Ian went utterly still, his face turning pale again around his widened hazel eyes. “All of us?” he whispered.
“Aye,” Robbie gently returned. “In three months, if Daar can’t extend the original spell that brought you here, all five of you will go back.”
Ian looked away, saying nothing.
“I won’t let it happen, Uncle.”
Ian looked back at him. “I can help,” he said, squaring his age-stooped shoulders. “I’m old, but I ain’t dead yet. I can’t wield a sword anymore, but I know that time, the people, and the land. I can help,” he repeated with a growl, grabbing Robbie’s arm again. “Take me back with ya.”
Robbie gently pulled Ian’s hand free and held it in his. “I saw Gwyneth,” he quietly told him. “When I went back, it was ten years after you had left. She never remarried and lives with your daughter, Caitlin.” He smiled. “Caitlin is married to a fine warrior, and she has three bairns.”
A huge grin spread through Ian’s beard, and he squeezed Robbie’s hand. “How did my Gwyneth look?”
“Beautiful,” Robbie whispered. “And very busy spoiling your grandbabies.”
“Did ya actually speak to her?”
“Aye. I told her I was a distant relative, and had been away for several years, when she wondered why she didn’t know me. She fed me and spoke of her husband, asking if I remembered Ian MacKeage.”
“What did ya say?”
“I said I remembered a giant, ill-tempered, wild-eyed warrior who scared little children when he walked by.”
Ian snorted and pulled away, clasped his hands together, and looked up at Robbie with eyes far more shining than wild. “And Niall?” he asked. “Did you see my son?”
“He’s Laird Niall now.”
“No!” Ian grabbed his chest. “But how can that be?”
Robbie shrugged. “He was elected, I gather, a few months after Greylen disappeared. You’re all legends, Uncle. Grey and Morgan and Callum and you, you’ve all become the talk of the campfire.”
“And Megan and James? How are they?”
“Megan married a Maclerie warrior and has five bairns, Gwyneth told me.” He took hold of Ian’s hand. “And James died three years after you left, in a hunting accident. I’m sorry, Uncle.”
“It was hard times back then,” Ian said, turning away and swiping at his eyes. “The cost of mistakes was high.” He turned back to Robbie, his sad eyes looking worried. “What would happen if I suddenly showed up? How would I explain where I’ve been?”
“With the boldest lie we can think of,” Robbie suggested. He stood up and helped Ian off the log. “Not that I’m saying you can go back. I need to think about the ramifications,” he explained as they started walking again.
“What ramifications?”
“We would have to come up with a good lie for this time as well. Men can’t just disappear. People would investigate.”
“You only have to say that I returned to Scotland. Ya don’t have to mention what time I returned to.”
“Aye. That would work. But there’s still the storm and your age to consider.” He stopped and turned to him. “There’s a good chance you might not survive.”
“Then I die trying.” Ian gathered the front of Robbie’s jacket in his fists. “Give me the dignity to go down fighting, Robbie. Give me the gift of seeing my wife again.”
Robbie covered Ian’s hands with his own. “I understand your want,” he told him, pleased by the spark in Ian’s eyes. “But it’s not really my decision to make. It’s ultimately yours.” Robbie took a shuddering, painful breath. “And if you truly wish to go home, then I will be honored to help you get there.”
He leaned over and kissed Ian on his bearded cheek, then wrapped his arms around him in a gentle hug. “In one week, Uncle, I’ll take you back,” he whispered near his ear, closing his eyes against the sting of his imminent loss. “Spend these next days making peace with all who love you. But remember, you can’t tell them you’re going. They mustn’t know what I’m doing, for their own sakes.”
Ian hugged him back and stepped away with a firm nod of agreement, then turned, brushing at his face as he started for home again.
Robbie silently fell into step beside him.
Aye. Every warrior deserved to die trying. And with a boon from providence, Ian would again bury his face in his wife’s bosom before that happened.
It was late Sunday evening, and Catherine was sitting in a chair by the hearth, sewing the ripped pocket of a shirt. She realized now that she should have set out a larger box when she’d asked if anyone had any clothes that needed mending. The cardboard box she’d tossed down on the living-room floor, with Nathan’s crayon letters spelling out “MENDING,” was overflowing.
She should have known, having an eight-year-old male of her own, how hard boys were on their clothes. Multiply that by four—no, five, as she’d seen Robbie sneak a shirt into the pile—and the task could be daunting.
But it was a task she welcomed. For Catherine, sewing was not only a stress reliever, it was also her greatest joy. Back in Arkansas, she had taken in sewing to earn extra money. Being a janitor at the local high school had paid well enough, but making wedding dresses and prom gowns of her own creation had paid even better. She’d almost been ready to quit her day job and become a seamstress full-time when the letter about Ron’s release had come in the mail.
She had missed sewing these last couple of months, Catherine realized as she carefully made the small invisible stitches on the pocket of Rick’s shirt.
Nathan and Nora were already sound asleep. So was Cody. The boy had come dragging in around five, eaten supper without much conversation, and climbed the stairs and fallen into bed without even asking what was for dessert. Catherine would bet he’d think twice about where he aimed his potato gun in the future.
Gunter and Rick were out in the machine shop helping the mechanic dismantle the tree harvester. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.
Robbie walked into the living room just then, a bowl overflowing with apple cobbler and ice cream in his hand, a spoon in his mouth, and a cup of hot cocoa in his other hand. He sat down on the couch facing the fire, set his cocoa on the side table, pulled the spoon from his mouth, and smiled at her.
Catherine was proud of herself. In only four days, she had learned how to breathe normally around the huge man. Now she only had to learn how to stop staring at him.
“You have to be careful what you wish for around here,” he said, using his spoon to point at the box by her feet. “You’re liable to be rewarded in spades.”
In an attempt to look relaxed and not at all bothered by his being so close, Catherine shrugged and smiled back. “I don’t mind. I’m really a seamstress by trade.”
He lifted a brow. “Really? What do you sew?”
“Dresses, mostly. For weddings and proms and other special events.”
“That sounds complicated,” he said, digging into his ice cream. “I remember Maggie’s wedding dress. Or rather,” he said with a snort, “I remember the weeks of deciding which pattern was the right one and then finding someone to make it.”
“Is Maggie your sister?”
“Aye. She just had a baby last month. They named the lass Aubrey,” he added, popping the spoonful of ice cream and cobbler into his mouth.
“Aubrey’s a beautiful name,” Catherine whispered, looking back at her sewing when she realized she was forgetting to breathe again.
Robbie MacBain certainly scared her, though she thought it wasn’t because he was a man but because he was such a handsome man. She had thought her libido was long dead, but darn if it hadn’t been showing signs of stirring lately. It couldn’t be because she had cleaned him up and could still picture his hard muscles, long sculpted legs, broad shoulders, powerful chest, and amazingly taut stomach. No, she didn’t care one whit about that kind of stuff. It must be the fire in the hearth heating her cheeks.
“I’d like to talk to you about Nathan and Nora,” Robbie said, again digging his spoon into his second bowl of tonight’s dessert.
Catherine looked up. “What about them?”
“They should be in school.”
She immediately shook her head. “No. Ron still has too many connections in law enforcement, and he could trace us if I tried to register them. I’ve been careful not to leave any paper trails. School is out of the question.”
He canted his head at her. “What do you think will happen if he does find you?”
“I—I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted. “And I don’t care to find out.”
“He doesn’t have custody of Nathan and Nora, and you are legally divorced. What would he want from you, Cat?”
“Revenge,” she whispered.
“For?”
“For spending three years in prison.”
“Ah,” he rumbled, nodding his head. “You mentioned he was in prison for domestic abuse. Against you or against your children?”
“Me.”
“So you’re saying he beat you up, you pressed charges, and he was imprisoned, and now you feel that for him, revenge is worth the risk of going back to jail?”
“Why else would he be following us?”
“Maybe to see his children?”
Catherine shook her head. “Possibly Nathan but definitely not Nora. Ron only paid attention to his son, and then it was only to teach him how to be a man.”
“Will you tell me exactly what put him in prison?”
Catherine ducked her head and started sewing again.
“I’ve given you my word that you’re safe here, Cat. Even if Ron does find you, there’s not a damn thing he can do to you. But I need to know what I’m up against. What he’s capable of.”
She looked up. “It’s not your responsibility to protect us.”
“Aye, it is,” he said, setting his half-eaten dessert on the table and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together. “I’m sorely tired of going through housekeepers,” he said with a crooked grin. “And since you seem more than able to handle the boys and you cook like a five-star chef, I have no intention of losing you. Who is your ex-husband?”
Catherine took a deep, shuddering breath. It had been ten years since she had dared to trust anyone, since her parents had died and Ron had strode into her life and swept her off her young, naive feet with the promise of taking care of her. But didn’t her new boss deserve to understand why she was so frightened? And why she was so sure Ron would come after her?
“He’s a monster,” she quietly told him. “He has a terrible temper, and he expects his children to be perfect, automated robots—quiet, obedient, respectful, disciplined. You’ve seen them around people; they’re scared of their own shadow. Nora was still quite young when Ron went to prison,” she continued. “But Nathan,” she softly hissed. “In order to win his father’s approval, he was beginning to act just like him.”
“Why did you stay with him?”
“I tried to leave several times,” she said, looking down at her sewing. “But Ron was a well-respected, decorated police officer, and no matter who I went to for help, he always convinced them he was a model husband and father. But the day I saw Nathan slap Nora,” she told him, looking back up, “I knew I had to do something drastic, so there wouldn’t be any question what kind of man Ron really was.”
“What did you do?”
She lifted her chin. “I set him up. I made sure I had witnesses I trusted, I sent my children to a friend’s house, and I waited until Ron got home from work.”
“And then?”
“I calmly told him I had found a judge willing to give me a restraining order against him and that he had to move out that night.”
Catherine flinched when Robbie suddenly stood up and walked to the hearth, grabbed the poker, and started prodding the fire. She took another deep breath and continued, deciding that he had started this, he could darn well hear the whole of it.
“Ron reacted just as I expected. But the police didn’t arrive until he had almost killed me.”
“And your witnesses?” he asked in a harsh whisper, staring down at the fire, his arm resting on the mantel and his fist clenched around the poker. “Where were they while you were fighting for your life?”
“They tried to intervene. Ron broke Jeff’s nose, and Angela, Jeff’s wife, got a concussion.” She grinned at Robbie, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “They were more than happy to testify at Ron’s trial.”
“Okay,” he said, finally looking at her. “Ron got sentenced to five years in prison, you got a divorce, and he was paroled three years later,” he summarized. “And now you’re here with your children, looking over your shoulder for your ex-husband.”
He started toward her but stopped the moment he saw her stiffen. He walked over to the couch and sat down, his elbows on his knees again and his hands clasped tightly as he leaned toward her. “I admit I had doubts about your revenge theory, but I don’t anymore.”
“Thank you.”
“But you can’t keep running, Cat. For how long? Another year? A lifetime? When does it stop?”
“When Nathan and Nora are old enough to take care of themselves.”
“That’s years away, Catherine. Hiding requires a great deal of energy, and the toll it takes on a person is enormous.” He leaned even closer. “The three of you will be insane by then.”
“Then what do you suggest I do? Wave a white flag and tell Ron, ‘Here we are, come get us’?”
He smiled, leaned back, and picked up his dessert. “Aye,” he said, digging his spoon into the ice cream. “That would work. Or you could simply negate the power he holds over you by living your life as if Ron Daniels doesn’t exist.”
It was anger heating Catherine’s cheeks now. “How simple it is for you to give me advice. You have no idea what it’s like to be helpless, and no idea what kind of monster Ron is.”
He ate his mouthful of ice cream and cobbler, staring at her with unreadable eyes. He swallowed, sat forward again, and smiled. “Aye, but I do, Catherine,” he said softly. “I’ve dealt with more than one Ron Daniels in my lifetime. Bullies can only bully those who let them. When stood up to, they back down more often than fight.”
“I tried that already,” she snapped, getting so mad she could actually feel the blood rushing to her head. “And it only bought me three years.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a nod. “So maybe it’s time you found another way to defeat your demon.”
Catherine tossed her sewing in the box and stood up, her fists clenched at her sides so she wouldn’t strangle the man. “Defeat him! I don’t have one-tenth of Ron’s strength.”
“But I do,” he said calmly.
“We are not your responsibility!”
Robbie also stood up. Catherine was so mad that not only didn’t she step away, but she actually stepped closer.
Robbie tucked his hands behind his back. “Anyone living in my house, or anyone working for me, is my responsibility,” he said with quiet authority. “Should it be one of the boys, you or Nathan or Nora, or one of my loggers, I have their backs. My parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and Father Daar—they are all under my protection.”
Catherine snorted. “When were you elected king of the world? Nobody takes on that kind of responsibility. It just isn’t done, because no one person can handle it. Besides,” she said, stepping even closer, “people need to be responsible for themselves. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“We are all sitting in the same boat, Catherine, rowing toward the same horizon. Without helping each other, none of us would get there.”
“Then who helps you?”
“What?”
“Who has your back?”
He looked so confounded that Catherine’s anger suddenly disappeared. Robbie MacBain obviously didn’t think he needed anyone watching his back.
“That
’s not how it works. What would I need protection from?”
“From yourself?” she ventured. “From taking on so much responsibility that you’re the one who will be insane in a few years? Why did you take in the boys?”
That question seemed to startle him even more. “Because they had nowhere else to go, other than a detention center.”
“But why you?”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “This conversation is not about me,” he whispered. “It’s about Nathan and Nora going to school.”
“I want them to go.”
“Then trust me enough to take a stand here, in Pine Creek, on my turf.”
“I—I’ll think about it,” she whispered, turning and walking around the couch toward the kitchen, her knees shaking from the roller-coaster ride of emotions.
“Catherine?”
“Yes?”
“My cousin Sarah MacKeage teaches at our elementary school. I can arrange for us to take Nathan and Nora in tomorrow, so the three of you can look things over.”
He wasn’t going to give up, she realized. “Don’t think I’m not on to you, Mr. MacBain,” she told him, shaking her head. “I know why you’re doing this.”
“And why is that?”
She pointed at the melting remains of his second helping of dessert on the side table. “None of you has quit eating since I got here. You want my kids enrolled in school so I’ll feel committed to stay on as your housekeeper.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “You’re a suspicious woman, Cat,” he whispered.
“Aye,” she said, feeling brave enough to mimic his brogue because of the distance between them. “And smart, too.”
He let out a bark of laughter and turned and picked up his dessert. “Good night, little Cat,” he said, sitting back down in front of the fire. “Sweet dreams.”
Catherine turned and closed the book Peter had left on the table, then sauntered into her bedroom feeling quite proud of herself. She had just stood toe-to-toe with a giant and had managed to come away without a scratch. This taking a stand thing might not be such a bad idea after all.
Chapter Ten
Tempting the Highlander Page 11