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  Daar took a calming breath and dropped his gaze. “I…ah…Cùram’s lineage dates all the way back to the beginning of the continuum. He’s descended from master drùidhs.” Daar shrugged. “That was why Robbie had to get me a root from Cùram’s tree. Its energy is—or was—the source from which every tree of life originated.”

  Greylen dropped his chin to his chest, absorbing all that Daar had said. He quietly asked, “But it is Winter’s decision?”

  “Aye. It’s her decision,” Daar said softly. “But knowing yer daughter, Greylen, do ye think she can turn her back on her destiny once she realizes the consequences? Is Winter capable of just letting the world come to an end?”

  “Nay,” Grey admitted, hanging his head again for another interminable silence. He finally looked back at Daar. “Why are ye so sure Winter can save yer tree? She’s young and unschooled in the way of drùidhs.” He shifted uneasily. “And this rogue guardian? Who’s to protect her from him?”

  “You will,” Daar said. “And so will I, however I can. And don’t forget Robbie. He is still a powerful guardian himself, Greylen. We’ll all try our damnedest to protect Winter. Hell, even that beastly pet of hers, Gesader, would lay down his life for her.”

  “Ye sound more worried than confident,” Grey said, taking a step toward him. “Can we really protect her?”

  Daar held his ground this time, his eyes softening with understanding as he shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, because I don’t know exactly who or what we are up against.”

  “How do we find out, then?”

  Daar continued to shake his head. “We’ll find out when whoever he is lets us find out. If he’s a rogue guardian, there must be a reason why he turned. But until his agenda is known, we might as well be wearing blindfolds on a moonless night.”

  “Why haven’t ye gone to Robbie MacBain with this?”

  “I have. He told me I must speak with you first.”

  “Ye will not tell Winter without my permission,” Grey said, backing up his words with another threatening step.

  Again, Daar stood firm and shook his head. “I have no intention of telling her anything. That’s your duty, Greylen. Once Winter comes to terms with who she really is, she will seek me out on her own.” Daar stepped closer himself. “I only ask that ye not take yer time about it, MacKeage. Once my pine tree falls, it might be too late to save the others.” He shook his head. “And I worry my tree won’t survive the coming winter.”

  Grey blew out a frustrated breath as he stared at Daar standing by the fire looking old and feeble and nearly defeated. Grey suddenly felt just as old and equally helpless. He silently turned, opened the cabin door, stepped out onto the porch, and simply stood staring at the lake below as it glimmered in the early-morning sunshine.

  “You’re still a powerful warrior, Greylen,” Daar said softly as he stepped onto the porch beside him. “You’re a highlander, MacKeage, with the strength and intelligence to help yer daughter through this. For as far as society has evolved since ye were born over eight hundred years ago, it still needs yer warrior’s heart to save it. That, and Winter’s powerful magic.”

  Grey silently continued to gaze at Pine Lake, which was ringed by mountains draped in a mantle of colorful fall foliage.

  “And ye have a small army at yer disposal,” the old priest continued. “To help ye in the upcoming battle. Yer wife will stand by your side, Greylen. And me. And Robbie MacBain. And don’t forget Grace’s sister, Mary, is still with us. That Mary is a snowy owl is an advantage, I’m thinking.”

  Grey finally looked over at Daar. “I cannot fight what I can’t see, old man.” Folding his arms over his chest, he turned to fully face the priest. “If ye had to take a guess, who do ye believe is the threat? Who turned away from his calling?”

  Daar squinted up at him. “Cùram, I’m thinking.”

  “But ye said it’s likely a guardian, not a drùidh.”

  “Ye know that cùram is Gaelic for guardian,” Daar reminded him. “He’s both, Greylen.”

  “But how can that be? Guardians protect us from you drùidhs, ye told Robbie. So how can one man be both? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Aye,” Daar said with a nod. “Ye would think not. But Cùram is a product of both a guardian and a drùidh, and they produced an heir who was unique and very powerful.”

  Grey paled. “If a drùidh mates with a guardian, their grandchild is even more powerful than them?”

  “Aye. But it also balances out,” Daar quickly explained. “Cùram might be a powerful drùidh, but he can’t use that power against humanity. Ah…not directly, anyway.”

  “So ye think Cùram de Gairn has renounced his guardianship, and that he’s the one killing yer tree?”

  “Indirectly,” Daar emphasized softly, turning to look out over the vista below. “Something has angered or hurt Cùram so badly that he’s turned away from his calling. But in doing so, he’s also negated a good deal of his powers.” Daar looked over and squinted up at Grey again. “And that’s why I’m thinking he’s trying to find another way to get what he wants.”

  “And my daughter is about to step into the middle of the bastard’s anger and try to stop him?”

  Daar nodded. “Aye. Winter was born with the ability to save us.”

  “She was born a woman!”

  Daar softly chuckled. “Aye. And that, MacKeage, is her greatest advantage. Being a woman gives Winter an inner strength no man can ever hope to match. Have ye not seen that same strength in yer own wife?”

  Greylen found his first smile of the morning. “Aye. Grace has had me shaking in my boots more than once.” He quickly sobered, turned away, and strode down the porch to his waiting horse. After mounting up, he reined around to face the priest. “I must think on what ye’ve told me this morning. Winter’s not going to like this any more than I do. She’s an artist, and all she wants to do is capture her beautiful animals and forest on canvas.”

  “I am well aware of Winter’s wants,” Daar said, lifting his neatly barbered, white-bearded chin. “Or are ye forgetting I’m the one who talked her into returning home from college?”

  “I haven’t forgotten, priest,” Greylen growled. “Ye came close to getting your home burned down that day.”

  “She was miserable, MacKeage. She didn’t belong in that world, and she knew it.” Daar pointed an age-bent finger at him. “And so did you. That’s why you and Grace drove all the way to Boston that very night, and packed up her belongings and moved her home.”

  Grey shook his head. “Aye. I’ve never been able to deny Winter anything. Or any of my daughters, for that matter. But then, neither have ye,” he growled. “It was you who urged Megan to go to Canada with Wayne Ferris to study goose migration.”

  Daar hunched his shoulders and lowered his gaze, brushing down the front of his black wool cassock. “I’m not a soothsayer,” he muttered. “I couldn’t foresee that the man was a blackguard.”

  Grey urged his horse up to the porch rail, right up to the priest who had been interfering in his life for over thirty-eight years. “Then quit yer meddling,” he ground out. “Ye’ve done enough damage already. Ye stay up here in yer cabin and away from my family.”

  Daar stepped back. “They’re all grown up and following their own paths,” he said, nodding furiously. “But I…I’m still invited to their birthday party, aren’t I? I’ve made a gift for each of them.”

  “Ye may come to their birthday party,” he conceded. “I’ll let Robbie MacBain know when Grace and I decide to speak with Winter. Until then, ye tend yer tree and try to find out if it’s truly Cùram de Gairn we’re dealing with.”

  Daar nodded furiously, his hands clasped together in front of him. Greylen gave him one last warning glare, then turned his horse and headed back down the mountain.

  Damn it to hell. He dreaded his upcoming conversation with Grace.

  Chapter Five

  Instead of stopping at the barn upon returning from her visit w
ith Tom, Winter continued on through the thick stand of evergreens that separated her family home from the TarStone Ski Resort. As she guided Snowball across the nearly full parking lot and headed toward the hotel, she noticed that most of the license plates were from states south of New England.

  “The leaf-peepers have arrived in full force,” she told Snowball, reining him around a car of tourists backing out of a parking slot. “I hope Megan got the gallery opened early.” As she rode under the stone and cedar canopy of the hotel entrance, she said, “Good morning, Paul. Only two more weeks of this craziness, then we’ll have a short break before the snows come and the skiers arrive.”

  “I like it when it’s busy,” the porter said as he took hold of Snowball’s bridle and smiled up at her. “The tourists can be entertaining at times.”

  Winter slid down off her horse and patted Paul’s arm as she headed inside. “No need to park him in the valet lot this morning,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “There’s a guy named Gregor waiting for you in the lobby,” Paul told her just as she slipped through the huge glass door.

  Winter immediately spotted her target and came to an abrupt stop. Matt Gregor stood with his back to her, studying the large mural of TarStone she’d painted six years ago, which covered the lobby wall all the way up to the balcony connecting the east and west wings of the hotel. He was wearing a pewter gray suit today, equally as expensive and as perfectly tailored as the one he’d been wearing yesterday, and his hair was again pulled back at the nape of his neck.

  Saints and curses, the man was even more imposing than she remembered. She could fit ten of her galleries in the three-story lobby, and Matt Gregor still seemed to take up the entire space. Yet the several dozen people milling about were acting as though the most gorgeous man to set foot in Pine Creek didn’t even exist. Were they all blind? Or was she the one blinded by that confounding chemistry her papa had been rumbling about this morning?

  Matt Gregor suddenly turned to face her, his sharp golden eyes immediately locking on hers. Winter stood rooted in place, the people having to step around her to exit, and tried to figure out how she was going to spend even one day with this man without making a complete fool of herself.

  “You’re late,” he said from less than three paces away, his silent strides making short work of the large lobby. He stopped in front of her, also oblivious to the chaos around them as his deep, piercing gaze continued to hold her captive. “I’ve been waiting almost an hour.”

  “I had to tend a sick pet this morning,” Winter said without apology, deciding that if she didn’t quickly get the upper hand with this man—or at least get on equal footing—she might as well just throw herself at him right here in the lobby, right in front of God and the tourists. “And I had to visit a friend I’ve been neglecting. But I’m here now, Mr. Gregor,” she continued when he started to say something. “To tell you that I’ll take your commission, but with a few stipulations.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and lifted one dark brow. “And those would be?” he asked ever so softly.

  She already knew quite a lot about Matheson Gregor, Winter realized. Such as his body language, which said he got a bit impatient—if not downright irritated—when things didn’t go his way or run on his schedule. Nor did he seem to care to have the conversation directed by someone else. Well, he was going to like her stipulations even less.

  “We’ll explore your mountain together,” she told him, “but we’ll always have a third person along with us.”

  Both of his brows dropped into a frown, his eyes narrowing at what she was implying.

  “And,” she continued before he could comment, “I’ll pick three or maybe four sites for you to choose from, but my sister, Megan, can veto any or all sites if they’re unacceptable.”

  His frown deepened. “Megan? Is she also an artist? I’m hiring you, Miss MacKeage, not a committee.”

  Winter merely smiled. “You might want to rethink that, Matt,” she said, hoping that using his first name would help counter some of that imposing presence the man exuded like elixir. “Megan is a wildlife biologist, and it defeats the purpose of coming to the wilderness to build a beautiful home if you end up destroying that wilderness while you’re at it. I’ve heard there’s a deer yard someplace on Bear Mountain, and there are delicate habitats you need to work around. Megan can help you navigate the environmental regulations, and she can ensure that your house and the road to your house are both environmentally friendly and legal.”

  As she suspected, Matt Gregor might fancy the notion of an artist choosing the location of his home, but he didn’t much care to have someone actually telling him what he could and could not do. “What’s a deer yard?” he asked.

  “It’s where the deer gather together to survive the harsh winters. It’s usually the same sheltered spot every year, with plenty of feed so they don’t have to expend a lot of valuable energy trekking through deep snow. Some yards can hold over a hundred deer, and building a road through one, or even close to one, could be devastating to the herd.”

  “And your sister, Megan, can get around these regulations?”

  “No. She can make sure you don’t harm the wilderness just so you can have a pretty view out your front window,” Winter said calmly, not caring that she was further irritating him. Actually, she was finding the notion rather invigorating. “We’ll head to Bear Mountain this afternoon,” she told him.

  That imposing brow rose again.

  “So you have time to do some shopping at Dolan’s Outfitter Store,” she continued before he could comment. “Business suits are not exactly horseback riding attire.” And again, before he could say anything, Winter spun on her heel to head back outside.

  But the lobby door refused to open. Winter looked down and saw a large, familiar hand holding it closed at about the same time she felt the heat of his body all but surrounding hers.

  “Is there a reason we’re not taking my truck?” he asked softly, his breath moving wisps of her hair.

  “You have a truck? I thought you flew in,” she said, without moving an inch.

  “I bought a truck and had it delivered yesterday.”

  She finally turned her head to look at him, refusing to step out of his loose embrace. “If you want a true feel for the land, you need to see it on horseback.”

  Someone pulled on the lobby door, trying to get in. Matt Gregor let go, stepped back, and Winter slipped out past the people coming in. She took Snowball’s reins from Paul and lifted her left foot for him to help her mount.

  But instead of her foot being grabbed, two large hands spanned her waist instead, and Winter was effortlessly lifted onto Snowball’s back before she could finish gasping. She set her feet in the stirrups and glared down at Matt Gregor, who was looking up at her with eyes glimmering with amusement.

  “Megan and I will be here at two,” she said before he could speak. “And dress warmly. We likely won’t be home until after sunset.”

  One of those blasted brows rose again, along with one side of his mouth. Matt stepped back with a sudden, chest-rumbling laugh. “I’ll see you and your chaperone at two o’clock then,” he said.

  Winter turned Snowball around with a muttered thank-you to Paul and headed for home without looking back. Not that she could have even if she’d wanted to, what with Matt Gregor’s deeply resonating, utterly male laughter still pulsing through every nerve in her body.

  Winter walked in the back door of Gù Brath and took off her boots before stepping into the monstrous kitchen. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said to her mother as she walked over to the counter. “I was wondering if you could watch the gallery this afternoon.”

  “Sorry,” Grace MacKeage said without turning away from the counter. “I’m packing a lunch. Your father and I are headed to the summit for a picnic.”

  Winter plucked a piece of chicken off the platter and popped it in her mouth. “Papa’s taking you up the moun
tain?” she asked once she’d swallowed. “He never mentioned anything about a picnic to me this morning.”

  “Your father came in from his morning ride and told me to pack a lunch,” Grace said, tossing her head to settle her long blonde hair back over her shoulders. “And I’m not pressing my luck by asking questions.” She glanced at Winter. “Sorry. You’ll have to find someone else to watch the gallery. Maybe Libby’s mom can. You know how much Kate enjoys being needed these days.”

  Stealing one of the slices of tomato, Winter bolted away from the counter. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I’ll ask Gram Katie. If she has any problems, Rose is right next door.”

  “Where are you and Megan off to this afternoon? Before she left this morning, your sister implied she’d be at the gallery until closing.”

  “She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re taking a ride to Bear Mountain,” Winter explained, opening the fridge. “Megan can still ride a horse, can’t she? She’s only three months along.”

  Her mother’s hands were clasped against her bosom and the smile on her face was wide enough to make Winter fully straighten in alarm. “What?” Winter asked. “You look like I just discovered the secret to ion propulsion. What are you smiling at?”

  “You,” Grace said softly. “You’re taking Mr. Gregor’s commission.”

  “Then you should be throwing a fit, not smiling. You didn’t want me to take it last night.”

  “No,” her mother contradicted with a shake of her head. “Your father didn’t want you to take it. I just went along with Grey until I could get him alone and change his mind.”

  “You want me to take Matt Gregor’s commission?” Winter whispered. She shook her head with a laugh. “Well, curses. This morning Papa was acting like it was his idea.”

  Grace snorted. “After I spent half the night explaining to that hardheaded man that he had to stop holding onto you with an iron grip.” She smoothed down the front of her apron, clasped her hands at her waist, and cleared her throat. “I think you should stop hiding, Winter, and come out and join the living. And if Matt Gregor bothers you as much as I think he does, he just might be the man to make that happen.”