Only With a Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Greylen snorted, and Grace laced her fingers through his. “Don’t say it,” she warned, giving his hand a tug. “He’s been like a grandfather to all the girls, but he and Winter are especially close.”

  Matt darted a look toward the stairs, wanting to catch up with his wife, then turned back to his in-laws and inclined his head. “If you don’t mind, I don’t want her traveling the mountain alone, in case Gesader comes slinking back here.”

  Greylen stiffened. “Ye know about her pet?”

  Matt smiled. “Did you never wonder what a leopard cub was doing in Scotland eight hundred years ago?”

  Grey narrowed his eyes. “Robbie and I both questioned that fact, and carefully watched the cat as he matured, but we saw no signs that he was anything other than a panther and a good companion for Winter. Why do ye worry about her running into him now?”

  Matt shrugged. “He was a bit drunk on catnip the last time Winter saw him, and I want to be there when they meet again.”

  Grey lifted a brow. “And just where did he get the catnip?”

  Matt grinned, gave a slight bow, and started toward the stairs. “From me,” he said, stopping a few steps down and looking back. “You might want to keep him out of Megan’s bed, before he grows to like it too well.”

  That said, and not responding to his mother-in-law’s gasp, Matt ran down the stairs, opened the front door, and stepped onto the frosty bridge, immediately realizing he was still carrying his boots. With a curse blaming his wife for his inattention, he leaned against the rail to put on his boots while keeping an eye on the path leading up from the barn. He was just tying the last lace when he heard a noise coming not from the barn, but from the road leading up the mountain.

  He shrugged into his jacket as he hurried across the bridge, stopping only long enough to reach into the inside pocket and pull out his pen, cursing again when his hand emerged covered in ink. He flicked his wrist and the pen turned into his sword, and Matt started running toward the tote road.

  The dark shadow of the massive leopard appeared on the path just as Matt reached the canopy of trees. “Hello, you black bastard. How’s your head feeling?”

  Kenzie snarled and whipped his tail through the air, then turned and started trotting up the tote road. Matt hesitated, glancing back toward the barn. Surely Winter was riding up the mountain, not hiking.

  Kenzie stopped, gave another snarl, then continued up the road until he disappeared into the darkness. Matt slid his sword through his belt and started jogging after him, cursing the fact that his little fairy wife had apparently felt like a stroll this morning instead of a ride. Aye, a good two-hour stroll, straight up.

  Matt had been jogging less than five minutes when he heard her, and slowed to a walk as he came up beside Kenzie. He smiled when he realized the woman was actually singing. He tapped Kenzie’s shoulder to slow their pace, his smile widening as he made out the words of her song.

  “Big old black bear, don’t ye come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight…”

  That was when he remembered Talking Tom, and the old hermit’s habit of warning the bears he was passing through their territory. Matt followed in silence, he and Kenzie keeping just out of sight, and decided that for as talented a painter as Winter was, she couldn’t sing worth a damn.

  They hiked for nearly an hour in the forest, the darkness broken only by what light filtered down from the half moon, before Winter suddenly fell silent and stopped. Kenzie moved off the path to the left and crept through the trees, and Matt went right, being careful not to make a sound as he moved closer to see why she’d stopped.

  He found her standing in the middle of the rutted tote road, holding her pencil in her hand. Remembering what had happened back at the cave when he’d tried to teach her to light the fire, Matt watched with apprehension. The stench of burnt cloth was still trapped in his nose hairs, and he’d likely never get the smell out of the upholstered seats in his jet.

  “Abracadabra!” she suddenly said, waving the pencil in a circle above her head. When nothing happened, she lowered the pencil, and Matt could just make out her scowl. She shook the pencil violently, just like she had in her bedroom, then stopped, all but glared it to death, and snapped her hand in a quick twisting motion. “Become my staff!” she commanded, only to yelp when a few weak sparks sputtered out the sharpened end.

  “Curses,” she muttered, dropping the pencil and stamping her foot in frustration. “Why won’t you work for me!” She threw her head back. “Why can’t I control the energy?” she shouted at the sky. “I’ve accepted my calling, now give me the power!”

  Matt shook his head, wondering what in hell made Winter think scolding Providence would help. He smiled then, guessing that being spoiled as a child had her believing the magic was simply hers on demand.

  But truth told, Matt was a bit puzzled himself by his wife’s inability to conjure up something as simple as fire. She had the magic all right, right there at her fingertips; he could feel the strength of the energy humming around her as it enveloped her in a halo of pristine light.

  But the magic appeared to be even more confused than she was, as if Winter were speaking to it in a foreign language. He’d explained to her back at the cave that all she had to do was gently ask for what she wanted, and picture it happening in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried, the energy had only responded in unpredictable bursts of haphazard chaos.

  Matt watched Winter pick up the pencil, hold it in front of her face, and heard her let out a frustrated sigh. She bent down and gathered a few leaves and twigs into a pile, stepped back, pointed the pencil at the twigs, and softly whispered, “Please, please light.”

  Unable to watch her continue to struggle in frustration, Matt silently willed the pile of twigs to burst into flames. Winter jumped back with a yelp of surprise, then started dancing from foot to foot, laughing and cackling as she clutched the pencil to her bosom.

  “Yes!” she squealed. “I did it!” She dropped to her knees and held one hand over the warmth of the softly burning fire. “I did it.” She turned and quickly pulled together another pile of twigs a few feet from the first one, stood up, pointed her pencil again, and said, “Light!”

  Her enthusiasm, coupled with Matt’s own soft petition, caused an explosion that blew Winter clean off her feet, and ignited the upper tree limbs. The light from the fireball reflected in her shocked face.

  “Curses, curses, curses!” she cried, jumping to her feet and running farther up the tote road, out from under the burning treetops. The sparking embers caught on the wind, and one tree after another started igniting.

  Holy hell, the whole mountain was catching fire. Matt stepped back into the shadows of the flaming forest, lifted his arms skyward, and silently commanded the wind to cease, the clouds to gather, and the rains to come in a torrential downpour. Within minutes he was drenched to the skin, as was Winter. She was looking at the smoldering destruction through the rain, her mouth gaping wide enough that Matt feared she might drown.

  He lowered his arms and the rain stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Kenzie came slinking out of the woods, also soaked to his skin, and padded up to Winter. She folded at the knees to sit on the ground, wrapped her arms around the panther, and buried her face in his soggy fur. “I can’t control it!” she wailed to her pet. “I’m going to kill us all before I figure out how to save us.”

  Dammit, she was right. If she didn’t get control of the magic by the winter solstice, Kenzie would definitely get his wish to die—right along with the rest of mankind! Why in hell couldn’t she work the magic?

  His wife’s bout of self-pity lasted a good ten minutes before she finally felt the cold seeping into her wet clothes and started shivering. With one last sniffle, which she wiped on her sleeve, she stood up and continued her journey up the mountain. Kenzie fell into step beside her, and Matt moved back onto the path and followed just out of sight, but not out of earshot.

  “I know you were drun
k the other day, and I forgive you for chasing me,” she told her pet.

  And there it was again, that unwavering compassion that had drawn Matt across centuries. Kenzie could have really hurt Winter without meaning to, and yet she was just that quickly, just that simply, forgiving him.

  She suddenly glanced over her shoulder, and Matt quickly stepped into the shadows. “Where do you suppose that rainstorm came from?” she asked Kenzie, staring up at the treetops. “Do you think Providence is babysitting me?”

  Somebody sure as hell had to, Matt decided. But maybe he would leave that task to Pendaär, since the old man was so hell-bent to mentor his heir. That would leave Matt free to help Greylen and Robbie search for whoever had cut the pine.

  “Matt and I are married,” she continued. “Don’t growl,” she said with a laugh. “We made it legal in Las Vegas two days ago, and for our wedding night I slept on the couch in his Utah office and he slept on the floor. Wasn’t that romantic?”

  The panther curled back his lips in a grin, turned and started walking up the mountain again.

  The first hint of daybreak was just starting to show as Winter stepped into the clearing at Pendaär’s cottage. Matt worked his way around the edge of the clearing while Winter and Kenzie mounted the steps to the porch, but she didn’t even get to knock before the door suddenly opened.

  “It’s about time ye showed up,” Pendaär said without preamble. He took a step back and pointed at Kenzie. “Yer black demon can’t come in with ye.”

  Kenzie sat down, looked up at Pendaär, and licked his lips.

  “How did ye get soaked?” Pendaär asked, just now noticing that Winter was also drenched and shivering.

  “There…ah, a quick-moving rainstorm hit when we were walking up. It must have been part of a squall line. It didn’t rain here?” she innocently asked.

  Pendaär sighed and turned away from the open door as Winter and Kenzie disappeared inside. Matt immediately darted from the trees to the side of the cottage and sat down with his back to the logs under a window. He pulled his sword from his belt and set it on the ground, ran his hand over his wet clothes to change them into his ancient—and dry—plaid, then wiggled his finger at the window sash until it opened an inch. He then pulled his knees up to his chest and huddled inside his warm plaid as he settled in to listen.

  Winter stepped into the cabin with a sigh of relief, and Gesader immediately padded over and squeezed between the cookstove and the wall to lie down and soak up the heat. Winter walked to the fieldstone hearth, unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off, and hung it on a peg on the mantel to dry. “I’ve visited the pine tree,” she said as she held her hands toward the warm fire. “It’s very weak.”

  Daar came over to stand beside her. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, also staring into the fire. “I’ve lost my ability to sense its energy. In fact, I can’t feel anything now, other than my achy old bones.”

  Winter turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I didn’t know that when I hugged the pine tree you would lose your power.”

  For a moment Daar continued to stare at the fire, then shrugged. “I had to lose it eventually.” He turned his head to look at her. “I was pleased when it happened, actually,” he said, and Winter realized how old he suddenly looked. “Because it told me ye had accepted yer calling.” He clasped his hands at his waist and shifted uneasily. “Do ye understand all that goes with it, lass?”

  “I understand,” she said, turning to gaze back at the fire. “You forgot to mention the other day, though, that if I have a baby I would have to give up my calling.” She looked at him. “Nor did you think to warn me that if I fall in love but don’t have children, I will have to watch my mortal husband die right along with everyone else I love.”

  Daar looked down at the floor. “I knew ye’d figure that out on yer own.” He looked up. “But ye accepted yer calling anyway.”

  “Yes,” she said. It seemed he had nothing to say to that as he continued to stare into the fire. Winter took a tiny step away and also looked down at the flames. “And I married Matt Gregor two days ago,” she said.

  Daar whipped toward her. “Ye what!”

  “And I’m pregnant,” she added without looking up.

  He lurched back with a gasp. “Winter! What have ye done!”

  She faced him and crossed her arms under her breasts. “It turns out that Matt is actually Cùram de Gairn,” she calmly continued. “And that he came here not with the intention of destroying mankind, but to seduce me into helping him right an old wrong.”

  “And ye let him!” Daar shouted, his wrinkled face turning a blotchy red. “Did ye know the bastard was Cùram when ye married him?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye did it anyway!”

  “Aye,” she calmly returned. “Because I love him.”

  “Ye can’t love him. He’s a soulless bastard who will do anything to get what he wants.”

  “He’s far from soulless, Father.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “He’s actually trying to fix the mess he’s made.”

  “I bet he is,” Daar snapped, “by killing the trees.” He waved an angry hand at her. “And now he’s stolen yer power by getting ye pregnant, so we have no way to fight him.”

  “I don’t want to fight him,” she whispered. “I want to help him. He’s lost hope, Father. Couldn’t you feel it in the air when our pine began to weaken? Didn’t you sense the chill wind coming this way? It was when I hugged the pine that I realized it wasn’t anger or revenge driving Cùram, but despair. He was willing to let mankind die because he had lost hope.”

  “Is willing!” Daar snapped. “Not was. And he’s succeeded, hasn’t he, if he married ye and got ye with child.” He pointed a crooked finger at her. “Ye let yer heart overrule yer head, girl.” He shook his head and turned away. “Love is a curse that’s always interfering in our work.”

  “No,” Winter said. “Love is the strongest emotion of all. It’s what will save us, not doom us.”

  “And that’s exactly why women have never been allowed to be drùidhs,” he shot back with a glare before walking toward the wood cookstove. He spun around to face her again, his complexion red with anger. “Women are weak. Ye spin fairy tales of sweetness and compassion and everyone loving each other. Ye don’t have the strength of heart to fight the dark side of human nature, thinking that just by falling in love with a blackguard ye can suddenly turn him into a saint.”

  “Then why was I born?” she quietly asked. “If women don’t have the fortitude to be drùidhs, why did you expend so much effort to get my father and mother together so I would be born?”

  He frowned, his jaw tensing as he looked down at his hands.

  “Because Providence realized having only male drùidhs wasn’t working,” Winter answered for him. “The energy is shifting to include females, because it’s our very sweetness and compassion that was lacking. My child isn’t going to mean the end of mankind, Father,” she softly informed him. “It’s going to be our salvation. I know you were brought up in a time when marriages were practical rather than emotional, but whether you can learn to accept it as fact or not, love always was and always will be the most powerful energy in the universe. That’s why Providence has gotten itself a female drùidh, so I can fix the mess you men have made,” she said with a crooked grin. “And just as soon as you teach me to control the energy, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  He didn’t smile back, but scowled instead. “How do ye know all this?” he growled.

  “A little bird told me,” she said, laughing when his scowl deepened. “A crow, actually, came to me in a dream and explained that I have the ability to put the continuum back on track.” She frowned. “Except he didn’t explain how I was supposed to do it. He only said that I would figure it out by the winter solstice.”

  “A crow,” Daar said. “In a dream ye had. And on this alone you’ve risked everything?”

  “You still haven�
�t told me why I was born,” Winter said instead of answering him.

  Daar’s face reddened, not with anger but with chagrin. “I was told to make yer birth happen.”

  “Who told you?”

  His face darkened even more, and he dropped his gaze to her feet. “I was told it in a dream,” he said, lifting his chin defensively. “I only saw a shadow surrounded by brilliant colors. It told me to get Greylen born and then get him married off to some woman in the twenty-first century.” His shoulders slumped and he walked to the table and sat down in a chair, hanging his head as he spoke to the floor. “I did what I was asked, though I never understood why. I was only told that the energy was shifting from the summer solstice to the winter. I was operating blind.”

  “Not blind,” Winter said, going to Daar and kneeling in front of him so he could see her smile. “You knew my parents were ordained to have seven daughters, and that the energy was shifting even while you didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t like that the upset Cùram had caused centuries earlier had started a chain reaction that only a female could fix.” She touched his bearded cheek, then stood and pulled her sketch pencil from her jacket pocket. “I seem to be having a wee bit of trouble with my power, and I need you to teach me how to control it.”

  He turned to face her. “Control it?” he asked in surprise. “That’s not something anyone can teach ye.”

  He stepped toward her, his face paling. “Where’s the staff I made ye?”

  She held up the pencil. “It’s right here.”

  Daar rushed over and took the pencil from her, examining it as if it were a bug in his hand. He looked at her. “Ye turned yer pinewood staff into a pencil? Why?”

  “I didn’t. Matt did. It’s easier to carry that way.” She smiled crookedly. “Do you really expect me to walk around with a cane, Father? I’m twenty-four years old, and I don’t limp.” She took the pencil away from him. “This is easier. It fits in my pocket.”