The old priest, Daar, who was really an ancient drùidh named Pendaär, had cast a spell that had brought four MacKeage and six MacBain warriors—along with their warhorses—eight hundred years forward through time from medieval Scotland. Five of the MacBains had died within their first two years here. Winter’s father, Greylen, and her uncles Ian and Callum and Morgan, as well as Robbie’s father, Michael MacBain, were all that were left of the original ten.
Except that Ian had returned to his old time two and a half years ago. Robbie MacBain had taken him back through the powerful maelstrom, Robbie being the ordained guardian of the two clans, and possessing magical powers himself that allowed him to protect his loved ones while keeping Father Daar under his tenuous control.
Winter had heard their fantastical story almost from birth and had understood from a young age that it was a carefully guarded family secret. Magic was not something moderns readily took to, but rather something left to the imagination of writers and filmmakers. That she was living proof of that magic meant little to Winter, having been raised to accept what couldn’t be explained. She finally pulled Snowball back to a walk as they came to the end of the moonlit field and entered the darkness of the forest.
“If you see Tom on your morning ride,” her papa said as he reined his horse in beside her, “you might want to warn him that his landlord is in town.”
Winter brought Snowball to a stop. “Oh, no. I forgot Tom lives on Bear Mountain. You don’t think Mr. Gregor will kick him out of his cabin, do you? Tom’s not harming anyone, and the cabin sits way down the shoreline of the lake.”
Her papa covered her hand on the reins. “You nevertheless need to warn him, lass, so he can be prepared. You can offer him a spot on TarStone, or maybe your cousin Robbie might let him use his cabin up on West Shoulder Ridge.”
“But that’s too far from town. Tom’s old, Papa. He can’t walk that far up and down the mountain.”
Greylen MacKeage pulled his hand away and lifted one brow. “He’s near my age,” he said quietly. “And seventy-two is not old.”
Winter patted his arm. “Of course you’re not old,” she quickly agreed, starting her horse down the tote road that wound its way up and across TarStone Mountain. “Have you ever heard of someone wanting to commission an artist’s eye, Papa, just because he liked a painting?”
“Nay. But it’s not an illogical request,” he said. “Who better to choose a spot to build a home than an artist? Your Mr. Gregor liked your work, and just that quickly decided your unusual eye for detail suited his needs.”
“He’s not my Mr. Gregor.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a laugh. “I misspoke.”
“If I…if I tell you something, Papa, will you promise not to get all protective and fatherly on me?”
He stopped his horse, which caused Snowball automatically to stop, and looked at her through the softening shadows of dawn. “But I am your papa. It’s my duty to get all protective and fatherly where ye’re concerned. Especially when it comes to your dealings with men. So out with it, lass. Tell me what there is about Gregor that disturbs you.”
Her father had always been far too astute about reading her moods, and Winter wasn’t surprised by his insightful demand. She was also pretty sure their early-morning ride was not a coincidence.
“He sort of scares me,” she whispered. “Not in the sense that he might physically harm me, but in my…in my insides. Oh, I can’t explain what I mean. It’s just that there was something about him that bothered me yesterday when he walked into my gallery,” she said in disgust. “When he looked at me with those dark golden eyes, I wanted to give him every painting in the place.”
“Ah, lass,” Greylen said with a chuckle. “You just found yerself caught in the spell of human chemistry. It happens to all of us eventually, and usually when we least expect it.”
“Chemistry? That’s it? I turned into a blathering idiot just because I thought the man was gorgeous?” She snorted and started Snowball walking again. “It was more than chemistry, I tell you. There was something…well, something alarming about him.”
“So alarming, in fact,” Grey said, trotting to catch up, “that ye’re out here this morning because ye intend to take his commission.”
This was not the reaction she had been expecting from her father. Why wasn’t he demanding she not see Matt Gregor again? Why wasn’t he getting all protective of his baby girl!
“Winter,” he said, reaching out and pulling on Snowball’s reins to stop her. “This is something ye should be discussing with yer mama. Grace could explain it better than me, how ye can walk past a thousand handsome men, but how only one of them will suddenly stop ye dead in yer tracks. What ye’re feeling is natural, lass, that this particular man caught yer eye. What ye do about it, however, is for ye to decide. Ye’re twenty-four years old, Winter. It’s time yer heart raced over a man.” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, then straightened and started his horse walking again.
Snowball automatically fell into step beside him.
“From the time ye could crawl, I’ve been encouraging ye to follow yer own path,” he continued. “And I’ve always known that someday that path would lead ye away from me and into the arms of another man. It’s a papa’s worst nightmare and our greatest hope.” He looked over at her and smiled. “This Matt Gregor may or may not be that special someone for ye, Winter, but that is something only ye can decide.” He stopped his horse again and frowned at her. “I do intend to have Robbie use his old military connections to look into Gregor’s background, though, but only for my own peace of mind. If Gregor is nothing more than the businessman he appears to be, I will simply stand aside and let ye two work things out for yerselves.”
Winter frowned at her father. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? I only said that he bothered me. For all I know, I didn’t have any affect on Mr. Gregor.”
Her papa let out a soft chuckle. “Trust me, ye bothered him, lass. The man dropped over six thousand dollars on two of your paintings, and all but demanded you spend time with him hiking his land. Aye, Gregor was bothered all right; he took one look at yer beautiful face and found the surest way to see it again.”
Winter’s frown turned into a scowl, and she started Snowball walking down the tote road at a brisk pace. Her papa, still chuckling, trotted to catch up. They rode in silence until they finally came to a fork in the road and stopped again.
Greylen looked around in the strengthening light. “Call in yer pet,” he told her. “That I might have a word with him.”
“What makes you think he’s near?” Winter asked.
“Because he’s been stalking us since we left Gù Brath.”
Winter put her fingers to her lips and gave a sharp, single-note whistle that cut through the crisp September air.
Gesader stepped out of the shadows not ten feet away.
Gesader showed his large white teeth in a snarling smile, and her papa dismounted, allowing his nervous warhorse to skitter away. Greylen walked up to the panther and got down on one knee to hold out his hand. Gesader moved straight into his palm and ducked his head to get his ears scratched. Winter slid down off Snowball and watched her papa continue his conversation with her pet.
“I’m wanting yer opinion on this Gregor fellow,” he told the panther. “One good sniff should let you know if his intentions toward our baby girl are honorable or not.”
“Do you truly believe he knows what you’re saying?” Winter asked. “You talk to him as if he were human.”
“So do ye,” Greylen reminded her. “And if Gesader were human,” he said, standing up and turning to face her, his smile reaching all the way to his evergreen eyes, “I certainly wouldn’t have let him sleep in yer bed these last two years.” He looked down at Gesader. “Though Megan could use his company at night right now.”
“Gesader has spent a lot of time with Megan since she came home,” Winter said while absently rubbing his ear. “He goes with her when she walks the w
oods, and I’ve caught him in her bed some nights. It’s like he knows when she needs a good cuddle.”
“Animals have a way of sensing our moods,” Greylen agreed. He walked over to his horse and mounted back up, turning it to face her. “Keep yer wits about ye when ye deal with Gregor. Try not to turn into a ‘blithering idiot’ the next time ye see him. Enjoy the thrill, lass. If ye’re blessed, it will only come along once in yer lifetime.”
His instructions given to both of them, Laird Greylen MacKeage reined his horse up the path leading to Daar’s cabin, giving a wave over his shoulder as he disappeared into the dense forest.
Winter looked down at Gesader and ruffled the fur on his powerful shoulder. “You may come with me, but remember to keep out of sight. There have been more rumors going around town of a large black cat in the forest, and your safety depends on your staying only a rumor. Hey,” she said with a gasp, getting down on her knees and taking his neck in both hands. “What happened to you?”
She pulled her right hand away and rubbed her fingers together. “That’s dried blood,” she said, pushing his head to the side so she could see better. “It’s your blood,” she added, running a finger over a crusted cut on his neck just above his shoulder. “What have you done to yourself? Did your dinner last night fight back?”
Winter knew Gesader hunted his own food, even though she always kept plenty of meat available for him at Gù Brath. When Robbie had given him to her as a tiny cub, both he and her papa had repeatedly warned Winter that her new pet was a wild creature, and that once he grew up his instincts would likely take over.
“I’m taking you to see Tom,” she told him, standing up and brushing her hands on her jacket. “We’re not supposed to let anyone know you really do exist, but we can trust Tom. He can tell us if that cut needs stitching. Come on,” she said, going over and gathering up Snowball’s reins. “Let’s get going.”
Gesader let out a low rumble from his throat and padded off into the forest as silently as he’d appeared. Winter used a nearby old stump to mount up and headed toward Bear Mountain.
Chapter Three
“Tom. Are you home?” Winter called out as she rode into the small clearing on the east shore of Pine Lake. “Tom!”
She dismounted and led Snowball toward the one-story cabin nestled in the trees at the back of the clearing, where it sat safely out of reach of the powerful storms that sometimes blew in off the lake. The precariously leaning structure had to be over a century old, its vertical logs weathered to a shiny gray patina, its oversized roof eaves nearly touching the towering pines on either side.
Every time she came here, Winter couldn’t help but smile. The cabin’s crooked stovepipe wafting smoke, two tiny front windows, and narrow wood door gave it a magical air, and she always expected to see a gnome come strolling out to greet her instead of Tom. She’d said as much to him once, and Tom had simply smiled his endearing old smile and told her to be careful what she imagined, as she might be surprised one day when something even more unbelievable greeted her.
“Tom!” she shouted again, dropping Snowball’s reins and walking around the side of the cabin toward an equally run-down shed out back. “I’m wanting some tea and toast!”
“I don’t remember our having a breakfast date,” Tom said, emerging from the shed as he brushed flecks of dust off his thick flannel shirt. He stopped and wrestled the rickety old door closed, then turned and smiled at her. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”
Winter frowned at him. “You’re a master woodworker, Tom. Why don’t you just fix that old door?”
He shrugged and walked past her, taking her hand on the way by, and led her back to the front of his cabin. “I don’t want to spoil the ambience of the place. So what’s up?” he asked, stopping long enough to greet Snowball and take off his bridle. The horse immediately wandered off to graze on whatever grass he could find.
Tom opened his cabin door, then held his arm out to usher Winter inside. “If you’re here for a peek at what I’m working on, the answer is still no. Nobody sees my work until it’s done. Especially you.”
Winter stopped in the doorway and brushed some of the remaining dust off his shirt. “Won’t you at least give me a hint about what you’re working on? I could see something big in there, covered with a sheet. Hey, this isn’t sawdust, it’s stone dust,” she said, rubbing the powder between her fingers. Her eyes widened. “Are you working in stone, Tom?”
Tom took hold of her dusty hand and led her into the cabin, directing her to a table and chairs near an ancient potbellied stove. “I might be,” he said as he opened the stove door and stirred the embers. “If it’s any of your business, Miss Curious.” He looked over his shoulder, his clear blue eyes bright with amusement. “Then again, I might have been sharpening tools on my whetstone.”
As she sat down, Winter slipped off her jacket and let it fall on the back of the chair. “We’re business partners, Tom. We’re not supposed to have secrets from each other.”
He straightened and faced her, his eyes dancing in the strengthening sunlight coming through the still-open door. “You tell me one of your secrets, and I’ll tell you one of mine.”
“Okay,” she said, folding her hands on her lap with a smile of anticipation. “There really is a panther living on TarStone. His name is Gesader, and he’s my pet.”
The amusement left Tom’s face. He sat down across from her, his own hands clasped together on the table. “So he does exist,” he whispered. “I knew I hadn’t been seeing things. He’s your pet, you say?” One of his bushy gray brows lifted into his equally thick gray hair. “As in you get to actually touch him, or that you’ve just adopted him the same way you’ve taken to all the woodland creatures?”
“As in he sleeps in my bed most nights,” she said, her own eyes dancing with excitement. “I got him as a tiny cub.”
Tom sat back in his chair and rubbed the sparse white stubble on his chin. “Gesader, you called him. I’m assuming that’s Gaelic. What’s it mean?”
“Enchanter.”
“Is he a leopard or a jaguar?”
“A leopard. Ye can see the spots in his black coat when the sun hits him just right.”
“How old is he?”
“Three next spring.”
Tom’s brow lifted again. “And you’ve been able to keep him a secret all this time? So why are you telling me?”
“Because I trust you. And because Gesader has a cut on his neck I want you to look at. I need to know if it requires stitching.”
Tom straightened in his chair, his gaze shooting to the open door. “He’s here?” he whispered. “He came with you this morning?”
“Yes. He’s in the woods, waiting for me to call him.”
Tom stood up and brushed his hands on his pants, still staring at the door. “You’re just going to call out, and a panther is going to come walking in here?”
“Yes,” Winter repeated, also standing up. “He won’t hurt you, Tom. He’s really just an overgrown baby.”
Tom darted a look at her. “A baby with sharp fangs and claws as long as my fingers,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Call your…ah…pet.”
Winter didn’t bother to put her fingers to her lips this time, but simply let out a sharp whistle toward the open door. Gesader silently appeared in the doorway, but instead of coming inside, the large black cat sat down and gave a fierce snarl that nicely showed off his fangs.
“Behave,” Winter scolded, walking up and tapping the top of his head. “You needn’t show off to Tom. He’s going to help you.”
Gesader turned his piercing, golden-eyed gaze on Tom.
Winter waved her friend forward. “I promise, he won’t hurt you, Tom. He’s only trying to impress you.”
Tom still didn’t move. “I am impressed,” he whispered, his own wide-eyed gaze locked on the panther beside her. “Where is he hurt?”
“His neck, just above his shoulder.” Winter knelt down and move
d Gesader’s head to the side. “It’s already crusted over. It must have happened last night sometime. You…ah, could probably see better if you came closer.”
“I can see the cut from here. It looks fine, Winter. Wild animals have amazing immune systems. He won’t likely get an infection.”
Gesader, apparently realizing he might have shown off a little too much, stood up, padded into the cabin right up to Tom, and lapped the old hermit’s hand.
Tom didn’t so much as twitch, and Winter wasn’t sure, but she thought her friend stopped breathing. With a laugh she followed Gesader into the cabin and sat down at the table. “Ye just got a panther kiss, Tom. Gesader is usually quite stingy with his kisses.”
Tom finally looked down at Gesader. “He…ah, he seems amiable enough.” He looked at Winter, and she noticed his shoulders finally relax as a soft smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Assuming he wasn’t just seeing what I taste like.”
“Go ahead,” Winter urged, nodding at Gesader. “Pet him.”
Slowly, Tom sat down in his chair and gently laid his hand on Gesader, moving the broad black head to the side so he could see the gash on the panther’s neck. “It doesn’t need stitching, Winter. It looks worse than it is because it’s in a hard place for him to tend for himself.” He gave Gesader’s ear a gentle scratch.
Winter frowned. “There’s another reason I came here this morning, Tom. A guy by the name of Matt Gregor came into my gallery yesterday and bought two of my paintings, and he said he owns Bear Mountain.”
Her news seemed to puzzle Tom more than disturb him. “You rode out here just to tell me that? Why? I don’t care who owns Bear Mountain.”
“You might care, if he doesn’t want you living on his land. He’s going to build a house here.”
Tom shrugged. “The mountain is big enough for both of us.”
Only With a Highlander Page 3
