The only problem was the date. Even though Robbie was willing to get married again to satisfy everyone in modern time, he refused to set a date until they could have a true wedding night. And they couldn’t have that, he insisted, until Daniels was completely out of her life.
Catherine was getting sorely tired of Robbie’s noble intentions—especially when he pulled her into his arms, kissed her senseless, and whispered heated, heart-thumping promises of what he wanted to do on their honeymoon. Her own noble intentions were about ready to explode, and when she wasn’t looking out the window expecting to see Ron standing there, Catherine was trying to figure out how to get Robbie alone long enough to curl his own toes.
The solution to her problem came from a most unlikely source one bright spring day, when Catherine heard a noise on the porch. She opened the door, and Mary walked into the kitchen, flew onto the back of her rocking chair, folded her wings, and started talking to Catherine.
Their amazing conversation lasted over an hour.
The wise snowy owl convinced Catherine that it was time she took matters into her own hands and put an end to Robbie’s noble intentions by staging a seduction a saint couldn’t resist.
And so, armed with Mary’s surprisingly simple and insightful opinion on courage and fear, and with her blessing, Catherine set a wedding date for that Friday. Mud season had shut down the logging operation, and the boys were only too eager to help put an end to Robbie’s bachelorhood—although Catherine suspected they really saw the marriage as a guarantee that they’d be keeping their housekeeper.
For three days after school, the boys rode up to the cabin where Catherine had first come face-to-face with Robbie. They cleaned it from top to bottom, stacked firewood, made some minor repairs, and even tied a mattress to poor Sprocket’s back and lugged it up the mountain.
With Winter’s help, Catherine called Robbie’s extended family and told them where and when the wedding was and asked them please to keep it a surprise. She also promised they’d have a nice reception the next day at the farm.
Even Kate got into the spirit of things, though she was still wrestling with losing Ian—torn between missing him and being happy for him, knowing he was where he belonged. Kate had a doctor’s appointment in Bangor that Friday and asked Robbie to drive her to it. If Robbie thought her request was strange, he never said anything. He’d only kissed Catherine good-bye that morning and left to go pick up Kate.
It was now four-thirty on Friday afternoon, the summit of TarStone was littered with three generations of MacKeages and MacBains, Catherine had twisted her bouquet of forget-me-nots into a tangle of weeds, and Robbie was late.
“Maybe he didn’t get yar note,” Michael said, standing beside her, his hands tucked behind his back as he watched the path coming up the mountain.
“He couldn’t miss it. I set it on the table, right on top of an apple pie.”
“Aye, that would catch his attention,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Catherine,” he said, turning to face her. “Have ya not heard from Daniels?”
She looked down at her mangled bouquet. “No, nothing,” she whispered. “Maybe he’s dead.”
Michael lifted her chin to look at him. “Pray he isn’t, lass,” he said softly. “Because I agree with my son. Facing your past is important.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “But I no longer need to see Ron.” She widened her smile. “Heck, after what I went through four weeks ago, Ron Daniels isn’t even a worry anymore, much less a fear.”
Her almost-father-in-law lifted one brow. “Just like that?” he asked. “You’ve simply erased several years of yar life?”
“Every day of it,” she confirmed. “Except for Nathan and Nora’s birthdays. I’ve decided that sometimes, to find something wonderful, you have to go through a great trial.” She stepped closer and touched his arm. “After all you’ve gone through in your life, was it not ultimately worth it to have Libby and your children and grandchildren? Would you wish it all away in order to avoid the trials you endured to get here?”
Michael stared down at her, not smiling, not frowning, not one readable expression on his face that she could see. When he finally did respond, the last thing she expected was amusement. “Aye, I can see my son is in for an interesting future,” he whispered, wrapping her in a fierce embrace and shaking her with silent laughter. “I couldn’t have wished for a better daughter-in-law, Catherine.”
“She’s not your daughter-in-law yet,” Robbie said from right beside them.
Catherine gasped and tried to step back, but Michael wasn’t through hugging her yet. “Nay?” he chuckled, looking at Robbie and grinning. “Then maybe she should slip off her ring and give it back to ya.”
Robbie pulled her from Michael’s arms and led her away from the staring crowd. “What’s going on here?” he asked, turning them so that his body blocked her from the gathering.
“We’re getting married in five minutes.”
Looking very much like his father, Robbie lifted one brow. “With or without me?”
Catherine shrugged. “You apparently didn’t need my consent eight hundred years ago, so I guess I don’t need yours today.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “But whether you say your vows or not, I’m sleeping in your bed tonight, husband.” She gave him a challenging smirk. “So if you don’t care what sort of example we’ll be setting for our children, go home and eat your pie. I’ll be down as soon as the ceremony is over.”
“You need a marriage license in this time.”
“Already done and filed at the county courthouse. Martha Bailey helped me.” She canted her head. “Not everyone has their marriage license notarized by a judge.”
“And just when did I sign this license?”
“You didn’t. Cody did. He’s really good at forging your signature. You might want to check with his teachers and see what other papers you’ve signed.”
“You let a judge notarize a forged signature?”
Catherine sighed, stepped around him, walked over and stood in front of Father Daar, and waited for Robbie to join her.
She hadn’t wanted the old priest to marry them, considering all the trouble he kept causing, but Michael and Greylen had asked her to, for their sakes and for Robbie’s.
Catherine smiled at Nora standing beside her and then over at Nathan, who was crowded beside Gunter and Rick and Cody and Peter, all waiting to stand as witnesses for Robbie. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a dark shadow blocked the setting sun, and Father Daar lifted his book and started speaking.
“No, stop,” Catherine said, setting her hand over the pages. “In English,” she demanded, removing her hand and reaching over and lacing her fingers through Robbie’s.
Her new husband whispered his vows, and Catherine was tempted to shout hers, but in the end she repeated the words softly and clearly.
Since they were already wearing their rings, Robbie took her left hand in both of his and pressed their bands together. Catherine was expecting the magic this time, and when her ring warmed and her hand tingled, she simply smiled.
Their nuptial kiss, however, couldn’t have been more modest.
But Robbie’s kiss to Nora, when he scooped the beaming little girl up in his arms and gave her a loud, laughing smooch on the cheek, was heartwarming. And his handshake with Nathan was most manly.
Winter came forward leading Robbie’s horse, its mane and tail braided with long, flowing ribbons in the MacBain colors, its rump covered with an ancient-looking MacBain plaid. Catherine also noticed that Robbie’s sword—and the new stick he’d made her—were strapped to the saddle.
Her husband lifted her by the waist onto his horse and climbed up behind her amid a shower of birdseed and the cheers of those gathered on the summit.
“Where to, wife?” he whispered.
“To your cabin on West Shoulder Ridge,” she said as she waved and threw kisses to Nathan and Nora. “We’ll be back by noon tomorrow,” she told them. �
�You be good for the boys.”
She leaned back against Robbie’s chest with a sigh, looked up at him, and smiled. “How are your twelve toes feeling, Mr. MacBain?”
“They feel fine,” he said, looking confused.
Her smile widened. “Well, they won’t be in about an hour.”
“They won’t?”
“No, because I’m about to curl them, husband.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Robbie barely recognized the place. And from the look on his wife’s face as he carried her through the door, Catherine was just as surprised as he was.
The old cabin was spotless. All the broken furniture, the years of accumulated junk, and every last spider web and squirrel nest were gone. All that remained was a recently painted wrought-iron bed, a table and two chairs, a rocking chair, and the newly reblackened woodstove. The counter and cupboards had been painted red, there were new curtains in the windows, and even the floor was freshly painted.
And dozens of candles, just waiting to be lit, sat on every available surface.
Robbie looked down at his wife in his arms and found her looking around the cabin in shock. “I had no idea they were doing all this,” she whispered, looking up at him. “I just asked them to clean it up a bit.”
Robbie lowered Catherine to her feet and picked up the envelope leaning against the large three-wick candle sitting in the middle of the table. “I’m almost afraid to open this,” he said, holding it between them. “The last note I got was an invitation to my own wedding.”
She took the envelope from him, slit it open, and pulled out the card. “It’s the boys’ wedding present to us,” she told him, handing the card back. “They said every married couple with a houseful of hoodlums needs someplace to escape to.”
Robbie quickly read the card and tossed it down on the table, picked up his wife and set her on the counter, slipped between her knees, and locked his hands behind her back.
“I thought our deal was that our marriage didn’t start until you faced Daniels.”
She covered his lips with her fingers. “Sshhhh. Don’t even say his name. He no longer exists.”
“Aye, but he does, Catherine. I’ll not spend our wedding night with his ghost in our bed.”
“Even his ghost is gone,” she whispered, smiling into his eyes as she started unbuttoning his shirt.
Robbie covered her hands with both of his, shocked by her eagerness.
Shocked but not really surprised.
He’d been living with a stranger for the last three days, a woman who appeared confident and determined and now, obviously, quite brave.
“What happened this week?” he growled, holding her hands safely in his.
“I had a talk with a wise and rather insightful owl,” she said, pulling free and working the buttons open again.
“You talked with Mary?” he whispered, stopping her and holding on tighter this time. “She spoke to you?”
Catherine nodded. “We had a wonderful conversation. Mary explained how I was letting you do my thinking for me and that our marriage was never going to work as long as I allowed it to continue, that I had to start thinking for myself.”
“I was doing your thinking?” he repeated, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “What in hell are you talking about?”
She tried to wiggle free, but once she realized he wasn’t letting her have her hands back, she sighed and shook her head. “Mary explained that it’s a guy thing, this need you and your father have for me to confront my ex-husband. Men choose the most direct approach to a problem, and it usually involves fighting. Your solution is for me to barge in with my stick raised, hellbent on purging my memories by beating them away. Am I right?”
“I didn’t mean for you actually to fight Daniels. I was thinking more of you facing him with me standing beside you.”
“And exactly what would that accomplish, other than for me to feel safe only as long as you’re around?”
“You’d also see that Daniels is nothing more than a bully.”
“But I already know that.” She shook her head again. “Mary is right, it is a guy thing. But Robbie, women think differently. We don’t need a huge confrontation or some defining moment to tell us we’re over our problem. We only have to let it go in our own minds.”
“Then why didn’t you do that three years ago, when you divorced him?”
“Because I was still thinking like a victim. And when I came here and met you, and even after visiting Scotland, it was easier just to go along with your idea to confront Ron because I knew you would protect me.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “That’s the problem with falling in love with guardian angels,” she whispered. “It becomes too easy to let them take over.”
Still holding her hands in his, he lifted her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “It’s even easier for us guardians to take charge, because that’s how we think.” He leaned over and gently kissed her sweet lips, then pulled away only slightly. “I’m sorry, little Cat, for nearly taking away your power instead of helping you find it. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”
The moment he freed her hands, she wrapped them around his waist and hugged him. “So, now we’re married in all times,” she said, her lips caressing his chest where she’d unbuttoned his shirt. “Does that mean we can finally start the honeymoon?”
“Aye,” he growled, lifting her off the counter and carrying her to the bed.
She jumped up the moment he set her down. “We have to light the candles,” she said, racing to the table and picking up the box of matches. She stopped, looked from the matches to him, and tossed them back on the table. “You light them, husband, with your magic.”
He walked over, took her hand in his, and held it to the candle on the table. “All you have to do is wish for the energy to show itself,” he told her, touching their fingers to one of the wicks, then pulling it away once the flame appeared.
She gasped and looked up at him.
He moved their hands to the next wick and repeated the magic, then moved to the third, releasing her fingers. “Just ask, Catherine,” he whispered. “See the flame in your mind first, and expect it to appear, and it will.”
“But I can’t do magic,” she said, despite holding her finger to the last wick.
“But you are the magic, little Cat,” he whispered, smiling as she tried to all but glare the wick into lighting. He took hold of her shoulders and added his own will, catching her when the wick suddenly burst into flame.
“You did that!” she said with a laugh, turning and wrapping her arms around him.
He kissed her deeply and quite thoroughly, then lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the bed. He set her on the quilt and stared down at her.
Again she got up but knelt on the mattress, pulled his shirt from his pants, and pushed it off his shoulders.
He unknotted the shawl she’d brought from Scotland.
She unbuckled his belt.
His wife had him half undressed before he could even get her blouse unbuttoned.
She pushed his hands away and stepped off the bed, facing him as she slowly undid her own buttons, looking up with the smile of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
And damn if Robbie didn’t feel his toes start to curl as she slid her blouse off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing a lace bra that lovingly cupped her plump breasts, her two beautiful pink nipples straining against the satin material.
Completely forgetting his own need to get undressed, Robbie reached out and ran a trembling finger across the top of the thin lace, marveling at the contrast of his large, dark hand against her pale skin.
She was so delicate. So utterly feminine. So…his.
The candle on the windowsill above the bed burst into flame, reflecting in Catherine’s shining eyes as she unfastened her skirt and let it slide to the floor, revealing matching panties that were more lace than material. She stood in the pool of her clothes, her eyes dan
cing with blossoming excitement. Robbie tucked his hands behind his back and balled his fists in an attempt to control his own volatile energy.
A second candle on the windowsill flared to life.
“You have the most beautiful body,” she whispered, sliding down the zipper of his pants with maddening slowness.
Another candle—this one clear across the room on the counter—flared to life.
“You’ve done nothing but tease me with your body since I met you,” she continued, her voice husky as his pants fell to his own feet. She looked up at him, her womanly smile widening. “And now you’re all mine,” she whispered, walking her delicate fingers up his stomach, sending ripples of desire quivering through him.
She covered his chest with both hands, lightly feathering her fingers through his chest hair, and leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples.
The candle on the bedside table flared like a blow torch before settling into a gentle flame.
“Touch me, husband,” she whispered, pulling his mouth down to hers as she pressed against him. “Set me on fire.”
As difficult as it was, since his toes were curled so tightly, Robbie finally scuffed off his shoes, wrapped his arms around her, and stepped out of his pants. He lifted Catherine out of her own discarded wardrobe and carried her to the bed, setting her on the quilt and quickly lying beside her before she could jump up again.
Not that she tried. She rolled toward him, entwined her arms around his neck, and kissed him with the eagerness of a bride about to share her greatest gift with her husband.
Robbie kissed her with the eagerness of a bridegroom about to explode.
One by one, the candles scattered around the cabin began to flicker to life as their wedding bed heated with an energy unlike anything Robbie had ever experienced.
She was so tiny and delicate yet so trusting and suddenly bold. Her hands were all over him, caressing, exploring, exciting him until he could barely stand it.
He didn’t know how it happened, being so busy reeling with sensation after sensation, but his bride was suddenly sitting astraddle his hips, her fingers kneading his chest and her moist, puffed lips curved into a smile.
Tempting the Highlander Page 30