Only With a Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Good heavens, Winter thought with a start, kicking off the suddenly stifling blankets. She was lusting after Matheson Gregor. She frowned at the ceiling. Well, go figure. This chemistry thing was pretty powerful stuff.

  Winter felt like one of those itty-bitty wood ticks that would lay dormant on a leaf for over eighteen months at a time, just waiting for a warm body to come brushing by. Well, hadn’t she been lying in wait for nearly twenty-five years? But when Matt Gregor had stepped into her gallery, she’d taken a good look at him and jumped off her leaf with every intention of going for a wonderful ride.

  Winter smiled again as she remembered how Matt had stopped his truck at Gù Brath, walked her to her door, and with only a softly spoken good-bye and no goodnight kiss, left without looking back. He’d been restraining himself, Winter decided, her smile turning smug; nice guys did not take advantage of women they cared about after knowing them only one day.

  Aye, Matt was a truly noble gentleman.

  In a way, he reminded Winter of how her papa treated her mama. No matter how frustrated her father got with his wife, he never took advantage of his strength or size. Not that Grace didn’t push his buttons occasionally, sometimes just for the fun of it, Winter suspected.

  Just like she was tempted to do with Matt.

  Winter’s smile disappeared as her thoughts bounced to her parents, picturing them holed up in some cave on TarStone. Or more likely they’d sought shelter in the summit house and were cuddled up in front of the giant stone hearth.

  But she still didn’t know why they’d suddenly decided to spend the night; she was only sure that something was wrong. It couldn’t have anything to do with Daar’s pine tree, she decided. Her papa wouldn’t mess with the magic, not when it was all that was keeping him from returning to his old time.

  Winter had told Robbie about Father Daar’s latest crisis when he’d brought Megan home. Robbie had scrubbed his face in frustration, let out a tired sigh, and promised to go see the old priest that night. He’d also told Winter not to worry about Greylen, that he’d find him tomorrow and let him know what was going on, and for her to simply go about her business as usual.

  Robbie hadn’t liked the part of her story where she’d told him Matt had gone with her to take Daar home. He’d given Winter a ten-minute lecture about trusting men she knew nothing about, and she’d listened and smiled and nodded in all the appropriate places. Finally realizing his lecture was falling on deaf ears, Robbie had stopped talking with a resigned snort and headed home to mount up and go see Father Daar.

  Winter finally closed her eyes with a tired sigh, deciding it was time to let this enchanted day come to an end. It had begun before sunrise, and if she didn’t get some sleep, she was going to greet the next sunrise with a scowl.

  And she didn’t want anything to ruin her wonderful mood. She had kissed the man of her dreams tonight, and she couldn’t wait to get another taste of Matheson Gregor’s own special magic.

  Matt lay in the king-sized bed in his suite, completely naked and the covers thrown off him, listening to the wind-driven rain hitting the windows. His body still hadn’t cooled down, and little Miss Prickly MacKeage was responsible for his foul mood.

  She’d come damn close to losing her virginity tonight, and it was the very fact that she was a virgin that had brought Matt to a screaming halt. Yes, he had realized the moment he’d kissed her in her driveway that Winter had never been with a man, not intimately, anyway. If she were experienced, they wouldn’t be lying in separate beds right now; he would have been all over her up on that bluff, and he wouldn’t have stopped until morning—storm or no storm.

  That she had held out for so long, yet had come so damned close to giving him her most precious possession tonight, made Matt break out in a cold sweat all over again. He dismissed the notion that he had stopped out of concern for her feelings, knowing how horrified she’d be in the morning. He even dismissed his long-lost conscience in some rusted region of his mind, that taking her on the ground in the middle of the woods made him no better than a rutting bull moose.

  Or bear, he thought with a self-debasing laugh.

  A heartless son of a bear.

  Well, hell. He had to get over this damnable notion that Winter MacKeage was anything more than a means to an end, because she wasn’t. He was here for one reason only, and once Winter helped him kill his brother, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if her mountain of magic blew itself to hell or not.

  Nor did he care if he blew to hell with it.

  Grace MacKeage sat a short distance away on a fallen log, watching the three men examine what was left of Daar’s precious pine tree. She moved her gaze up the thirty-some-odd feet of remaining trunk and branches and stopped at the bluntly cut top, which was bleeding thick fingers of pine pitch. Robbie had climbed the trunk when they’d first arrived, calling down that it didn’t appear to have been cut with a chain saw, but with an old-fashioned crosscut saw.

  His observation had only served to deepen the mystery. Why had someone bothered to climb thirty feet into the air to cut the tree? And where the hell was the top?

  Grace looked down and studied her chewed fingernails, blocking out the hushed conversation between Grey and Daar and Robbie as they searched the woods for signs of what had happened while speculating on why it had happened. Her eyes felt too big for her head, swollen and itchy from a sleepless night of crying. What had started out as a pleasant picnic with Grey yesterday had quickly turned into a nightmare for Grace when her husband had told her about his visit with the old priest that morning.

  Their beautiful, innocent, unsuspecting daughter, Grey had explained, was being asked not only to step into her destiny now, but to face an adversary the likes of which none of them could even imagine. Cùram de Gairn, Grey had said, was likely here—in this time and on their mountain—seeking revenge for the death of his own tree of life. That, or he had some other agenda they couldn’t figure out. All Grey had emphasized was that Winter was their only hope of stopping the bastard.

  The fate of the world, it seemed, rested on the delicate shoulders of a twenty-four-year-old child.

  Oh, how Grace wished for her predictable science to be all that there was again. At one time her world had been filled with only numbers, equations, and dreams of traveling into space. But when she had met Greylen MacKeage, Grace had discovered that the true wonders weren’t out there, but right here on earth, as close as the mountain she’d grown up on. That was when her science had run headlong into the magic, and thirty-three years and seven daughters later, that magic was threatening not only her innocent baby, but the future of all of mankind.

  A shadow fell over her, but Grace didn’t look up. Her husband lowered down on his haunches, lifting her chin so that she was staring into his deeply worried eyes. “Any idea, wife,” he asked softly, “why the tree was cut so high up?”

  She let out a shuddering breath and shook her head in his hand, tears stinging the backs of her eyes again.

  “I need ye, Grace. I need ye to be strong right now for Winter. None of us can fight what we don’t understand. Please stop being a mama and be a scientist just long enough to help us figure out what’s happening.” His eyes softened with a tender smile. “Then ye can go back to protecting yer daughter.”

  “But I don’t know why it was cut so high.”

  “Robbie said he thinks he can save the pine, at least for a little while,” Grey said softly, turning to sit on the log beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her to him, just as he had been doing since yesterday afternoon. “He’s going to cap the wound so it will stop oozing pitch, and we’ll mulch the roots with leaves and pine needles to keep the frost away for as long as possible.”

  “What’s the point?” Grace whispered, leaning into him, just as she had been doing since yesterday afternoon.

  “It’s not dead yet,” Grey told her. “And it’s all that’s left of Winter’s power. Robbie will cut one of the remaining branches s
o Daar can make her a staff.”

  Grace looked up without lifting her head off his shoulder. “You’re sending our baby after this monster with nothing but a branch from a dying tree?” she asked. She sat up and clutched his arm. “Why can’t Robbie give her some of his power? Or Mary? She’s still around. I saw the snowy this morning, when Robbie came to the summit house to get us. Why can’t the guardians lend Winter some of their powers?”

  Grey held her face in his hands and used his thumbs to brush away her tears. “The white pine is their energy source as well as Daar’s,” he softly explained.

  Grace pulled away and stood up, hugging her arms as she stared at the old priest studying his wounded tree. “Then he’s won,” she said. “Cùram de Gairn stole back his power, and he’s won the fight without us even realizing we were at war.” She turned and faced her husband. “It’s over. Winter doesn’t ever have to know about her destiny. Telling her would only make her think she’s failed us somehow, when it’s really our fault for wanting her childhood to be normal.” Grace lifted her hands, then let them fall back to her sides. “We’ll all just die together.”

  Grey stood up to his towering height and ran his palms soothingly over her arms and shoulders. “Daar doesn’t believe it was Cùram who did this,” he said, nodding toward the tree behind her. “He thinks Cùram would have taken a piece of the tap root, and then likely burned what was left of the pine.”

  “And you believe that senile old goat?” Grace snapped, stepping away and angrily waving at the air. “Most days he can’t even remember what year he’s living in!”

  Her husband brought her into his arms again and held her head to his chest. “Shhh,” he crooned. “Calm down, wife. Ye can get angry when this is over.” He tilted her head back so she could see his smile. “We’ll get angry together, I promise. But for now ye need to think about Winter and how we can help her.”

  “Grace,” Daar said from behind her.

  Grace tried to turn, but her husband shifted them both toward Daar while keeping her in his embrace.

  “Grace,” Daar said again, wringing his hands, his eyes fraught with worry. “Ye have to tell Winter today.”

  Grace pulled free and glared at Daar. “I am not telling my daughter a damn thing,” she hissed. “And neither is Grey and neither are you.”

  “But—”

  She pointed an angry finger at him. “You say one word to Winter, and you’re going to discover I can be just as dangerous as my husband. I will cut out your heart, you interfering old goat,” she growled, taking another threatening step closer.

  Daar took several steps back, his eyes widened in shock. He’d never heard her speak to him like that, and truth told, Grace was a bit surprised herself. But dammit, she was angry enough to kill something.

  Grace spun around at the sound of her husband’s laughter, only to have Grey pull her back against him in a tight hug. “And that, old man,” Grey said over her head, “is what happens when ye threaten a mama’s bairn. I agree with my wife. We find out who cut yer tree, and why, before we tell Winter anything.”

  “But—”

  “Ye make my daughter her staff, priest, and worry about saving what’s left of yer precious pine. When we feel the time is right, Grace and I will have our talk with Winter. But until then, ye’ll just have to wait for yer heir. If,” he tightly whispered, “Winter even wants to follow her calling. The choice is ultimately hers.”

  Grace smiled into her husband’s chest. Now she remembered why she’d married this wonderful man. She’d fallen in love with a highland warrior formidable enough to scare the whiskers off a charging lion.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite only getting about six hours of sleep, and waking up still worried about her parents, Winter did spend the morning doing as Robbie had suggested by going about her business as usual. The storm had quickly spent itself out overnight, giving way to a late September sun that was shining brightly through the sparkling clean, floor-to-ceiling windows of her art gallery.

  Megan, having survived her evening of practicing motherhood, seemed to be in a domestic mood this morning. By nine o’clock, she had already feather-dusted every painting and display in the gallery, and had gone outside to remove the street grime from the windows with a long-poled mop and squeegee. Having finished a good half hour ago, Megan had next turned her mop on the windows at Dolan’s Outfitter Store, and then shared tea with Rose by the potbelly stove in Rose’s store.

  Winter had spent her first hour at the gallery setting Tom’s newest figures out and getting caught up on her paperwork. She was now sitting on a stool behind the counter with a sketch pad and pencil, so engrossed in her vision of Matt’s home nestled in the highland meadow that she never heard the overhead doorbell tinkle. She gasped in surprise when a large shadow suddenly appeared over her drawing and would have fallen off her stool but for the strong hands that caught her.

  “What are you working on?” Matt asked with a chuckle, letting her go and tucking his hands behind his back as he looked over her shoulder.

  Winter slapped the sketch pad to her chest and turned on her stool to scowl at him. “I’m just doodling.”

  He stepped around to face her and folded his arms over his chest. “That looked like a house you were ‘doodling.’ ” He lifted one brow. “Is it my house?”

  Winter stood up and closed the pad. “Maybe,” was all she said as she slid the pad under the counter.

  “Can I see?”

  “No. I don’t show my work until I’m done.”

  His brow lifted again. “Why not?”

  “Because my work never makes sense to people until it’s completed. What I start out with is usually a lot different than the final product.”

  “So your doodling is really your thought process?”

  “Yes,” she said, frowning when she noticed what he was wearing. “You have to start dressing more appropriately, Matt. You’re going to ruin all your nice clothes.”

  “I am dressed appropriately,” he said, glancing down at his crisp gray suit, then back at her, “for the office. I have to fly to New York this morning, but I’ll be back early this evening. Have dinner with me again tonight?” He grinned crookedly. “I mean, try to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “You expect to fly to New York and be back before dinner?”

  “Better yet,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll eat at Lutèce, and I’ll have you back by bedtime.”

  Winter just got her second surprise of the morning. “Come with you to New York City?” she squeaked. “In your jet?”

  His grin broadened. “I’ll even let you try your hand at flying,” he offered, his face lit with that same cajoling expression he’d used on her the first day they’d met, when he’d been trying to get a discount. “Ever fly at mach one?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Private jets don’t go that fast.”

  “Mine does. It’s a modified fighter.”

  Her suspicion grew. “You couldn’t have landed a jet that powerful at our tiny airport. The runway’s too short.”

  It was his turn to look suspicious. “You seem to know an awful lot about planes.”

  “My mother’s a scientist. She freelances for private space exploration companies.” Winter shrugged her shoulders under his hands. “I inherited some of her knowledge by osmosis. All us girls spent a lot of time in Mama’s computer lab while we were growing up. So you can’t tempt me with promises of flying at mach one in your little jet, Mr. Gregor, because I know it’s impossible.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s true.”

  “How?” Winter asked, lifting her brow just to bug him.

  He gave her shoulders a squeeze and let go with a laugh. “That’s a company secret. Let’s just call it magic. Come with me today.”

  Winter wondered what Matt would think if he knew what real magic could really do. “Thank you, but I can’t,” she said, shaking her head despite wanting to go with him. It would cert
ainly be one way to learn more about the man behind the suit. She returned Matt’s smile with a sad grin of apology. “Not unless you can fit my army of chaperones in your jet.”

  He instantly turned serious, his eyes narrowed to golden slits as he studied her in silence. “You’re using your family as an excuse,” he finally said. “What’s the real reason you won’t come with me?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not flying to New York City with a man I barely know.”

  “You came damn close to knowing me quite well last night,” he whispered, taking a step closer.

  Winter looked down and brushed a speck of lint off her sleeve. “That was different,” she whispered back, feeling the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. “Last night I could have disappeared into the woods anytime I wanted.” She looked up at him. “But in New York City, I’d be completely helpless.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, his enigmatic golden eyes studying her for what seemed like forever. “Okay,” he softly conceded. “Point taken.” He stepped forward, took hold of her shoulders again, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back by seven, and I’ll pick you up at your door at eight.”

  “What about your sunset with Tom this afternoon?”

  Matt stepped away and walked around the counter to the wall of paintings. “I was going to ask you to explain to Tom when he came in this morning that I had to leave unexpectedly,” he said, studying Moon Watchers. “We’ll reschedule.” He stepped closer to the painting, then suddenly turned to her with a grin. “A fairy isn’t all you’ve hidden in here,” he said, turning back to the large canvas and pointing at the top left corner. “I almost missed the wolf hidden in the shadows.”

  Winter walked over and stood beside him to also look at Moon Watchers. “That’s my grandfather, old Duncan MacKeage.”