Wedding the Highlander Page 8

  “I’m walking back.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “We both are, by the looks of the ass end of my horse.”

  “You are not letting your son ride that monster,” she told him. “And he should wear a helmet when he rides his pony.”

  Michael quickly sobered. “I can take care of my son, woman. I don’t need you to tell me what’s best for him.”

  “Robbie could fall and be killed,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Or end up in a wheelchair the rest of his life.”

  Michael leaned his face close to hers and said softly, “When I’m needing a lecture on being a parent, I’ll go see Grace.”

  And still she didn’t back down. “You’re endangering him.”

  “I’m raising him to be a man. Robbie will not grow up to be one of your weak moderns who’s more afraid of dying than living.”

  She snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. Michael rolled off her and watched Libby scramble to her feet. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused when she had the nerve to point her finger at him and continue her lecture.

  “Robbie won’t ever be a man if he’s killed in a stupid, preventable accident.” She took a threatening step toward him. “Don’t you dare grin at me, Michael,” she shouted loudly enough for every bird in the forest to hear. “I can’t believe you can be so callous about your son’s safety.”

  Michael hooked his toe behind her leg and brought Libby sprawling forward on top of him. He rolled again, pinning her back beneath him. “And I can’t believe you’re so callous about your own safety. Libby,” he growled when she tried to protest, “you’re in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger. One who is twice your size and who has already warned you of his intentions.”

  He set his hand over her mouth when she tried to speak. “And this discussion is over. You have worse things to worry about than my son’s well-being.”

  “What things?” she mumbled under his hand.

  “Me,” he whispered, replacing his fingers with his mouth.

  He was not breaking his promise that she was safe from him today; he only wanted to shut her up.

  But Libby broke it for him when she kissed him back. She matched his passion with a heat of her own that was so intense Michael began to worry that if anyone should be scared, it was him.

  Libby broke the kiss and stared up at him with huge, hesitant eyes. “I…I have a confession to make,” she said softly. “I really am afraid of you.”

  “I know, lass,” he agreed, gently brushing a leaf from her hair. “But you have no intention of letting that stop you. Am I right?”

  Her eyes grew larger and darker, and she slowly nodded.

  “Why?” he couldn’t help asking. “If your instinct is saying no, why are you ignoring it?”

  Libby studied him as she weighed her answer. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I-I don’t know,” she finally said. “What draws a moth to a flame? There’s just…there’s something about you, Michael MacBain, that makes me want to close my eyes and jump in with both feet.”

  He leaned back. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough.” She touched his cheek. “I’m not looking for much. Just a simple affair. No demands. No expectations. No strings.”

  “Just two people messing up the sheets?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Discreetly, for Robbie’s sake.”

  Well, dammit. It appeared his lust had been turned against him. He was damned if he did and crazy if he didn’t.

  “I know you feel it, too, Michael. That’s why you came to my house this morning. You felt it, didn’t like it, and thought you could scare me off so you wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

  “Deal with what, woman?” he snapped, feeling defensive that she had seen through him so easily.

  Or was it that she felt what he did?

  “The energy.” She blew out an impatient breath. “Call it chemistry, then. Whatever. Just don’t you dare deny it, Michael MacBain.” She suddenly tried to push him away. “Never mind,” she muttered. “This is a big mistake.”

  Michael wasn’t quite ready to let her up. He pinned her hands with only one of his and used his other hand on her chin to keep her facing him.

  “Mistake or not, that doesn’t change my wanting you.”

  “Well, now, isn’t this a fine day for a nap in the woods,” came a familiar and unwelcome voice from above them.

  Libby stiffened.

  Michael closed his eyes. “Dammit, old man. You take your life in your hands sneaking up on me,” he said, looking up and glaring at Daar.

  Daar grinned back, not the least bit worried about his life. “It’s a sad day, MacBain, when a crippled old man can surprise a warrior in the prime of his life. Who’s your friend?”

  Michael looked down at Libby, who was trying to wiggle deeper under him to hide. “Her?” he asked the priest, nodding at the once again still woman beneath him. “This is Libby Hart, your new neighbor. We were just heading up to your cabin so she could meet you.”

  “Aye, ya looked like ya was heading somewhere,” Daar agreed.

  A sharp finger poked him in the ribs, rather violently, and Michael rose to his feet, exposing his embarrassed friend.

  With her face so red it must hurt, Libby sat up, quickly looked down to make sure all her buttons were buttoned, then took her time brushing the leaves off herself.

  Michael watched in silence while she worked up the nerve to look at Daar. But once she did, it took her less than a second to scramble to her feet and start talking.

  “We had an accident, Father,” she rushed to explain.

  “We fell off Michael’s horse.”

  Daar nodded. “I seen Stomper. He passed me hell-bent for home a good twenty minutes ago.” He pointed his cane at Libby. “You the woman our Robbie brought to live in Mary’s house?”

  Not caring to see the olddrùidh pointing his staff at Libby, Michael stepped between them. “She’s living in Mary’s house,” he confirmed for the priest. “And if you’re hoping for baked goods from her, you should know that she can’t cook.”

  There was a small gasp from behind him, but Michael ignored Libby and continued to give the priest his attention. “She might supply you with eggs, though, if ya start acting civilized.”

  Daar moved to the side so that he could see Libby better, then suddenly stepped back and raised his staff again, this time threateningly, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Your hair!” he shouted. “Ya carry the mark!”

  Libby gasped, and Michael decided he’d had enough. He spun around, took her by the shoulders, and pointed her down the mountain. “Walk,” he told her. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  He was truly surprised when she obeyed him and greatly relieved when she finally walked out of sight. Michael strode up the knoll and stopped only when his chest came into contact with Daar’s staff.

  “You will leave her alone, old man,” he warned.

  The priest moved his gaze from where Libby had disappeared and stared at Michael. “Did ya not see the mark, MacBain? She possesses the power.”

  “What sort of power?” Michael asked. “Are ya saying Libby’s a witch?”

  Daar frantically shook his head. “Nay, not a witch. I did not feel anything like that.”

  “Then what?” Michael asked with waning patience. “If she’s not a witch, why are ya so rattled?”

  Daar scratched his beard with the end of his cane and stared again at the path Libby had taken. “I don’t know, exactly,” he said, looking back at Michael. “She surprised me, is all. Maybe…maybe ya shouldn’t be associating with her until I can learn what she’s about. Nor should Robbie be spending any time with her.”

  “No,” Michael countered. “It’s you who will stay away from her. Libby’s not a threat to us. Maybe to you,” he speculated, looking thedrùidh in the eye. “Ya did enough interfering in my life twelve years ago. You’ll stay out of it now.”

 
“That was a mistake, MacBain. I apologized for that.”

  “And you’re mistaken now. It’s a lock of white hair. Nothing more.”

  “It’s a sign. And I felt her energy.”

  “And was the energy good or evil?”

  “Not evil,” Daar said, shaking his head.

  Michael took a step closer to the man responsible for bringing him eight hundred years forward in time. “Then see that you tread carefully,drùidh . She’s under my protection.”

  Daar squinted up at him. “So the wind blows that way, does it?”

  “It does not. But my son brought her here, and that makes her my responsibility. You’ll treat her kindly and apologize for scaring her today. And you’ll damn well keep your magic to yourself around her.”

  The old priest didn’t care to be lectured, if the glare he gave Michael was any indication. “Exactly when did you stop being afraid of me?” he asked.

  Michael couldn’t stifle a smile. “When I realized you don’t even have the power to cure your own aches and pains. You wouldn’t be walking like an old woman if you could do something about it.”

  “I can still turn a man into a dung beetle.”

  Michael’s smile broadened. “Not if that man has a nobler calling. And having a bairn under the age of fourteen counts.”

  “I suppose ya read that in one of them blasphemous books ya got in that cluttered room you call a library.”

  Michael nodded. “It’s amazing what eight hundred years’ worth of books can teach a person. I have an entire shelf on wizardry.”

  “And what do your books say about a woman with a white lock of hair, MacBain?”

  “That she’s strong and brave and reckless and has the power to turn powerlessdrùidhs into dung beetles,” Michael told him as he turned and walked away. “So be nice to her, old man, or learn to sleep with your eyes open.”

  “Dammit, MacBain. I’ll get all my powers back one of these days, and then we’ll see how cocky you’re feeling.”

  Michael waved his good-bye without looking back and started jogging in the direction Libby had taken. He wanted to catch up with her before she reached her house and Robbie showed up there from school.

  They had to finish their discussion, and Michael decided he wasn’t letting it go until it was finished in his favor.

  Libby spent the first ten minutes of her walk down the mountain feeling sorry for ever coming up here in the first place. She had made a complete fool of herself. She’d gotten mad at Michael, yelled at him, and kissed him.

  And she just might have made love to him right there on the ground if that damn crazy priest hadn’t arrived and embarrassed the hell out of her.

  She wasn’t baking Daar anything, and she wasn’t giving him eggs. And she wasn’t having an affair with Michael MacBain, and she wasn’t letting Robbie worm his way into her heart.

  And she was never getting on a horse again.

  If she ever caught Robbie riding his pony without a helmet, well, she didn’t care what Michael thought, she was pulling the boy off and shooing his pony away.

  It seemed the damn critters knew their way home.

  Which was why she had to walk down the blasted mountain with a sore knee. It probably would be blown up like a balloon by tomorrow morning.

  Had she left her brain back in California?

  What had made her think she could just run away, start life all over again, and, just like that, gain back the control she had lost in her operating room?

  Libby suddenly stopped walking, held her breath, and stood perfectly still. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and goose bumps broke out all over her body at the realization that she was being watched.

  She slowly turned her head and looked behind her to see if Michael was there. He wasn’t. She then scanned the forest around her and still saw nothing, until she looked up.

  Huge, unblinking yellow eyes stared at her from a tree limb over her head not fifty paces away. Libby would have felt blessed to see such a wondrous bird if it hadn’t been for the disturbing dream she’d had last night.

  She was looking at the same white owl that had been in her bedroom in her nightmare. She’d been terrified then, and she was terrified now.

  The owl ducked its head and opened its wings in a display of silent strength. Libby took a quick and cautious step back, holding her breath.

  “Stand still,” came Michael’s voice from right behind her.

  Libby’s knees went weak, and she started breathing again the moment his hands wrapped securely over her shoulders.

  “Look her in the eye, lass,” he said softly. “She’s wanting to take your measure.”

  “H-her?”

  “Aye. She’s a female snowy, come from far away to visit with us for a while. Look up, and let her see your eyes. Don’t be afraid, Libby. Mary will not harm you.”

  Libby didn’t stop breathing, her heart stopped beating instead. “M-mary? You’re calling the bird Mary?”

  “Aye. She’s Robbie’s pet, come to him on his birthday last January.”

  “He named her Mary?” Libby repeated, not able to get past that point.

  She was standing in the middle of the woods, being held up by a man introducing her to a bird named after his dead lover, and he expected her to look that bird in the eye? After just rolling around in the forest with him and trying to start an affair?

  No. She didn’t think so.

  His hands on her shoulders tightened. “She’ll not hurt you, Libby. Look up.”

  “She tried to kill me last night,” Libby hissed in response.

  “What?”

  “She was in my room. Or I think she was. I might have dreamed it, but I’ve seen this bird before. She doesn’t like me, Michael. She’s…she’s jealous or something.”

  Michael slowly turned her around to face him. Libby finally did look up—into turbulent gray eyes.

  “Tell me,” he said. “What did you see? What was Mary doing?” he asked, looking at the owl and then back at her.

  “She was just hovering over my bed, flapping her wings against the ceiling.”

  “What else? Was there light?”

  “Yes. Blue light. The entire room pulsed with blue light.”

  He thought about that, his attention back on the bird. Finally, he looked down at her.

  “Libby, are you telling me you’re afraid of this owl because you think it might be Robbie’s mother?”

  “Yes. No. I…I don’t know, Michael. A week ago, I would have laughed in your face. But now…” Libby dropped her gaze to his chest. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  He lifted her chin with his finger. “What happened a week ago?”

  “Something I can’t explain. Something I’m not ready to talk about.”

  “Then we won’t,” he whispered, smiling warmly at her.

  “But we will settle your worry with this snowy right now. If we don’t, she’s going to keep haunting your dreams, Libby, until she’s satisfied.”

  “Satisfied how? That I’ve been scared away?”

  He nodded. “Aye. Or deemed worthy of staying and being Robbie’s friend. It seems she’s a protective owl.”

  “And possessive?”

  “Nay. Her heart beats only for Robbie now, lass.”

  He moved his finger from her chin to cover her lips when she tried to speak again. Then he turned her around, and slowly, so very slowly, Libby looked up.

  The snowy’s wings were tucked back against its sides as it stood tall and alert, its eyes direct and penetrating—and searching for Libby’s soul.

  The owl suddenly let out a short, clear, single-pitch whistle that made Libby flinch and Michael’s hands tighten on her shoulders. It opened its wings and stepped sideways on the branch, ducking its head in a circular motion of curious regard.

  Libby tried to take a step back, but Michael held her in place. “If she takes flight, stand your ground,” he whispered, his breath washing softly over the top of her head. “Sh
ow her you have the courage to be Robbie’s friend.”

  “But I don’t, Michael.”

  “Ya do,” he softly contradicted, squeezing her shoulders.

  Michael’s hands suddenly fell away from her shoulders, and he took a step back, leaving Libby to hold herself up.

  “Raise your arm, lass. Give a sharp whistle like she just did, and see if she’ll come to ya.”

  The man was certifiably crazy.

  Or she was. Dammit. It was a bird, not a demon, not a nightmare, not even Robbie’s dead mother. It was an owl. A beautiful, majestic snowy owl. Libby raised her arm, put her fourth and first fingers to her lips, and whistled.

  The owl blinked, spread its wings, and dropped from its perch. The snowy silently glided through the clearing and landed on Libby’s sleeve-covered arm.

  It was surprisingly light for its size. And amazingly gentle, considering it had talons more than an inch long. The snowy clung without drawing blood and opened its beak to let out a series of gently rattling chatters.

  “She’ll fold her wings if ya quit your trembling,” Michael said from a good twenty paces away. “She’s trying to balance.”

  Yeah. Well. She was trying to get used to the idea that she had a lethal bird on her arm. One whose eyes were now dead-level with hers.

  “Reach up and stroke her chest,” Michael instructed.

  “Talk to her, Libby.”

  Libby raised her left hand and slowly, very carefully, petted the bird’s chest.

  Mary—if Libby could just get used to that name—settled down and folded her wings. Her chatter stopped, and her eyes appeared to soften. They stared at each other for several seconds, and Libby relaxed.

  “I will do no harm to your son,” she whispered softly enough so Michael couldn’t hear. “And I really can bake cookies and cakes.”

  Mary blinked and gave a gentle, low-timbre rattle.

  “I’ll buy him a helmet to wear when he rides his pony,” she continued, bolstered by the bird’s response. “And I’ll go to his Christmas play at school if he has one. Let me be his friend, Mary, and I promise not to break his heart.”

  The snowy went silent and turned just its head to look at Michael. It stared at him for several seconds and then turned back to Libby.