She was pregnant.
She was in love with Matheson Gregor.
And she knew exactly how to save mankind!
“What’s that?” Matt asked, still standing by the far wall, still holding her staff.
She held it out for him to see. “It’s a crow’s feather. I dreamt about being in the woods last night, and there was a crow who talked to me.”
Matt frowned at the feather, then lifted his gaze to her. “Seeing spirits again?” he asked.
She waggled the feather. “If he wasn’t real, then explain this.”
Matt walked up beside her, again frowning at the feather in her hand. “I must have carried it in on my clothing last night. Toss it in the fire. It’s likely loaded with mites.”
Winter carefully tucked the feather in her back pocket.
Matt held the pinewood stick toward her with a scowl. “Don’t put your faith in dreams, Winter. They’re nothing more than wishful thinking,” he said, finally answering her earlier question as he reached down, lifted her hand, and wrapped her fingers around one end of the staff. “And getting what we wish for is not all it’s cracked up to be, believe me.”
The next three months were certainly going to be interesting if not maddening, Winter decided. It would definitely take all the magic she could summon to turn this stubborn man’s thinking around.
Chapter Twenty
From the copilot’s seat of Matt’s powerful jet, Winter looked out the side window, noting but not really seeing the weather observatory on top of Mount Washington as they flew northeast over the New Hampshire White Mountains. She lowered her gaze from the bright morning sun to her lap, replaying the last twenty-four hours in her mind as she studied the thick gold band on her left hand.
She had no idea where Matt had gotten the beautiful ring, only that he had pulled a pair of matching gold bands from his pocket when the minister (she was using that term lightly if not skeptically) asked them to exchange rings during their simple wedding in Las Vegas yesterday. Winter remembered how her hand had warmed the moment Matt had slipped the ring onto her finger, and how when she’d slipped Matt’s ring onto his finger and he’d clasped their hands together, she had thought they might both burst into flames from the charge of electricity that had suddenly shot between them.
It was a beautiful ring, she decided, despite looking old and obviously used. Winter suspected it was a family heirloom that had belonged to his grandmother, the guardian. She also suspected Matt’s ring had belonged to his grandfather, a man who had chosen love over his calling to be a drùidh. The rings were a good omen for her and Matt’s own future, Winter decided. She loved Matt so much that she was giving up her calling for him, and she had faith that in time, Matt would love her just as much.
Winter suddenly wrinkled her nose. Even though she’d taken a shower yesterday in the suite Matt had booked them in Las Vegas—that they’d used only long enough to get cleaned up—and was wearing a completely new wardrobe purchased in the hotel shop, she kept catching the occasional hint of burnt cloth. The odor was still lingering in the jet, from their quick trip west yesterday morning, when they’d both smelled like smoke.
Before they’d left the cave, Matt had tried to show her how to use her pinewood staff to light a simple fire. But instead of directing the energy to the logs he’d set on the floor, she had caught the pile of blankets on fire again. Then she’d toasted his box of supplies, then singed her saddle. And bless his very alive heart, Matt’s patience hadn’t run out until his duffel bag had exploded. As soon as he’d finished stomping the smoldering clothes, he’d walked up and silently taken her staff away. He’d then made some fancy motion that turned her puny pinewood stick into an artist’s sketch pencil, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he’d turned his sword back into a fountain pen and led her out of the smoky cave and up to his truck, parked on the road above the meadow.
They’d driven to Bangor, climbed into his jet, flown west at the speed of sound, and landed in Las Vegas not two hours later. They’d checked into a hotel after buying a change of clothes and taken turns showering. Then, holding her hand in a death grip as they walked the Las Vegas Strip—apparently worried she might come to her senses and turn tail and run—Matt had found a rather surreal chapel not very far from the hotel.
Winter still couldn’t decide if she’d spoken her vows to Matt in front of Elvis Presley or the Mad Hatter from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but she was pretty sure the quick ceremony had been witnessed by three members of the Hell’s Angels. In fact, the fierce-looking trio of a woman and two men sitting in the back row had signed her and Matt’s marriage certificate, which Matt had quickly tucked in his suit pocket the moment Winter had finished signing her own name with his powerful fountain pen.
Winter did give her husband credit for remembering to feed her before they boarded the plane again and continued on to Utah. By four o’clock Utah time, Winter had found herself standing on the floor of a massive plant, surrounded by planes and powerful engines in various stages of completion. When Matt had gotten involved in a serious discussion with several of his managers, Winter had quietly wandered off to give herself a tour of the factory.
Shyness not being part of her makeup, she’d soon found several women gathered in the lunchroom and had easily started up a conversation with them. Winter emerged less than half an hour later with one of the women in tow. Her name was Wanda Farley and she had a doctorate in mathematical engineering. Winter went in search of her husband to introduce Matt to his new quality control manager, Wanda.
Winter sighed and scanned the jet’s many instruments until she found a clock. It was 8:30 A.M., Eastern Standard Time she presumed, and they were only minutes away from landing in Pine Creek, which meant she was only an hour away from facing her parents as a married woman.
She couldn’t wait for that happy scene to unfold.
“I think you should go to your resort suite while I go see my parents,” she said into the mouthpiece of her headphones. “And I’ll come to you after I’ve told them we’re married.”
Matt looked over at her, seemingly startled by her sudden intrusion on his own thoughts, and frowned. “I’m going with you to tell your parents.”
“That’s very noble of you, but I don’t think it’s wise. My mother will be shocked, and maybe hurt that she didn’t attend my wedding, but she’ll be happy, I think. But my papa,” Winter said with a crooked smile behind her mouthpiece, “he’s likely to take his sword and run you through.” She reached over and patted Matt’s arm. “I think it would be best if we let them get used to the idea for…oh, for a week or two maybe, before we plan our first family dinner.”
“This isn’t open to discussion, Winter. I intend to be standing beside you when you face your parents.”
“And just how do I introduce you? As my husband Matheson Gregor, or as Cùram de Gairn?”
Matt took his hand off the yoke and covered hers, making Winter realize she’d been wringing them together. “You can introduce me however you want, as long as I’m standing beside you at the time,” he said softly. “Don’t keep my real identity a secret, Winter, or you’ll only hurt them further. I have nothing to hide from anyone. Not anymore. And neither do you. And you don’t need to protect me, lass. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“And Father Daar?” she asked. “And Robbie? You don’t think they’re going to be hopping mad when they find out I’ve married the man responsible for dooming mankind?”
Matt’s smile turned tender as he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “MacBain is an intelligent and insightful guardian. He won’t try to make you a widow without asking your permission first. And as for Pendaär, he’s no longer a worry for either of us. His power is gone.”
Winter’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you saying Father Daar is powerless now?”
Matt nodded. “When you hugged your pine, you transferred all the energy Pendaär’s been using all these centuries from him to
yourself.”
Winter narrowed her eyes. She’d finally remembered to ask Matt if he had cut the top off the pine, but he swore it hadn’t been him, and that he’d also been trying to find out who had stolen a good deal of the tree’s remaining energy. And though she ultimately believed him, she couldn’t help being suspicious now. “How do you know I hugged the white pine?”
“I felt it,” Matt said. “Even though I was in Utah at the time, I felt the energy shift. It’s what drew me home to you.”
Winter blinked in surprise. He’d felt her hugging the pine? That’s why he’d come back? And Father Daar truly was powerless now? Just like the crow had told her in her dream?
“Does that mean Daar’s not a drùidh anymore?” she whispered into the mouthpiece. “That he’s going to…is he going to die?”
Matt squeezed her hand. “Aye,” he softly confirmed. “But not because of you, but because that’s simply the way Providence works. Pendaär knew this was going to happen, Winter, as he understands two drùidhs can’t control the same energy.” Matt squeezed her hand again. “He’s not going to die tomorrow, lass. He’ll merely live out the rest of his days as a mortal man.”
Winter turned to look out the window, forcing back her threatening tears. She didn’t want Father Daar to die defeated and powerless, no matter what a pest he’d been all these years. She certainly didn’t want him to die because of her. She looked back at Matt. “What happens to Daar if I renounce my calling? Would he get to keep his power then?”
“No,” Matt said with a shake of his head. “The energy has already shifted. If you renounce your calling now, it will simply lay dormant until your grandchild takes it up. That’s why Pendaär kept trying to stop you from seeing me. Even though he thought I was only a mortal man, he knew that if you chose me over your calling, all was lost for both you and for him. He was worried only about keeping the continuum balanced and not about your love life.”
“So he’s known all along he would lose his power the moment I came into mine,” she clarified, and Matt simply nodded. “But he said he would help me destroy you,” she whispered.
“By teaching you how to summon the magic,” Matt explained. He patted her hand, then took hold of the yoke again. “But I’ll teach you now.”
“Yes,” she said with a frown, “but only enough to help you keep your promise to Kenzie.”
“No,” Matt said, staring out the windshield of the jet. “I’ll teach you anything you want to know.” He looked over at her. “Including how to destroy me.”
Winter looked down at her hands and started toying with her wedding band again. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to smack Matt or throw herself into his arms. He truly had given up—completely and irrevocably and utterly hopelessly.
“Do you talk to Kenzie?” she asked without looking up. “And can he talk to you?”
“Most of the time, no,” Matt said. “Only when he walks the earth as a man.”
Winter looked over in surprise. “Kenzie becomes a man sometimes? When?”
“Four times each year, on the solstices and the equinoxes. For twenty-four hours beginning at the moment of each seasonal transition, he turns into his old self.”
“Two weeks ago!” Winter said, twisting in her seat to face Matt. “On the autumnal equinox, you and Kenzie were in the meadow on Bear Mountain, fighting with swords.”
Matt looked at her sharply. “How do you know that?”
“Tom saw you. He told me he saw two men in kilts fighting in the meadow, trying to kill each other. But then you walked off into the woods together, laughing.” She gasped. “The cut on Gesader’s neck. He got hurt in your sword fight, when he was Kenzie.”
Matt laughed and shook his head, looking out the windshield again. “We weren’t trying to kill each other, lass; we were only working up a good sweat. My brother got distracted by a comment I made and let down his guard long enough to give me an opening.” He looked at her, completely serious. “There’s less than three months before the winter solstice, when Kenzie becomes himself again, and that’s our best chance to make sure he stays himself.”
Winter could only blink at Matt. She had less than three months to master the magic? Saints and curses, if she didn’t get her staff under control by then, she’d likely blow Kenzie to kingdom come rather than save him.
Winter looked out her side window and quietly placed her hand on her blouse over the black feather she’d tucked inside her bra. Just three more months and she’d be able to stop worrying about saving mankind and start thinking about names for her baby instead. And by the winter solstice she would be designing a nursery for the house Matt was going to build them on Bear Mountain—even if she had to make her own pact with Providence to save her husband’s soul.
Matt stood in the living room of the MacKeage home, unable to decide who was more stunned, Robbie MacBain and Winter’s parents, or his gaping bride. He probably shouldn’t have turned his pen back into his sword as they had crossed the keep’s bridge, nor changed into his eight-hundred-year-old plaid just as he’d stepped through the door behind Winter, presenting himself as Cùram de Gairn.
But dammit, he knew she intended to keep his real identity a secret for as long as she could, out of some misplaced notion she needed to protect him. Now, though, she just looked like she wanted to kill him.
“They know we’re married?” she said through gritted teeth, balling her hands into fists, probably to keep from slapping him.
Keeping a guarded eye on Greylen and Robbie standing across the room in front of the hearth, Matt simply nodded.
“Matt called us yesterday afternoon,” a wide-eyed Grace said from beside Greylen. Matt didn’t think Grace was as horrified by his appearance as her daughter, but only disconcerted. “And he told us not to worry about you,” she continued. “That you were with him in Utah, and that you had gotten married in Las Vegas that morning.”
“But why?” Winter asked, looking from her mother to Matt. “Why would you have called and told them we were married?”
“To give them a chance to get used to the idea,” Matt said, finally giving Winter his full attention. “I don’t know your parents or MacBain well enough to even guess what their reaction would be when you walked in here today and sprang this on them.”
“You were trying to protect me?” she whispered, looking at the sword in his hand, then back up at him. “From my own family?”
Matt finally slid his weapon into the sheath on his belt and nodded. “Finish introducing me,” he softly commanded.
Winter ran her gaze over his plaid, momentarily stopping on his half-naked chest before continuing up to meet his determined eyes. She stepped closer. “I think they’ve figured that out already,” she whispered tightly. “But what I can’t figure out is why tell them this way?” she asked, waving at his plaid.
Matt reached up and ran his knuckles over her angry red cheek. “Keeping secrets from your family will only make you sick with worry,” he told her. “They need to know, lass, so they can decide how they should react.”
“How they should react?” she hissed, grabbing his plaid and balling it in her fist. But whatever she intended to say next was lost when Greylen MacKeage spoke.
“Come here, Winter,” the aging but still-imposing laird softly growled.
Other than letting go of his plaid so she could turn to face her father, Winter didn’t move. “I can’t, Papa,” she said, holding a beseeching hand out to Greylen even as she lifted her chin. “He’s my husband, and I must stand beside him now.”
Matt felt some of the tension ease between his shoulders.
“He tricked ye,” Greylen ground out. “Ye thought ye were marrying Matt Gregor. We’ll have the marriage annulled. Now come here.”
Winter dropped her hand. “D-don’t make me choose between you,” she softly petitioned, looking at her mother, then back at Greylen. “I don’t want an annulment. I knew exactly who I was marrying yesterday.”
“But ye
don’t understand what you’ve done,” Grey whispered, his anger turning to desperation. “You’ve thrown away yer calling without fully knowing the consequences.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve embraced my calling.”
“Ye can’t have it both ways, Winter,” MacBain interjected, frowning at her. “If ye have a bairn, your calling is lost. And even marrying another drùidh won’t change that.”
The knot of tension in Matt’s shoulders returned, this time with alarm, when his wife folded her arms under her breasts and smiled at her cousin. “Are you positive about that?” she asked. “Surely two powerful drùidhs can give good old stuffy Providence a much-needed shake-up.”
MacBain paled, Greylen swore rather crudely, and Matt could only gape at his wife.
“Winter!” Grey snapped. “Three days ago ye didn’t even know ye had a calling, and now you’re daring to challenge Providence? That’s damn near blasphemous.”
“This is serious, Winter,” MacBain said, stepping away from the hearth toward her. “The continuum is dying.”
“Dying?” Winter echoed. “Or merely shifting?” She also stepped closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to bring the energy back into balance and save mankind without any of us risking our souls?”
“That’s not possible,” MacBain argued, shaking his head. He waved toward Matt. “Your husband here has messed with the energy so badly it may never recover. Ye need to renounce your marriage and get on with the business of saving the pine.”
Unable to dispute nor defend his naively optimistic wife, since her boast was news to him as well, Matt could only watch in silence as Winter looked at her mother. “Tell them, Mama,” she said softly. “As a scientist, explain to these stubborn men that nothing in nature is ever completely predictable. Tell them how everything must continue to evolve in order to survive, including the very energy of life.”
Grace MacKeage frowned at her daughter, then finally nodded. “Actually, she’s right,” she said as she looked at her husband. “Just because something has worked for centuries, or even for millennia, doesn’t mean it will continue to work indefinitely. Sometimes it’s subtle and sometimes it’s catastrophic, but change is constantly occurring.” She looked at Winter, her face relaxing in a smile. “Ultimately, even the energy must change right along with us.”
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