing us.”
Robbie quietly sipped his coffee. Hot damn, he was a smart man. Already Catherine was acting more like a mother than a housekeeper. The three younger boys were giving her incredulous looks, and Gunter was smiling again. And damn if the woman didn’t scribble the note, send them off, and disappear into her bedroom before Robbie could finish patting himself on the back.
Aye. He was seriously thinking of proposing to her himself.
Quietly, careful not to wake her exhausted children, Catherine unpacked her suitcase and put their meager belongings in the large bureau and closet.
Breakfast had gone well, she decided. She’d managed to serve five males without having one panic attack and gotten four of them out of the house without incident. The fifth one, her new boss, would head into town soon, she hoped, to see a doctor.
Then she’d be able to start breathing again.
Had she lost her mind last night, agreeing to come here and be their housekeeper? No, she had been desperate. She knew she couldn’t keep running. She’d dropped ten pounds in the last two and a half months, and her children had lost the sparkle in their eyes. Pine Creek was the end of the road for them, and six hundred dollars a week, plus room and board, was nothing to spit at.
Robbie MacBain, apparently, was as desperate as she was.
But Lord, did he have to be so handsome? Not only was he tall, but when she’d cleaned him up and sutured his wounds,
Catherine had had plenty of time to notice how ruggedly male he was. And he had the most compelling gray eyes she’d ever seen. But more than his looks, the man emitted an aura that screamed testosterone. It was the way he comported himself. The way he looked at a person. He was staring straight into their souls when he turned those beautiful gray eyes on people. She could see it when he looked at one of his boys and could feel it when he looked at her.
Robbie MacBain was ten times the man Ronald Daniels was—ten times bigger and stronger and handsomer. And ten times more potentially dangerous.
Last night, he had offered her sanctuary. And he’d given his word that she would be safe in his house. Oh, she dearly wanted to believe him.
Catherine sighed, walked back out to the kitchen, and stared down at the empty plates, the spilled catsup, and the drying egg yolk on the tablecloth. Then she looked around.
Then she shuddered.
She had only peeked in the living room this morning, before anyone had gotten up, but that room had looked no better.
Robbie walked into the kitchen from outside, kicking the snow off his boots, and stopped when he saw her.
“Did we get much snow?” she asked, reminding herself to breathe, forcing herself to relax.
“Only about five inches.” He pointed to the living room. “Your backpack is sitting beside the hearth, and everything’s still in it. Nathan and Nora might want to take advantage of the caps and mittens and play in the snow today. It will probably be gone by tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Are you headed to town to see a doctor?”
“No. I’m riding back up the mountain to see Father Daar.”
“But you can’t.” Catherine advanced on him without thought. “You need to be checked out. Twenty-four hours ago, you were nearly dead.”
He held up his hands, stopping her. “I’m fine, Cat. Still weak and a bit sore, but I’m mending just fine.” He gave her a crooked grin. “You do good work.”
Catherine realized that she had just scolded the man and immediately stepped back.
Robbie stepped closer. “About my little accident,” he said. “I’d rather no one knows I got hurt. If anyone calls today, especially my father, introduce yourself as my new housekeeper, but let’s keep how we met between you and me, okay? I don’t want to worry my family.”
Not knowing what to say, she simply nodded.
“The phone’s likely to ring off the wall,” he continued. “I run a large logging operation, and people are always calling here for something. You can either answer and take a message or let the machine do it.”
“Okay,” she said, turning and picking up several of the empty plates off the table.
“About Father Daar,” Robbie said, drawing her attention again. “He’s an old priest who lives halfway up the mountain. You’ll probably be meeting him soon, since he likes to invite himself over for meals. Don’t be surprised when he shows up.”
“Okay.”
He turned toward the door but stopped and looked back at her. “You did good this morning, Cat. With both the breakfast and with Peter. The boys need to know you can give as good as you get. They’ll quickly come to respect you, and then you’re home free.”
“My—my name is Catherine.”
He stared at her, the corner of his mouth kicked up in another grin, and slowly shook his head. “You’re not even close to being a Catherine,” he whispered. “You’re a beautiful and fierce and agile mountain cat, so you might as well get used to the name.”
Catherine had no clue how to respond to that, so she turned away, hiding her hotly blushing face, and started running water in the sink over the dishes.
“Catherine,” he said, making her look at him again. “I meant every word last night. You have nothing to fear from me.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that, either.
He must have decided her cheeks were about to combust from embarrassment, because he finally walked out the door, closing it softly behind himself.
Catherine stared at the spot where he’d stood.
A mountain cat? Cat, not Catherine. Beautiful, he’d said. Fierce. Agile. She suddenly smiled. Being compared to a cat was a compliment, she decided. And she would give him agile, and she certainly wanted to be fierce. But beautiful?
Catherine snorted. She was about as pretty as a rag doll left in the weather for a month. He’d just added that part to score a few points.
He must really, really be desperate for a housekeeper.
Robbie stopped his horse in front of Daar’s cabin and sat staring at the old priest standing on the porch, obviously waiting for him.
“What happened to our agreement that you’d go to my father if I didn’t come back by sunrise?”
“But ya did come back,” Daar said. “I heard the storm. And I looked everywhere for ya, until I went to your boys for help.”
“I couldn’t make it back to the place where I had landed.”
Daar nodded. “I suspected as much. Ya needn’t worry about that,” he told him. “Even if you’re a thousand miles away, you’ll always return to TarStone. It’s the mountain that pulls ya. So, are ya gonna sit there all day and scowl at me, or will ya come sit down and tell me what happened?”
Robbie stayed right where he was. “Mary’s still there.”
“Ya left her?” Daar asked, straightening away from the rail.
“She left me. She willed the storm to come, then flew off before I could catch her.”
“But why?”
Robbie shook his head. “I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. The energy must have interfered.”
“Then ya must go back. Tonight.”
“Nay,” Robbie said, shaking his head again. “I’m too weak to survive the journey. I need a few days to heal.”
“Heal from what?”
“Four MacBain warriors ambushed me on the third night.”
Daar’s eyes widened, and he suddenly cackled with laughter. “Old habits die hard for those bastards,” he said, only to sober quickly. “So, the war your papa started is still going on?”
“It would seem so. There’s no tree, priest. And no Cùram de Gairn, either.”
Daar thumped his cane on the porch. “It’s there! Ya just didn’t look hard enough. I told ya Cùram was a tricky bastard.”
“I scoured the forest for three days, and there’s no large oak with any marks on it.”
Daar scratched his beard with the butt of his cane. “He’s disguised it,” he whispered. “He knows I’m wanting a piece of the root, and he’s cloaked it in a spell.”
“He knew I was coming? And you couldn’t have bothered to warn me?”
Daar held up his hand. “He knows nothing about ya, MacBain. He probably thinks I’d send back one of the old warriors and was most likely expecting Greylen.” He stepped back up to the rail. “But if he discovers that you’re my knight and that you’re also a guardian, the game changes. He can’t actually harm ya. It’s forbidden.”
“Apparently, my ancestors don’t know that,” Robbie drawled. “They had no qualms about trying to kill me.”
“Pfhaa,” Daar sputtered, waving his hand in dismissal. “Those lawless MacBains couldn’t kill a wounded pig if their lives depended on it.”
Robbie canted his head. “Will you explain that to me?” he asked. “My father is a great warrior—and he’s a MacBain.”
Daar stared at him for several seconds, and Robbie could almost feel the drùidh trying to decide what to say. The old priest finally let out a sigh, folded his hands over the top of his cane, and leaned forward.
“I suppose ya need to know what you’re up against. But ya must promise not to breathe a word of what I’m about to tell ya, Robbie,” he said quietly. “It could cause a terrible upset.”
He leaned closer and lowered his voice even more. “Greylen’s mother, Judy MacKinnon, had an identical twin named Blair.”
“That’s my grandmother’s name. Blair MacKinnon married my grandfather, Angus
MacBain, and their first son was Michael.”
“Aye,” Daar said, nodding. “Blair is your grandmama, but ya have no blood ties to Angus. Blair came to their marriage already carrying Michael in her womb and passed him off as belonging to Angus.”
Robbie shook his head. “Angus would have known he wasn’t the first man Blair had been with and would have rejected her on their marriage night.”
“Aye,” Daar agreed, nodding. “But women have been fooling men about such things since the beginning of time.” He shrugged. “It’s survival that compels them, Robbie. Ya must remember that it was a time when such things mattered.”
“Who is my real grandfather, then?”
“Duncan MacKeage.”
“What? But he was married to Judy MacKinnon. Are you saying he fathered babes on both women? On sisters?”
Daar leaned over his crossed arms on the rail. “Judy died when Greylen was less than a year old, and Blair came to the MacKeage keep to tend her dead sister’s child for Duncan. But she had already been promised to Angus MacBain by contract and stayed with the MacKeages for only a year before she finally did her duty and married Angus.”
“But you say she went to Angus pregnant?”
“Aye. Judy and Blair were identical twins, and Duncan felt he was losing his young, beautiful wife all over again. The night before Blair was to leave, Duncan drank too much and ended up seducing her. It was a terrible thing to witness the next morning,” Daar continued, gazing off into the forest. “Duncan was in a fine rage, either from guilt or want, I don’t know which. He even threatened to go to Blair’s father and claim her for himself.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
Daar straightened and focused back on Robbie. “If Duncan had kept her, he would have started a war among all three clans. And so I persuaded him to let Blair go.”
Robbie canted his head. “You had another reason for stopping the match. What was it?”
The old priest’s face darkened. “Aye,” he whispered. “I did. Identical twins were not welcome in that time, Robbie, and usually one or both of them was killed out of fear of the black magic. But Judy and Blair’s mother refused to let that happen.”
Tempting the Highlander Page 8