Only With a Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Chapter Nineteen

  Winter sat on the singed sleeping bag in front of a fire she didn’t really need because of the warmly glowing walls. While staring up at her pinewood staff, she chewed the last bite of a candy bar she’d found in her saddlebag. She’d had a moment’s guilt that Matt was probably hungry; the soup he’d eaten hours ago couldn’t have sustained him very long. But her guilt had lasted only as long as it had taken Winter to remember how mad she was at him.

  And she hoped Gesader—Kenzie—had a terrible hangover.

  She couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Didn’t believe it. She would know something that important, wouldn’t she? She’d always been able to sense the energy of spirits. Wouldn’t she know if a little one was growing inside her?

  They hadn’t used any protection last night. Winter hadn’t even considered the risk of pregnancy, much less been able to think about anything other than loving Matt so much her heart had near burst with wanting him. What was she going to tell her parents? How could she put them through this right now, while they were still trying to deal with Megan’s pregnancy?

  Winter’s heart went out to her sister. She finally understood why Megan couldn’t quit crying, as her own eyes hadn’t stopped leaking since Matt had left over four hours ago—though some of those tears might be from her cold. Maybe.

  But probably not. The Matt Gregor she’d fallen in love with over the last two weeks was still entrenched in her heart, though that was the only thing Winter was sure of. The rest—the story of the young warrior having lost everyone dear to him, and her pet panther actually being a man—she still couldn’t decide how she felt about that.

  It did explain a few things though, filling in most of the puzzle of what had been happening lately. Except…except she hadn’t asked Matt why he’d cut the top off Daar’s tree. If he truly did need her magic, why would he have risked weakening the white pine?

  And this wedding he kept insisting they were having in Las Vegas tomorrow—how was she supposed to feel about that? Angry? Appalled? Grateful he wasn’t abandoning her like Wayne Ferris had abandoned Megan?

  Winter realized she had to remember what time Matt was from. Conceiving an illegitimate child centuries ago guaranteed a life of misery for both mother and baby. And his sister, Fiona. She also had to remember how Fiona’s tragedy had affected Matt; how he hadn’t been there to protect his sister when she’d gotten pregnant and had died in childbirth, her bairn dying soon after.

  Poor Matt. He was riddled with guilt. He was supposed to be a guardian and powerful drùidh, but he hadn’t been able to protect those he loved, not the villagers who had been kind to him, not his family, and ultimately not even Kenzie.

  Which was why, despite deceiving her and despite messing up the magic so badly he’d doomed mankind, Winter couldn’t bring herself to expose Matt’s true identity to Robbie and Daar and her papa. Oh, she understood perfectly well why Matt had demanded those vows from her last night, why he’d hope to gain her loyalty at least long enough to keep his promise to his brother. He was counting on Winter to honor her word, even though she’d innocently given it to her enemy.

  What a mess. It seemed she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She could betray her own family and pretend Matt was nothing more than the man she loved, or she could betray the man she loved and protect her family. Oh yeah, she could also betray all of mankind while she was at it!

  There had to be a way to bring the continuum back into balance without creating even more of a mess. All she needed to do was figure out how to stop the pine from dying, grant Kenzie his wish, and redeem Matt’s soul without losing her own. She was powerful, Matt had said. So powerful, in fact, that he’d chosen her to help him.

  Winter stopped rubbing her nose on her sleeve in midswipe. But why her? Of all the wizards from all times, why had Cùram de Gairn come to this century to involve her in his damnation?

  Curses, would the questions never cease? The more she learned, the more she didn’t know.

  Winter yawned, then sneezed so hard her head started to throb. She looked toward the entrance, realized it was already dark outside, and yawned again. Crying was definitely hard on a body, she decided for the second time in two days as she fluffed up the remains of the sleeping bag and laid down.

  And tomorrow didn’t look to be any more promising.

  Winter woke up surprisingly calm, considering how disturbing the first half of her night had been. Within minutes of falling asleep, she’d experienced horrific nightmares of murdering thieves slaughtering defenseless villagers, of her frantically searching an unfamiliar mountain for unmarked graves, and of her chasing Matt through a dark void of hopelessness as she shouted his name and cried uncontrollably. But sometime in the wee hours before dawn her nightmares had changed, transforming into a colorful, pleasant dream filled with such promising hope that she was still reluctant to open her eyes and have it end.

  She was pretty sure she knew why the nightmares had suddenly vanished, as well as exactly when. Matt had returned in the wee hours, wrapped himself around Winter until only her nose was exposed, and held her in his protective embrace for the rest of the night. In fact, he was still holding her, spooned against her back with his arm and leg thrown across her body, clinging in a way that told Winter just how desperately he needed her.

  Because more than needing her help to keep his promise to Kenzie, Winter understood just how desperately Matt needed her to wrestle Cùram de Gairn’s soul away from Providence and give Matheson Gregor back the gift of hope. The chill wind of hopelessness she’d felt when she’d hugged the pine tree—that’s what was really upsetting the continuum, not Matt’s manipulating the magic for his own benefit. Oh, she didn’t deny it had been a selfish act when he had made his pact with Providence to keep his brother alive, but wasn’t Providence just as culpable?

  Winter had come to that blasphemous conclusion during her beautiful dream, in which she’d been walking through the woods on Bear Mountain and had come upon a large crow sitting on a stump. She’d had quite an interesting conversation with the crow; Winter asking questions about her calling and the wise black bird providing her with answers beyond anything she could have imagined. In her dream, the crow had taken on the voice of Tom, but Winter dismissed that assimilation because Tom was always carving crows, so of course the one in her dream reminded her of him. Nevertheless, their conversation had eventually led the crow to tell Winter about a shift in the continuum that had occurred nearly a thousand years ago.

  Still keeping her eyes closed, Winter frowned at nothing, wondering if it truly was possible for a person to learn stuff in dreams. Because if she could believe what the crow had told her, then she may have figured out how to solve all of her and Matt’s problems—and save mankind while she was at it.

  The crow had told Winter that the moment Cùram de Gairn had made his pact with Providence, the continuum had immediately realized its mistake and started to alter its ways. Winter had also been surprised to learn that up until her birth, every drùidh to have ever lived had been male. And guardians, oddly enough, were usually female, although that was not a strict policy. Feminine energy was nurturing by nature, the crow had explained, as well as quite practical when compared to male energy, which had a penchant for getting a bit forceful when dealing with problems.

  And hadn’t Daar proven that theory more than once!

  So had Cùram, the bird had told Winter. Matheson Gregor had trained to be a warrior and brought those skills to his calling as Cùram de Gairn. In order to get himself to this century and into her bed, and still hold onto his power, Cùram had used cunning, trickery, and often brute force—all tools of a successful warrior. Hell, her dream crow had said Matt had gone so far as to blow up Snow Mountain eight hundred years ago, getting his tree of life destroyed in the process, to come to this century.

  That was why the continuum had begun shifting long before then. The day Matheson Gregor had saved his brother by becoming Cùram
de Gairn a thousand years ago was the day Winter’s birth had been foretold.

  She was pregnant, the crow had also informed her, but that didn’t mean she had lost her precious right of free will. The bairn she carried was the product of two powerful drùidhs, and both she and Matt were still able to choose their own paths from this point forward—assuming of course, she could indeed rebalance the energy with the help of her mighty pine. The crow had said her mighty white pine, as its energy was attuned to Winter now, and no longer to Daar.

  “You’re awake,” Matt said, his lips touching her hair.

  “Yes,” she acknowledged without opening her eyes.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Dreams. Do you ever dream, Matt?”

  “I used to.”

  “And when you used to dream, did you learn stuff in them, or did you wonder if they were only wishful thinking?”

  He finally moved, sliding his leg off her thigh and his arm from around her, and propped his head on his hand just behind her shoulder. “You were having nightmares when I came in. You cried and even called out in your sleep.”

  “Yes,” Winter said, rolling onto her back to look at him. “But the nightmares left the moment your arms came around me.”

  He really did have a handsome smile, she decided. Winter wondered how much smiling Matt would be doing over the next three months, as she implemented her plan. Because if she dared to believe her dream, Cùram de Gairn wasn’t the only cunning wizard in this cave.

  “So,” Matt said, brushing her hair off her face with his finger. “Are you flying out with me this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted one brow, obviously surprised by her simple and quickly given answer. “And we’re stopping in Las Vegas?” he thought to clarify.

  Winter kept her own smile hidden and shrugged. “If you don’t want to let Father Daar marry us, then yes, I guess we should stop in Las Vegas.”

  Both his brows slammed into a frown. “I’m not letting that crazy old bastard marry us.”

  “Do you love me, Matt?” Winter asked calmly.

  Two flags of red appeared on the sharp planes of his cheeks, peeking through his two-day growth of beard. “No,” he whispered, rolling onto his back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “I can’t ever love you,” he told the cave’s ceiling. He turned just his head to look at her. “I’m incapable of loving anyone, lass. I lost the ability to love centuries ago.”

  “No,” she said, rolling toward him and laying her hand on his shirt-covered chest. “It’s not the ability to love that you’ve lost, Matt, but your ability to hope.”

  His cheeks darkened, the color even more pronounced on the throbbing pulse of his neck. “You need to have a heart to have hope,” he said gutturally. “And mine hardened and died a long time ago. Hope has nothing to do with anything.”

  “No,” Winter disagreed again, kneading her fingers into his shirt. “You have your emotions mixed up. It’s hopelessness that’s made you mess with the magic to grant Kenzie’s wish. Your heart is still very much alive.”

  He lifted one brow.

  “Hopelessness is not the affliction of a soul incapable of loving,” Winter said. “It’s the exact opposite. Hopelessness can only affect someone who cares too much, loves too deeply, and who’s been hurt so badly that utter despair is all that’s left. But as long as there is life there is hope, and your heart is quite alive, Matheson Gregor,” she repeated as she leaned over, kissed his cheek, and lifted her head to smile at him. “I’m going to marry you today, and have your bairn. And it will be my act of free will and not you making my choice,” she said, giving his chest a poke—right over his very alive heart.

  He suddenly sat up, and Winter let her hand fall to her lap as she also sat up. “If I can’t have your love, do I at least have the other vows you mentioned?” she asked when he rose to his feet and turned to face her. “As your wife, will I have your trust and loyalty?”

  He had to think about that, and what he was thinking didn’t seem to be pleasant. He scowled down at her, two flags of color returning to his cheeks.

  “Never mind,” she said with a laugh as she leaned back on her hands and looked up at him. “We’ll work on them together, one vow at a time.”

  His scowling eyes turned suspicious.

  “How come Father Daar didn’t recognize you as Cùram?” she asked before he could say anything. “Or Robbie? Robbie shook your hand, even.”

  It took him a moment to respond, as he was obviously still worried by her remark about their vows. He finally shrugged, then turned and walked to the boxes of supplies by the wall. “It’s not difficult to cloak myself from others,” was all he said as he rummaged through the boxes.

  “Do you have a crooked old cane like Daar?”

  He turned with a can of soup in his hand and started searching for the pot. “No. A staff is Pendaär’s choice for carrying his power,” Matt told her, popping the top off the soup and pouring it into the pot he’d found next to the boxes, where she’d put it last night after washing it.

  “So how do you carry your magic around?” Winter asked, deciding she liked watching him work.

  He set the pot near the dead fire, threw some wood in the pit, touched it with his finger until it lit, then moved the pot closer to the flame. Moving to his jacket he’d tossed down by the entrance, he pulled something from the pocket.

  He turned to her, holding up a beautiful gold and black pen. “I discovered that the real power of this century,” he said, his smile almost reaching his eyes, “is not in the sword, but in the pen. So I carry my power in this fancy little fountain pen and use it to sign my name on contracts and very large checks. In the past I carried the sword I found in the cave.”

  Matt held the pen even with his chest, then suddenly rotated his hand. Before Winter could blink, the pen turned into a long, beautiful sword. Matt lifted the lethal weapon as he bowed, touching his forehead in salute. “Voilà,” he said, setting its tip on the ground and resting his hands over the hilt. “Are you impressed?” he asked.

  Winter saw just a hint of the man she’d fallen in love with smiling down at her. The same smile, she vowed, that she’d see many more times in their lifetime together. “I’m very impressed,” she said with a laugh, getting to her feet. She visually examined the sword, then lifted her own smile to Matt. “Can I touch it?”

  He swung the tip in an upward arc, caught the blade in his other hand, and held it toward her in his open palms.

  Winter reached over and lightly touched the blade. She’d played with her father’s sword many times, but this sword was shorter by about a foot, shinier, and had colorful jewels encircling the hilt behind the intricately carved hand guard. The blade was a bit thicker and appeared to be forged from a different kind of metal. “It’s not at all like my papa’s sword,” she said, running her finger over the colorful stones. “What are these jewels?”

  “They’re diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and tourmaline. And it’s not like Greylen’s sword because it’s at least four thousand years older than his. I’ve since learned that it was my great-great-grandfather’s.”

  Winter looked up at Matt and frowned. “They didn’t have weapons this fancy that far back.”

  “Not for warring, no,” he agreed. “But this sword wasn’t designed for battle.”

  “But you said it’s all you carried when you kept running into wars while searching for Kenzie.”

  Matt set the sword’s tip back on the ground and folded his hands over the hilt. “It serves many purposes,” was all he said.

  Winter tucked her hands behind her back, rubbing her fingers that had touched the blade, and looked up at him again. “Will you teach me to use my pinewood staff, and show me how to summon the energy?” She thought of the singed blankets and quickly added, “And control it?”

  Matt stared at her in silence, his eyes unreadable.

  She laughed. “Why is it men always seem threatened by women wit
h power?” She tilted her head. “How many women executives do you have in your company?”

  Matt stepped around her and walked over to where her staff was, reached up and set his sword on the high ledge, and took down her pinewood stick. “None,” he said, his face turning red again. “But only because I don’t have any women working for me who are qualified to be engineering executives.”

  “You don’t have any,” she repeated, “or you haven’t noticed any of them working in your plant, quietly doing their jobs and not causing waves for fear of losing the position they do have?”

  He just stared at her nonplussed, her stick forgotten.

  Winter smiled. “You’re wasting a good portion of your intellectual resources, Matt.” She shook her head. “At least you have an excuse, coming from a time when women were considered good for only cooking and cleaning and birthing babies. The sad part is, yours isn’t the only business out there today that’s wasting half its potential.”

  He lifted one brow. “So now you want to involve yourself in my company? Do you consider that part of your ‘wifely’ duties?”

  Winter balled her hands into fists behind her back and widened her smile. Oh, she could see she had a long way to go before she got this ancient warrior to shift his thinking. “I want nothing to do with your company. I was just pointing something out, is all.” She shrugged. “If you don’t have any qualified women in your company, maybe you should take a look at your recruiting policies,” she said as she bent down and gathered up the sleeping bag, giving it a good shake before she folded it.

  A feather suddenly floated into the air and landed on her socked feet. Winter picked up the black feather, straightening up with a frown. It was about eight or nine inches long, sleek and healthy looking. A tail feather.

  It was from a crow, she realized. She hadn’t been dreaming! She was holding the proof that her dream had been as real as the feather in her hand—and that must mean the information the crow had given her was just as real. Winter clutched the precious gift to her chest.