Secrets of the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “For me to propose? But I’m a traditional girl. You have to do the asking, and I’m supposed to decide whether or not you deserve me.”

  Jack choked on a laugh. “Traditional?” he sputtered. “There isn’t one traditional bone in—”

  She grabbed his cheeks and squished them together to shut him up, and pulled his head down to give him a kiss that was anything but traditional. In fact, it was downright hot. And needy. And really quite demanding.

  Deserve her? Hell no, he didn’t deserve her, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to tell her that.

  A loud, rumbling groan came from the bed of straw, and Megan finally broke the kiss and buried her blushing face in his chest. Jack held her tightly against him and chuckled. “You want to know what’s really wrong with William?” he asked, gently rocking her back and forth as he eyed the restless dragon.

  “What?” she asked into his shirt.

  “William Killkenny is paying the price for his crimes. He’s got a bellyache.”

  She popped her head up and blinked at him. “A bellyache? You mean he’s not dying?”

  “I’m not saying he couldn’t,” Jack said. “If he truly is from the ninth century, then he’s not used to modern food, especially doughnuts and candy bars. Not only has he stuffed himself full of refined sugar, he’s taken in a fair amount of modern chemicals and preservatives, which his ancient system doesn’t know how to digest.”

  “Then how are we going to cure him?” Megan asked, looking as if she already knew the answer and didn’t like it.

  “We clean out his innards.”

  She backed away, shaking her head. “Oh, no. We are not giving him an…”

  Jack burst out laughing. He walked to the fire, grabbed a stick, and lifted the pot of boiling water out of the flames. “No, I think we can avoid that particular procedure. We’ll just steep some herbal tea, get it down his throat, and wait for nature to run its course.” He laughed at her horrified expression. “Hey, that sort of thing doesn’t make you queasy, does it? Because in about three months, you’re going to be experiencing it firsthand—although on a decidedly smaller scale.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’ve been babysitting little Angus for Robbie and Catherine all fall, and I’ve changed dozens of diapers.” She got a sudden gleam in her eyes and stepped toward him, lowering her voice. “But let’s not tell Camry exactly what we’re doing, okay? Let’s just surprise her.”

  Jack grinned broadly. “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t tell Camry. Or Kenzie.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It was late the next afternoon before a very silent Camry stopped the snowcat in front of Megan’s home, and an equally silent Jack and Megan climbed out. But just as soon as Camry drove off—speeding straight down the camp road toward Main Street—they both burst out laughing.

  “When I’m ninety years old,” Megan chortled, “I’ll still remember the look on Cam’s face when she finally realized what was happening.”

  “She sure can move fast when she needs to,” Jack said, his arm coming around Megan’s shoulders as he guided her up the porch stairs.

  “We are sooo going to pay for this,” she said, turning the doorknob, only just now realizing that she hadn’t locked up when she’d left in such a hurry yesterday. Was it really less than twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime, she was so tired. “Do you think they’ll be able to get the smell out of the snowcat?” she asked with a giggle.

  Jack pulled her to a halt just as she started to open the door. “Whoa. You won’t get the smell out of your house if you go in there with your clothes on.”

  “You want to undress out here?” she squeaked, looking around.

  Jack started peeling off her jacket. “The only other person living out on this point is the chief of police,” he drawled, tossing her jacket in the porch corner, then grabbing the hem of her sweater. “And I’m pretty sure it’s his sworn duty to protect your modesty,” he continued as he pulled her stinky sweater over her head.

  Megan shuddered when the foul smell brushed over her nose. Since he was doing such a fine job of undressing her, she decided to do the same for him. But he captured her hands when she tried to unzip his jacket, and held them to his chest.

  “If I go in with you, I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning,” he told her, his steel blue eyes locked on hers.

  She wiggled free and unzipped his jacket. “I imagine your house is quite cold by now,” she said, slipping the jacket off his shoulders. She let it fall to the porch and immediately started undoing the buttons on his shirt. “And I have this really big hot water heater, so we can scrub each other silly without worrying about running out of hot water.” She sent his shirt after his jacket. “And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sleep in a real bed with you.”

  He swiftly pulled her undershirt off over her head. “Okay, get ready. We’ll strip down to our underwear, then get in the house before our skin figures out it’s suppose to goose-bump.”

  She had to giggle at that. “How come you’re not yawning every five minutes? You’ve been up as long as I have, and did most of the work.”

  He tapped the tip of her nose, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. “Because I’m not growing a baby.” He stopped to pat her stomach. “How is he, anyway?”

  Megan slipped out of her boots. “Shhh. He’s having a nap.”

  “Oh,” he said, bending down to unlace his own boots. “We’ll probably have to burn our clothes and use a whole bottle of shampoo to get the smell out of our hair. Slip off your pants and run inside.”

  “Okay, on the count of three, we run,” Megan said without bothering with her pants. “Okay…three!” she shouted, giving Jack a nudge and bolting into the house.

  He was one step behind her, when Megan suddenly skidded to a stop. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here!”

  Could it possibly get any worse?

  Jack gathered his clothes, boots, pack, and rifle in his arms, and walked home barefoot. Yes, Laird, I was trying to strip your daughter down to her birthday suit on the front porch so I could have my wicked way with her—first in the shower and then in an honest-to-God real bed for a change.

  Jack took his own porch stairs in two strides, dropped his boots, and discovered his main door was locked when he ran into it trying to rush inside. He tossed the rest of his clothes in the snowbank, including his pants this time, then blatantly mooned God and Frog Point when he bent down to retrieve his key from under the mat.

  Dammit to hell. He couldn’t lose the image of Grace MacKeage staring at him and Megan in shocked surprise, and the stove poker falling out of Greylen’s hand with a clang.

  Instead of turning toward his bathroom, Jack went to the cupboard, pulled down the scotch, and drank straight from the bottle.

  There hadn’t been any vehicles parked in the driveway, so how had they gotten here? Jack took another swig of the scotch, relishing the burn sliding down his throat as he walked to an east window. He looked outside and spotted a snowmobile parked on the lake in front of Megan’s house. Well, that explained that. He wrenched open the woodstove door and set a match to the waiting kindling.

  Taking another swig, he walked back out onto his porch, grabbed his rifle and pack, and set them inside. No need leaving a weapon available, in case the laird decided to come over for a little fatherly chat. Jack went back to the woodstove and added some logs, then stood naked in front of its stingy heat. How was he going to marry Megan without ever having to face Grace MacKeage again?

  The whiskey finally reached his tired muscles, and Jack knew he’d better get in the shower while he still had the strength. Dammit to hell, Megan was supposed to scrub his back—and he had intended to thoroughly scrub her front.

  He turned on the shower, waited until the water ran hot, and stepped under the spray. Maybe he could sneak over later tonight, after her parents went home.

  He snorted, dumping half the bottle of shampoo down over his head. The way his lu
ck was running, he’d probably crawl into bed with Camry.

  Despite his total exhaustion, Jack came fully awake when his blankets moved and a slightly chilled but sweet-smelling body slid into bed beside him. He smiled into the darkness. “Have you no shame, woman, sneaking over here after what just happened at your house?”

  She snuggled against him with a shiver. “You seem to have more than enough shame for both of us,” she said with a giggle. “I didn’t know a person could turn that red. Or that every inch of skin blushes,” she finished, her cold hand sliding down his torso and finding a particularly sensitive area.

  Jack sucked in a gasp and quickly chased after her wayward hand. “How come you’re so cold?” he asked, pulling her hand up and holding it against his chest.

  Her toes started a slow, sensuous journey up his leg. “I just threw on my boots and bathrobe to run over here.”

  Jack rolled to face her, tossing his leg over hers while still holding on to her hand. “What time is it?” he asked, gasping again when her lips brushed his collarbone.

  “It’s three hours past our shower date,” she said between kisses, her lips traveling up his clean-shaven jaw to his mouth. “You have a very comfortable bed, Jack,” she whispered, continuing her journey to his cheekbone and then his ear. “Let’s see if our magical place is just as beautiful on a real mattress. Will you take me there?” she whispered directly in his ear.

  “S-sure,” he half-growled, half-yelped when she softly bit his earlobe. “Okay, that does it,” he said, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him until she was straddling his waist. He released his grip and immediately captured both her breasts in his hands, making her moan, first in surprise and then pleasure as she leaned into him.

  She wiggled provocatively, lifted up on her knees, and with Marauding Megan determination, settled down over his shaft with another sweet sound of pleasure.

  “You seem to have started without me,” he barely got out when she began moving on him.

  She groaned, increasing her tempo. “You’re catching up quickly, though.” She dropped her head back to arch her breasts into his hands, her own hands bracing herself on his chest as her fingers flexed into his muscles.

  He felt her muscles tightening, her body pulling in on itself, and he let go of her breasts to take hold of her hips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he desperately petitioned. “Make it last.”

  “Next time,” she said even more desperately, grabbing one of his hands and pushing it down between them. “Come with me, Jack. Now!”

  With a growl of resignation and no small amount of anticipation, he gently began to intimately caress her. She always promised to go slow next time, and when next time came, she was even more demanding.

  Maybe he’d get her calmed down in thirty or forty years.

  Every coherent thought in his head suddenly vanished when Jack felt her heading into their magical place, dragging him with her on a cresting wave of blinding heat. His shout of release blended with hers, and together they traveled through the cosmos, flying hand in hand, their three hearts beating as one.

  Megan collapsed on top of him with a groan, snuggling her head under his chin with a sigh. “Okay,” she muttered against his neck. “You deserve to marry me.”

  He pulled the blankets up over them. “That’s it?” he said, holding her in place to catch every last lingering contraction. “That’s your proposal?”

  “I am not asking you to marry me, Jack. I’m telling you we’re getting married in March, on the spring equinox. My family’s got a thing for the solstices and equinoxes. You got a problem with that, Coyote?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She dropped her head down to his neck with another yawn. “Good. Because William and Kenzie and Father Daar will want to attend, so we need to have it before they leave.” Jack felt her smile against him. “I’m going to be the first one in my family to have a dragon as a groomsman.”

  Jack snuggled her against him with a resigned sigh. He’d bet his boots he was going to be the first one in his family, too.

  Epilogue

  At precisely 7:08 p.m. on March 20, the exact time of the vernal equinox and during one of the worst spring blizzards in recent history, Jack finally kissed his very pregnant bride in front of an eighteen-hundred-year-old priest, two drùidhs, six time-traveling highland warriors, and a whole slew of MacKeages and MacBains—none of whom thought it at all strange to have a dragon in the wedding party.

  Well, a few of the spouses did—especially Walter Sprague, Elizabeth’s husband. The poor high school principal had nearly fainted when William had walked into Gù Brath’s huge living room with Elizabeth on his arm, then taken his place beside Kenzie and Matt, the other two groomsmen. Jack had considered asking Simon to be his best man, but seeing how there was to be a mythological creature in attendance, he had asked Robbie MacBain instead.

  “Come on,” Megan said, dragging Jack down the makeshift aisle behind the procession of wedding attendants as they headed toward the dining room. “We’ve got to keep William away from the buffet table. He’s going to make himself sick again.”

  “If he can’t learn that sweets will kill him, how does Kenzie expect William to survive long enough to learn how to treat defenseless women?” Jack asked, grinning like the happy man he was.

  “Oh God. He’s headed for the cake. Quick,” Megan said, shoving Jack toward the huge wedding cake in the far corner of the room. “You go distract him while I fix him a plate of vegetables.”

  William will love that, Jack thought with a snicker. The dragon certainly looked a lot better than he had a month ago, though. He’d lost a good deal of weight and he smelled pleasantly earthy instead of rank. His large, batlike wings were folded neatly against his body, and his scales were dry and appeared almost polished, glittering iridescent when the light hit them just right. Someone—Camry, Jack suspected—had even gotten William to wear a red silk bow tie.

  Camry hadn’t flown to France after all, but had locked herself in her mother’s lab, where she had proceeded to wear out a fax machine and email server as she hotly debated with the scientist in France who claimed to have solved the ion propulsion thing. Whenever she surfaced, she was usually muttering something about some arrogant French idiot who couldn’t have calculated his way out of a wet paper bag if the equation had been written on his hand in indelible ink.

  When she wasn’t faxing and emailing and cursing her French counterpart, Camry was teaching Kenzie and William to read, as well as the rules of their modern new world. William was actually more man than beast, and he could even talk, though he usually refused to, except to Kenzie and Camry.

  Camry now stepped in front of William and the poor beast stopped dead in his tracks, nearly tripping on his tail when he came nose to snout with his tutor—whom Jack suspected was more tyrant than teacher.

  Then Megan’s mother walked into the dining room on her husband’s arm. Jack had managed to avoid Grace for two weeks after the skivies incident, before she had finally cornered him in his office, obviously having conspired with Ethel, who had transformed from a proficient clerk to a meddling mother hen to both Jack and Simon. Jack had been forced to spend a rather uncomfortable hour with Grace; he suspected she knew exactly how uncomfortable he was as she’d chatted with him about the weather, and babies, and Native American folklore.

  Speaking of babies, Megan was waddling worse than William now. Little Walker was growing large, and Megan complained to anyone who would listen that the boy always did calisthenics when she was ready for bed. Jack’s hand cupping her belly was the only thing that settled Walker down, so he continued to let her believe he had the magic touch.

  “Could I please have everyone’s attention!” Megan suddenly called from beside the cake table. “Thank you all for coming out in this blizzard for our wedding.” She held out her hand to Jack, her simple gold wedding band glittering in the chandelier light. “I have a few announcements I wish to make.”

  Ha
ving absolutely no idea what his bride was about to announce, Jack stepped up beside her nervously.

  “First, because I can’t wait another two months for you to find out, Jack and I are having a baby boy,” she said, patting her belly. “And his name will be Walker MacKeage Stone.”

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. As announcements went, that hadn’t been so bad. They’d had a few arguments over Walker’s full name, and Jack had been adamant Coyote wouldn’t be one of them. He had promised he’d consider it for their next son, but what he hadn’t told her was they’d be having only girls from here on out.

  “And second, some of you may not know it yet, but this is Father Daar’s last night with us. He, Kenzie, and William,” she said, nodding toward the dragon in the corner of the room, “are leaving tomorrow for the coast. They don’t know where they’re going to end up exactly, but likely someplace Down East.”

  There were a few murmurs, and Father Daar harrumphed and got all red in the face when several people walked over and hugged him.

  “Stop acting like this is my damn funeral,” he protested, waving his cane in the air to shoo them away. “I am not too old to begin a new adventure. And somebody has to go with those pagan fools, to keep them out of trouble,” he added, pointing his cane at Kenzie and William.

  “And lastly,” Megan continued, drawing everyone’s attention again, “I want to give my wedding present to my husband.” She reached behind the cake and picked up a large brown envelope, which she handed to Jack.

  Jack’s heart sank. They were supposed to exchange wedding presents? They were giving themselves to each other until death did them part; they didn’t need to exchange stuff. He took the envelope with a smile, though he felt like a moron. He hadn’t gotten her anything!

  “Go ahead, open it,” she encouraged, nudging his arm.

  Jack slid his finger under the flap, opened the envelope, and peered inside. Apparently unable to wait for him to pull out the piece of paper, Megan pulled it out for him, then all but shoved it under his nose.