“Mothers had no say back then,” Robbie pointed out. “Not when a husband thought otherwise.”
“Aye, but even though they truly were identical, there was one tiny difference. Blair MacKinnon had six toes on each foot.”
Robbie went perfectly still.
Daar nodded. “That’s why you and Michael both have twelve toes. They’re a gift from your grandmama and the only reason you were even born. Cara MacKinnon persuaded her husband to spare her daughters by claiming they weren’t truly identical.”
“And our gray eyes?”
Daar shrugged. “The twins had gray eyes.”
“So what are you saying, priest? That my father and Greylen are brothers?”
“Aye. Half brothers, both fathered by Duncan from twin sisters.”
Robbie shifted in his saddle. “So Greylen MacKeage really is my uncle,” he whispered, staring at Daar. “It still doesn’t change anything, though. Who slept with whom eight hundred years ago has nothing to do with Grey and my father now. Where’s the danger in knowing they’re brothers?”
“Cùram,” Daar said succinctly. “If he ever learns Judy MacKinnon had an identical twin sister, he would be here before the thunder could finish shaking the ground.”
“But why?”
“Think, Robbie. Two offspring from identical sisters and fathered by Duncan: Greylen and Michael. And their offspring—your seven cousins and your brother and two sisters. Winter MacKeage has already been promised as my successor, and only one drùidh can come from Judy MacKinnon. But that still leaves Michael’s children.”
“But my father didn’t have seven daughters,” Robbie pointed out. “He only had two.”
“Aye. But the seven sequence is my continuum. Cùram’s continuum is not so constrained.”
Robbie ran both his hands over his face, scrubbing hard and thinking even harder. He suddenly stopped and looked up. “You’re saying one of Michael MacBain’s daughters, one of my sisters, could be Cùram’s heir?”
Daar was shaking his head before Robbie could finish. “Not only your sisters,” he said quietly. “It could be your brother. Or you.”
“Then pray it’s me, priest, so I will stop this madness!”
“Nay, Robbie,” Daar whispered. “Pray that Cùram never finds out the truth about your papa. Going up against a drùidh as powerful as Cùram could destroy ya.”
“Better than becoming one!”
“I beg your pardon,” Daar said, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest. “Being a wizard is a noble profession. Your cousin Winter is blessed, not cursed.”
“I want nothing from the magic, priest. I only want to protect my family.”
“Aye, I know that, Robbie. And the best way you can do that is to keep our secret and get me the root of Cùram’s oak tree.”
“I couldn’t find it,” Robbie repeated. “Nor Cùram. None of the MacKeage clan I spoke with had any knowledge of either a special tree or the drùidh.”
“Ya didn’t actually ask them, did ya?”
“Of course not!”
Daar nodded. “Good, then.” He scratched his beard again, his gaze focused off in the distance. “Maybe Mary can find out something,” he speculated. He looked at Robbie. “Maybe that’s why she stayed behind. Meet me back on the summit at sunset in three days, and ya can give it another try. Oh, and one more thing,” Daar said when Robbie started to turn his horse to leave. “Ya stay away from your stepmama. If Libby so much as touches ya, she’ll know exactly how ya got hurt.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Robbie told him. “And now I have a warning for you. We have a new housekeeper. So mind yourself around her, and don’t scare her off.”
Daar perked up. “The woman from West Shoulder Ridge?”
“Aye,” Robbie said with a nod. “But for her I’d be dead now, and you’d be telling your sorry tale to the Highlanders.”
“I will be most gracious when I come visit,” Daar assured him. “Can she cook?”
“I imagine Cat can do anything she puts her mind to.”
“Cat?” Daar repeated. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s my name for her,” Robbie said, turning his horse away.
“MacBain!” Daar snapped, stopping him yet again.
“What?”
“Ya cannot be tempted by this woman,” he warned. “I don’t care if she did save your life, our problem comes first.”
“I have my priorities straight,” Robbie said. “Just make sure yours are.” He walked his horse back up to the porch, causing the wizard to step back. “Because if I find out you’re playing me in order to get your book of spells, or if I ever learn that you’ve lied about any of this, there won’t be a place, or a time, where you’ll be safe.”
Daar gasped and took another step back until he was pressed up against the cabin wall. “When did ya find out?” he whispered. He shook his head. “It was the storm, wasn’t it? Ya became aware of all your guardian powers while in the storm.”
“Aye,” Robbie growled, nodding. “Fully aware.”
That said, Robbie pointed his horse down the mountain and decided to turn his thoughts to more pleasant things.
He wondered what Cat was cooking for supper.
The first thing Robbie did upon returning to the house was stop and take off his boots on the rug by the door. The second thing he did was tiptoe through the spotless kitchen to the downstairs bedroom and see his new housekeeper sound asleep, her arms thrown protectively over her children. The third thing he did was open the oven door and spend a full minute breathing in the smell of the pair of stuffed roasting chickens.
Then he ladled himself a steaming mug of the hot cocoa he found on the stove and went into the spotless living room.
And then he got mad.
The lady and her kids should be sleeping the sleep of the dead. They’d cleaned the downstairs of his house, every last nook and cranny of it, not a speck of dirt left unrouted. The damned woman must have worked herself and her kids to death. And that made him mad.
So Robbie sat in the living room, quietly simmering with anger, and listened to truck doors slam and four pair of boots bang onto the porch.
“Oh, shit, man! Hey, don’t push.”
“Then get out of the way. What are you doing standing in the door? Move!”
“It’s blue.”
“You’re face is gonna be black and blue if you don’t get out of the way.”
“Don’t go in there! Can’t you see, you moron? The kitchen floor’s clean. Take off your boots.”
“Oh, shit! It is blue.”
There was a sudden silence. Despite his anger, Robbie had to smile. He could almost picture the unbelieving faces standing in the kitchen door. Hell, even he had forgotten the damned floor was blue.
“Wow, look at this place. What’s that smell?”
“Oh, God. It’s roasted chicken. I know it is.”
“It’s awfully quiet in here. Do you suppose the little girl still takes a nap?”
“She’s little and a girl, ain’t she? So everybody keep quiet. Little girls need their sleep.”
Somebody snorted. Four pair of boots dropped onto the rug.
“Ssshhhh!”
“Hell. Get a grip, you guys. You’re gonna wake the women.”
“Women? What makes you think Catherine is sleeping?”
“Wouldn’t you be, dip-shit, if you had cleaned this place?”
And on and on it went, in whispers, until the four boys had come to grips with what they were seeing. They finally tiptoed into the living room, all sipping cups of hot cocoa, only to smile at Robbie.
“Wow, man. Did you see this place?” Rick asked.
“I saw,” Robbie returned quietly, his anger reemerging. “And I am not pleased.”
“Why the hell not? The house has never looked so good,” Peter said.
“It shouldn’t have gotten so dirty to begin with,” Robbie pointed out. “Catherine Daniels is not our s
lave. I want all of us to pitch in from now on. Everybody picks up after himself, and everybody helps with the dishes, the vacuuming, and the laundry.”
Everybody groaned.
“And if you guys are anywhere near intelligent, you won’t run this one off. You will be nice and polite and helpful to her and her kids, and maybe we can all go on eating well. Or do you like bachelor life?” he asked.
Everybody heard the growl in his voice and nodded.
“We’ll treat the lady like a queen. And we’ll be nice to her kids, won’t we?” Rick promised, giving each of the boys a warning glare.
“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Cody conceded. “Not like the other ones. Hell, the second lady couldn’t even take a joke.”
“It’s hard to laugh when your girdle is flying from the flagpole,” Rick accused, glaring at both Peter and Cody.
“I bet Catherine’s underwear would be a sight prettier.”
“Leave the lady alone,” Gunter said softly.
Peter quickly nodded, his hands going up defensively.
“Catherine and her kids need to be here,” Gunter continued, looking at each of the boys. “They were living in that old cabin, for chrissakes, and probably need this place more than we do. And be careful with the girl, Nora. Do any of you realize that she’s barely spoken to any of us? And she only whispers to her mom and brother? Be nice to her.”
Everybody nodded again. Robbie hid his smile. Well, hell. This was the first time he’d seen these guys agree on anything all at the same time. Had a miracle fallen into his lap or what?
“Oh, hi. You’re back,” Catherine mumbled as she walked into the living room, her eyes blinking with sleep.
Robbie sucked in his breath. She looked like an angel. Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were…well, sexy-looking. Robbie felt his insides clench, his anger turning to desire with the suddenness of an explosion.
Hell. If Catherine Daniels even caught a hint of what he was thinking, she’d run screaming back up the mountain to her hidey-hole—and he wouldn’t be able to catch her this time, either.
“I—ah—dinner will be ready in two hours,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing at the boys’ undisguised gawking.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Cody whispered. “I’ll marry you.”
Her blush deepened.
Robbie thought to intervene, but Gunter beat him to it.
“Ignore the moron, Catherine. The boy thinks with his taste buds, and chicken is his favorite,” Gunter said. “And the house looks great. We really didn’t know the kitchen floor was blue,” he added, lightening the mood.
She gave him a thankful smile. “I was as surprised as you.” But then she sobered and gave them each a tentative look. “I didn’t get to the upstairs today,” she confessed, not seeing Robbie’s glare at that admission, since she was looking at the boys. “I didn’t want to go into your bedrooms without permission, so I didn’t get any laundry or make the beds. I wanted to speak with each of you first.”
“You were respecting our privacy?” Rick asked.
Catherine nodded. “If you have clothes that need washing, just leave them in the hall if you don’t want me going into your rooms. But if you want me to change your beds, put away your clean clothes, and vacuum and dust, then all you have to do is show me what’s off limits and what’s not.”
“It’s all off limits,” Robbie said.
Catherine spun around, her eyes wide and confused. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to do my job.”
Robbie stood up.
She took a step back.
“The boys will help with the housework. They will wash their own clothes, make their own beds, and do the vacuuming. They’ll be responsible for keeping their bedrooms clean, and they’ll help with the supper dishes.”
Her chin rose throughout his speech, and she was scowling at him by the end of it. But as soon as she realized what she was doing and just how defiant she appeared, Robbie watched her instantly deflate. Then he saw her realize what she was doing again, and her shoulders squared and her chin rose—but just a little.
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Cook. Take care of your kids. Go for walks.” He smiled. “And you can shop. You can be responsible for buying the food and anything else we need.” Yeah. That was a good idea. He hated shopping. “You can handle that. Women love to shop.”
If she hadn’t been so wary of him, Robbie would swear that Cat was near to stomping her foot in frustration.
“But we can’t figure out the washing machine,” Peter said. “It’s possessed by demons.”
“I can show you,” Cat quickly offered, turning away from Robbie, probably before she said something she’d be sorry for. She turned back to Robbie. “But the bathrooms,” she said with a shudder. “I want to be in charge of the bathrooms.”
“Why would anyone volunteer for that?” Cody asked.
“Because I have this thing about clean bathrooms. And keeping them sanitary is sort of an art.” That said, she turned back to Robbie, folded her arms under her breasts, raised her chin as high as she dared, and waited.
Robbie curtly nodded agreement, then left her standing in the living room with four incredulous boys staring at her.
If the lady had a thing for bathrooms, who was he to argue?
Chapter Eight
It was Saturday morning, day two of her new housekeeping job, and Catherine was in the chicken coop with her children. The four boys were in the house, cleaning their bedrooms and trying to master the art of vacuuming.
Her boss was in the huge garage with several men from his logging crew, examining the tree harvester they’d trucked in late last night. The gigantic machine was broken, and Catherine had learned it was one of three that Robbie owned and would leave several of his men idle until it was fixed.
She had also learned that all four boys worked in the logging operation at least ten hours a week, doing various jobs. Peter, being only fifteen, was responsible for keeping track of the maintenance records for all the machinery. Cody and Rick did some of the maintenance, changing oil and air filters and keeping the equipment clean. Gunter actually ran some of the equipment, often working right beside the loggers.
Robbie had told her he wanted to nudge the boys in the right direction, and it seemed his logging operation was his means to that end. Catherine decided she had to admire anyone who took on the task of guiding four wayward boys into manhood.
Actually, there were a lot of things she was coming to admire about Robbie MacBain. The man seemed to have the patience and disposition of a saint. At the supper table last night, and without accusation or condescension, Robbie had told Cody he had to spend this Sunday cleaning John Mead’s skidder, which Catherine had learned was a large machine that dragged trees out of the forest. Apparently, Cody and a few of his friends had shot something called a potato gun at the skidder, smearing it with potato pulp. Catherine guessed it would be an unpleasant job, considering the potatoes had had four days to dry.
Cody had taken his punishment rather well. Nathan had certainly been impressed, with both the potato gun and Cody’s promise to show him how to shoot it. Catherine’s first instinct had been to forbid Nathan to go anywhere near anything called a gun. Robbie had read her reaction and spoken up before she could, promising her a potato gun was just the thing for an eight-year-old boy to experience. And for some reason that she couldn’t quite understand, Catherine found herself trusting Robbie’s judgment when it came to dealing with young males.
Catherine brought her thoughts back to the task at hand and urged Nathan and Nora further into the henhouse. “Don’t make any sudden moves, and talk softly when you’re working in here,” she told her round-eyed children as she peeled Nora off her leg.
“You have to make sure they always have clean water and plenty of food.” She smiled encouragement. “And for a reward, these little ladies will give us plenty of eggs.”
“Do they bite?”
Nathan whispered.
“No. But they may try to peck you. Just ignore them, and they’ll leave you alone.”
“Will they be mad at us for stealing their eggs?” Nora asked, clinging to Catherine’s leg again. “Aren’t eggs their babies?”
“No, sweetie. There’s no rooster here, so the eggs can’t turn into chicks. And the hens won’t mind us taking them.”
“Do we have to do this?” Nathan asked with a groan.
“Yes. You need chores of your own. We live here now, so we all have to do our part. Everybody works.”
“I made our bed this morning,” Nora boasted.
And a sorrier bed she’d never seen, Catherine thought. “And you did a wonderful job. But you have to let go of my leg, sweetie,” she said, peeling her off her again. “And come see the nests. This is where you’ll find the eggs. Your job will be to bring the basket down every evening and gather them up.”
She turned to her son, only to have to pull him back into the henhouse, as he’d slowly been inching his way outside. “Nathan, you keep their water bucket and grain feeder filled. And when the grain gets low, tell Mr. MacBain, and he’ll buy some more.”
Nathan’s eyes rounded. “Can’t I tell you, then you can tell Mr. MacBain?”
“No,” Catherine said firmly, her heart breaking at the sight of his pale face. “That’s part of your job. Mr. MacBain is the boss, and everyone goes to him when they need something.”
“But he’s big,” Nathan whispered.
“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “Most men are. Gunter’s big. Cody and Peter and Rick are big. And Nathan, when you grow up, you’ll be big, too.” Catherine hunched down and looked her son square in the eye, then pulled Nora closer. “You know I wouldn’t stay here if it wasn’t right for us. Try to look at Mr. MacBain and the boys as protectors, like guardian angels.”
“I like Gunter,” Nora confessed shyly. “He was nice to me when I was scared of the horse the other night.”
“I like Gunter, too,” Catherine said, giving her a squeeze.
Yes, the softly spoken Gunter had taken Nora onto his lap and wrapped his coat around her for the ride down the mountain two nights ago.
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