“Ye mustn’t let Cùram touch your staff!”
“He’s been trying to help me control the magic, but I burned all his clothes, his blankets, and his supplies.”
Daar eyed her suspiciously. “Maybe he’s only pretending to be helpful, but is really sabotaging ye.”
“Nay,” Winter said. “He needs my help to keep a promise he made over eight hundred years ago. But to do that, I have to be able to summon the energy.”
“What promise?” Daar asked, still skeptical.
Winter shook her head. “I can’t say without breaking my marriage vows.”
Daar harrumphed and turned away from her. “Does yer papa know who ye married?”
“Yes, and so does Robbie.”
Daar snapped his gaze to her. “MacBain knows Gregor is Cùram de Gairn? And he did nothing? Nor did Greylen?”
“Robbie and Papa trust me,” she said. “And they realize they must work with Matt now, to find out who cut our pine.”
Daar’s eyes widened in surprise. “Work with him?” he repeated. He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. MacBain would never willingly work with de Gairn any more than I would.”
“We all have the same goal, Father,” Winter said with a sigh, tucking the pencil in her pants pocket. “And a common cause will force even enemies to cooperate with each other. Which is why you will also help, by teaching me how to control the energy.”
He had nothing to say to that, though he did look like she’d just asked him to swallow a sour pickle, which Winter guessed was exactly how he felt.
“Matt is not the threat, Father,” she said into the silence. “Whoever cut our pine is the true danger, and if we don’t find out who he is and why he’s here before he does any more damage, it might be too late for all of us. Please, won’t you help me?”
“It became too late for me to help ye when ye married de Gairn,” he whispered, seemingly unable to get past that fact. “He’s the one who put this whole mess into motion.”
“But it’s fixable,” Winter snapped with waning patience. “I can make everything all right on this winter solstice, but only if I have command of my power. And that’s not going to happen without your help.” She stepped closer and set her hand on his slumped shoulder. “Ye have to trust the universe to know what it’s doing, Father. Passing down your knowledge to me is not playing into Matt’s hands, it’s fulfilling a promise that was put into motion a thousand years ago.”
Daar reached up and scrubbed his face with both hands. He walked over to the door, opened it, and looked out over Pine Lake. “I did feel another entity in the air before I lost my power,” he admitted as he stared out at the vista. “I thought it was de Gairn trying to confuse me.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Are ye sure Cùram had nothing to do with the pine being cut?”
“Yes, Father. He’s as worried about it as we are.”
“Can ye feel this strange energy?” he asked, looking back at the lake. “Still? It’s still here?”
“Yes.” She frowned at his back. “But instead of being strange, if feels…familiar some how.” She shook her head when he spun toward her in surprise. “I know it’s not Matt’s or mine, but it seems to be…” She shrugged, tossing her hands up and letting them fall to her sides.
Daar stared at her for what seemed like forever, then suddenly sighed and stepped out onto the porch. “Come, then,” he said as he turned toward the stairs. “Show me the problem you’re having with yer staff.”
Winter ran out onto the porch and down the stairs to where Daar was standing in the middle of the clearing. “Every time I ask for something as simple as a fire to light,” she told him, pulling her pencil from her pocket, “everything but the twigs starts bursting into flames.”
Daar scurried to the side when she pulled out her pencil, positioning himself slightly behind her. “There,” he said, pointing at a large boulder at the far end of the clearing. “Instead of asking for fire, see what happens when ye ask that rock to turn into a pebble.”
She pointed the pencil at the boulder, but Daar covered her hand with his. “Simply picture it as a pebble, girl. Gently, very gently,” he warned, removing his hand.
Winter squinted at the boulder, pointed her pencil, and pictured a tiny round pebble sitting where the boulder stood. When nothing happened, she squinted harder, concentrated even more, and said, “Turn into a pebble!”
The boulder exploded with enough force to shake the ground as a million granite missiles spewed out in different directions. Winter grabbed Father Daar and threw them both to the ground, using her body to shield his.
Strong hands were on her within seconds, even as the tiny pebbles she’d created continued to fall. Winter was picked up, spun around, and hauled against a hard, half-naked chest as an unyielding broad hand covered her head.
She smiled into her husband’s chest, even as the last of the pebbles finally finished falling. “Good morning,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him.
He lifted a brow. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
Winter lifted her own brow. “Did you hear enough to be satisfied I’m keeping my vows?”
He scowled at her. “I don’t doubt you’ll keep them. It’s Pendaär I don’t trust.”
“Saints and curses,” the old priest muttered, awkwardly climbing to his feet and brushing himself off. He turned, gasped hard enough to nearly knock himself over again, and stepped back. “Cùram,” he hissed, his hands balling into fists and his eyes narrowed in hatred.
Matt stepped away from Winter and inclined his head. “Pendaär,” he said, his tone civil. “It’s a privilege to finally meet the great drùidh of Pravad.”
“Pravad?” Winter repeated. “Where’s that?”
Both men ignored her, what with being so busy eyeing each other—Daar with a fierce scowl and Matt with an even fiercer grin. Winter stepped between them, speaking first to her husband. “You will stop presenting yourself like that,” she scolded.
He gave her an innocent look. “Like what?”
She waved at his clothing. “Like an ancient warrior drùidh. You do it on purpose, just to push people’s buttons.”
“My clothes were soaked,” he said, still appearing innocent, except for the sparkling gleam in his golden eyes. “You see, there was this sudden rainstorm on the way up, and I needed to change into something dry.”
Winter felt her cheeks redden. “Thank you for putting out the fire,” she whispered, quickly turning to Daar. “Quit your scowling, Father, and help us figure out why I can’t control the energy.”
Daar leaned slightly to the left, looking up at Matt standing behind her without letting go of his scowl. “There’s no reason she can’t control it, other than maybe she doesn’t want to,” he said smugly.
“But I do!” Winter insisted, turning to Matt. “I do want to control it.”
Matt looked over her head at Daar. “Do you suppose it’s because she’s a woman?”
“Oh, of all the—” Winter stamped her foot. “Being a woman has nothing to do with anything!”
“Aye,” Daar said, scratching his beard as Winter spun to face him. He squinted past her to Matt. “That might be it,” he said with a nod. “The energy is used to responding to a man’s way of thinking. Women think different, ye know.” He finally looked at Winter and frowned. “Ye don’t think straight, girl. Women think in dizzying circles,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “You’re always talking yer way around a problem instead of hitting it straight on. Ye need to start thinking like a man if ye want to control the energy.”
“It was male thinking that got us into this mess,” she growled. “And circling a problem and looking at it from every perspective is what’s going to get us back on track.”
“Not if you keep blowing up the world one rock and tree at a time,” Matt said with a chuckle. He pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her as they both faced Daar. “It will only take practice then,” he told the onc
e-again scowling priest. “Winter and the energy are going to have to learn each other’s language. May I suggest that she work with you while I help MacBain and MacKeage figure out who else is in this game?”
Daar looked like he was having to force down another sour pickle, but he finally nodded curtly, turned, and silently walked back to his cabin, making a wide swing past Gesader, who was hiding under the porch.
Matt spun Winter in his arms to face him and gave her a hearty, passionate kiss on the mouth. “Good morning, wife,” he whispered.
She patted his bare chest. “That was very sweet of you.”
He smiled. “My kisses are sweet?”
“No. What you just did for Daar.”
He reared back. “What did I do?”
She traced one finger through the soft hairs on his chest. “You let him keep his dignity by making him feel needed.”
“He is needed,” he snapped. “I can’t babysit you and hunt the strange energy at the same time.”
She kissed his chest, pulled away with a laugh, and started walking down the mountain. “Sweetness isn’t a flaw but a strength,” she said, spinning toward him. When she heard him growl, she began walking backward. “And whether you want to admit it or not, I am married to a very sweet man.”
He suddenly waggled his fingers at her, and Winter stopped with a gasp and looked down at herself in surprise. She fingered the beautiful plaid she was suddenly wearing, which was draped over a lovely white cotton blouse.
The plaid had a base color of deep flannel gray, with wide forest green stripes running in one direction, and narrow yellow and red stripes running in the other. She looked back at Matt, only to find him standing three feet away.
“This—this is the Gregor plaid?”
“Aye,” he said, smiling in approval. “It’s time you started wearing my colors.”
“Papa is going to throw a fit,” she whispered, looking down at the way the plaid draped over her shoulders like a shawl and gathered around her waist before falling all the way past her knees, all being held into place by a thick leather belt. She bent slightly and looked down at her legs, finding them covered by tall suede leggings that turned into leather-soled shoes.
She looked up at Matt. “Ah, maybe I should have a jumper and some shirts made out of it instead.” She gave him a daring smile. “Thank you. Getting me out of my wet clothes was a very sweet thing to do.”
That said, Winter turned tail and bolted down the steep mountain path, squealing in delight when Matt caught up with her. Without breaking stride, her husband tossed her over his shoulder and proceeded to carry her down the mountain, and he didn’t even snicker when they passed through the burnt remains of her little forest fire.
She was married to a very sweet man, and Winter knew she had more than enough hope for them both.
Chapter Twenty-three
Winter dipped her finger in the bowl of whipped potatoes, tasted her progress so far, and decided she needed to add more butter. She plopped in several more tablespoon’s worth and started the beater again, smiling as she listened to her mama and Megan arguing over how to get the lumps out of the gravy.
It was hard for Winter to believe she had been married five whole weeks. She and Matt were living at Gù Brath because not four days into her marriage, Winter had lost her first real fight with her husband. She had been soundly defeated, though Matt’s getting her family, Robbie, and even old Tom involved in their little domestic dispute hadn’t been fighting fair.
Winter had wanted to move into the cave while they built their home, arguing that it was cozy and warm and had everything she and Matt needed. Her parents and Megan had been appalled to think she would even consider living in a cave all winter, Robbie had flat out told her she was crazy, and Tom had laughed himself silly and immediately taken Matt’s side.
Which was why for the last five weeks, Winter had spent her time getting her gallery ready for the fast-approaching Christmas shopping season, and Matt had been putting in twelve-hour days getting a road cut through the forest and having a small cottage built down on the lake below the meadow. Once their permanent home was finished up on the mountain—in about two years, Matt had estimated—the lakeshore cottage could then become their summer retreat. But even while waiting to get a temporary home built, Matt had been adamant about not having his pregnant wife living in a cave. So he had been pushing himself and his construction crew to get their cabin done by Thanksgiving, and trying to help Robbie and her papa hunt down the strange energy still lurking about.
There had been yet another puzzling incident since the pine had been cut, this time involving their precious cave. When Winter and Matt had gone out to see what could be salvaged from her accidental fires—and maybe find some privacy for some noisy lovemaking—the cave was gone.
The soaring granite cliff was still towering over the meadow, but the entrance to the cave had disappeared. No matter how hard Matt repeatedly tried using whatever powers or spells he could conjure up, he couldn’t make the entrance reopen.
So for the last five weeks Winter had been dividing her time between the gallery, visiting Daar for her lessons on wizardry, and helping her mama collect furnishings for their nearly completed cottage. The gallery was getting busy, her lessons with Daar were proving more frustrating than helpful, and Winter didn’t much care if her curtains matched her table linens or not. She just wanted to get moved out of Gù Brath so she could make love to her husband without worrying about her papa breaking down her bedroom door.
Gesader was still lurking about, although he’d been spending more time with Megan than with either Winter or Matt. And though her papa kept putting the panther out every night when they all went to bed, Megan had confided to Winter that Gesader would be up on the garage roof within minutes, and she would let him in her window so he could curl up on the bottom of her bed and keep her feet warm.
Winter still couldn’t bring herself to tell Megan that Gesader was really an ancient highland warrior. At first, once she’d realized the implications, Winter had been appalled to think she’d been so cozy and cuddly with her husband’s brother for over two years. She had remembered swimming—naked!—in the high mountain pond with her pet, confiding her deepest secrets to him, and even telling him about her terrible dates with men who had thought they were God’s gift to women.
Matt had laughed at Winter’s outrage and asked if she thought he would have sent the panther here if it truly was his brother sharing her bed. When Kenzie was an animal, Matt had explained, he was nothing more than the creature he embodied, albeit an exceptionally intuitive creature. Megan was safe, Matt had assured Winter, at least until the upcoming solstice. Then all bets were off, he’d said with a very male grin. Once Kenzie was back to his old self, he would certainly find his way back into Megan’s bed.
As for Megan, her belly had popped out almost overnight, and she’d begun wearing maternity pants and baggy tops. She seemed to have come to terms with her pregnancy and hardly ever cried anymore. In fact, she was finally so mad at Wayne Ferris, Winter feared Megan was thinking of hunting him down and dispatching his black heart to hell herself.
Winter carried the huge bowl of potatoes from the kitchen and put it down on the large dining room table that was set to serve seven for Thanksgiving. Father Daar was already seated—toward the head of the table right beside her papa’s place, probably just to aggravate him—and the old priest had his napkin tucked in his collar and was already holding his fork.
“Who’s the seventh place for?” he asked, frowning down the empty table.
“Tom,” Winter told him, straightening one of the napkins. “He’s been here for the last two Thanksgivings, remember?”
“I remember he ate more than he talked.”
“Just like someone else I know,” she said, rolling her eyes and heading toward the living room, but having to stop when Daar spoke again.
“He’s late,” the priest said. “It’s impolite to make us wait. The foo
d’s getting cold.”
“We’re starting, Father,” Winter assured him. “If we wait any longer, Tom will be embarrassed to have held us up.”
Daar harrumphed and Winter stepped into the living room to find her papa and husband deep in conversation, sitting facing each other in front of the brightly burning hearth. She smiled with quiet joy. Who would have thought the two men she most loved in the world would end up getting along so well considering their precarious beginning? But whenever Matt wasn’t away on company business, he and her papa had been scouring both Bear and TarStone Mountain with Robbie, looking for whoever—or whatever—was interfering in their business of saving mankind.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said softly.
Both men looked over, smiled, and stood up. “What parts did you cook?” Matt asked, walking up and kissing the tip of her nose. “So I know what to avoid.”
“I cooked the turkey and the potatoes and the squash,” she said, giving him a smug smile when he groaned. “I waved my pencil over the turkey just before I put it in the oven.”
It was her papa who groaned this time, as he stopped on his way to the dining room and glared at Matt. “I thought ye took that damned thing away from her.”
Matt grinned. “She’s learned enough to keep it hidden from me,” he said in his own defense. He looped his arm over Winter’s shoulder and guided her back into the dining room just as Megan and Grace showed up carrying more bowls of food.
“The turkey’s on the counter,” Grace said, sitting down on the left side of her husband’s place, opposite Daar. “Would you get it, Grey?”
“Tom’s not coming?” Matt asked, holding first Winter’s chair and then Megan’s as they sat down. But instead of sitting beside Winter, he then walked around the table and sat next to a scowling Father Daar.
“If Tom shows up, we’ll feed him,” Grace said, placing her napkin on her lap. “But everything was getting overcooked, so we’re starting without him. Father,” she said when Grey set the enormous turkey on the table and sat down, “would you say grace, please?”
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