Only With a Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “That was nine weeks ago.” She couldn’t smack him again because he was still holding her hand, so she dug her fingers into his chest. “And you didn’t once think to tell me you loved me since then?” she growled. “What, it just slipped your mind?”

  Matt bent down and slid one hand under her knees and swept her into his arms with a body-shaking laugh. “I was waiting for you to ask me again,” he said as he mounted the porch stairs. He stopped and used his hand under her knees to open the front door, then straightened and shrugged, shaking her again. “Have pity, lass. It’s a hard concept for a man to wrap his mind around.”

  “Love isn’t a weakness, you know.”

  “I know,” he said, striding through the living room and into the bedroom. “But then, neither is patience,” he added, holding her over the bed. He smiled rather mischievously and suddenly let her go. But he followed Winter’s short fall to the mattress, softly landing beside her and throwing one leg over hers as his hand went to the zipper on her jacket. “So, have you decided what you feel like doing for the next couple of hours?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  By two-thirty that afternoon, Gù Brath could have been a case study in social chaos. Winter realized a newfound respect for the men who had been brave enough to marry MacKeage women. Oh, she didn’t admire them for surviving the scrutiny of both Greylen MacKeage and Robbie MacBain, nor even for winning over Grace MacKeage’s heart. Winter was instead impressed by the fact that the husbands possessed the courage to not only come here every winter solstice, but to actually enjoy themselves.

  But more than being a study in chaos, the MacKeage birthday party was also a discourse on filling up the most space with the most bodies, and on catering efficiency. No matter how huge Gù Brath was, there wasn’t a corner not taken up by a gaggle of children, their new toys or pets, and vigilant adults. And the food! A White House state dinner couldn’t be more elaborate. Winter still didn’t know how her mama managed to make it all come together each year, all within a few days before Christmas.

  Not twenty minutes after arriving though, Winter was in the kitchen trying to wipe ketchup off Matt’s shirt, which Sarah’s youngest son had dropped there, when Heather burst through the door from the hall. “And where were you this morning?” she asked, shifting Elizabeth’s three-year-old son to her other hip. Heather finally noticed Matt, did a double take, then brought incredulous eyes back to Winter. “Never mind,” she whispered, leaning closer, her face glowing with delight. “I remember being a newlywed.” She turned to Matt and held out her free hand. “You must be Matt Gregor. I’m Heather, Winter’s oldest sister from California.”

  “Unky Matt!” Joel said, hurling himself from Heather’s arms toward Matt. Matt had met Elizabeth and her two kids weeks ago, since they lived right in Pine Creek. And even though Joel had only seen Matt maybe three or four times, the toddler had taken to him immediately and kept insisting on riding on Matt’s shoulders.

  Winter sighed at the realization Joel’s hands were sticky with some sort of candy and had added a blue stain next to the ketchup on her husband’s shirt. Matt caught the three-year-old missile and swung him up onto his shoulders with a laugh.

  “So,” Heather said, linking her arm through Winter’s as she smiled at Matt. “I see you’ve discovered the MacKeage curse the same way all our unsuspecting husbands did.”

  “The MacKeage curse?” Matt asked, carefully removing Joel’s sticky fists from his hair and holding them safely in his hands.

  Heather laughed when Winter reached over and pinched her in warning. Not that it did any good.

  “It seems all us girls got pregnant the first time we made love to our husbands. Or should I say our soon-to-be husbands,” Heather said with another laugh when Matt shot his gaze to Winter.

  Winter felt herself blush all the way to her toes. “That’s why Camry is scared to death of dating,” she said, canting her chin defensively.

  Matt looked back at Heather and lifted a brow. “And none of you ladies thought to warn your soon-to-be husbands of this…ah, curse?”

  “We didn’t put two and two together until after Chelsea got married,” Heather explained with a shake of her head. “No matter what birth control we tried, it didn’t seem to work.” She looked at Winter and smiled sadly. “It doesn’t look good for Megan, though. I don’t think Wayne Ferris is man enough to step up to the altar.”

  “She doesn’t need the bastard,” Matt growled before Winter could respond. “The right guy will come along one of these days, and Ferris won’t even be a memory.”

  “Bastard,” Joel repeated, bouncing on Matt’s shoulders.

  “Aw, hell,” Matt muttered.

  “Aw, hell,” Joel squealed.

  “Oh-oh, come on, tyke,” Heather said with a laugh, reaching for the toddler. “I better get you back to the flock.” She stopped at the kitchen door with Joel in her arms and looked at Matt. “Has Camry found you? She works for NASA and she’s just dying to talk jet engines with you.”

  “I’ll find her,” Winter said, not stopping to think exactly what she was getting her husband into.

  They did indeed find Camry, and the NASA scientist had Matt backed into a corner for the next hour discussing propulsion theories. Winter left her poor husband to his fate with a cheery smile and spent her time reminiscing with her sisters, a few of which she hadn’t seen for a full year.

  Matt ended up being the main topic of conversation, no matter how hard Winter tried to move onto something else. Who was he, where did he come from, had he really commissioned her to pick the spot for their home, was he truly richer than God, how had she dared to run off and get married without telling Papa…and on and on it went until her mama finally came to Winter’s rescue and said it was time to cut their birthday cake.

  The cake was a monstrous, three-tier masterpiece of pink and yellow confection that sat in the middle of the dining room table as the centerpiece of the banquet, or rather, what was left of the banquet. The entire house was decorated for Christmas, except that the dining room had an eclectic assortment of birthday balloons and streamers crowded in with the holiday cheer.

  For practical reasons, birthday gifts had stopped coming to each of the girls when they turned six, simply because of the chaos it created. Being together was gift enough, Grace MacKeage had declared, and besides, she should be receiving the gifts since she was the one who’d birthed them. So the table in the corner contained only eight gifts, one from each of the daughters to their mama, and one from their papa to his wife.

  Grace rang a bell and everyone—aunts, uncles, cousins, sons-in-law, grandchildren—ceased whatever they were doing and gravitated toward the dining room, spilling out into the living room and foyer and even up the stairs.

  “We have two new additions to our immediate family,” Grace began once the crowd had quieted down. “Most of you know that Chelsea had another son in May whom she named Clayton, and Winter married Matt Gregor two months ago.” She waited for the cheering to die down, then continued. “For our extended family, Michael and Catherine had Angus MacBain four months ago, and Morgan’s son, Duncan, just had a baby girl on Thanksgiving Day.”

  The cheering resumed, and Grace had to raise her hands to quiet everyone again. “Now you know that we—”

  The door knocker sounded loudly, and Grace fell silent with a frown. “Who’s not here?” she asked.

  Nobody said anything as they all looked around and mentally took count, which would take the rest of the afternoon, Winter figured. Somebody opened the front door, and Winter stretched to see who was almost two hours late for the infamous MacKeage birthday party, but she couldn’t see past the turned heads all looking toward the door.

  The low murmur started in the foyer, moving toward the dining room as the crowd parted, or rather as everyone scurried back and looked down at the floor.

  It wasn’t until the people in the dining room parted and a large black crow flapped onto the table that Winter underst
ood the look of amazed confusion on everyone’s faces. The crow, carrying a small red silk bag in its mouth, boldly walked up the table past the platters of food and didn’t stop until it was standing right in front of Winter.

  Matt set his hands on her shoulders. “A friend of yours?” he whispered in her ear, and Winter could hear the amusement in his voice.

  But she only kept staring at the crow, who had cocked his head and was staring back at her, the little red bag dangling from its beak.

  “I think he wants to give you a birthday present,” Matt said, using his hands on her shoulders to nudge her forward. “Go ahead, take the bag.”

  It was one thing to dream about being visited by a wise old bird, and even finding a feather in her bed the next morning, but it was a bit disconcerting to be seeing him in all his feathered flesh in front of dozens of witnesses. When she still didn’t move, Matt reached past her and set his hand under the crow’s head. The crow opened his thick black beak and simply dropped the gift into Matt’s hand.

  Matt held the bag by its drawstrings and dangled it in front of her. Aware the dining room was quiet enough to hear a mouse sneeze, Winter rubbed her damp palms on her pants, finally forced her gaze from the crow to the bag, reached out and took it from her husband.

  But instead of opening it, Winter looked back at the crow that was still standing staring at her, his dark round eyes shining with what looked like amused anticipation.

  “Open it, lass,” Matt softly commanded, placing his hands reassuringly on her shoulders again.

  “Y-you open it,” she whispered, not moving.

  “It’s not my birthday.”

  Winter frowned at the bag.

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Daar snapped from across the table. “Open it so we can see what the bird brought ye.”

  Winter still didn’t move.

  “You told me the crow in your dream brought you good news,” Matt whispered into her hair. “So what has you worried, lass?”

  Winter tilted her head back to look up at him. “What if it’s my tap root?” she whispered, well aware of the small but substantial weight in her hand. “What if the crow is really the strange energy who killed my tree, and he had only been trying to give me a false sense of hope in my dream? I—I haven’t heard from him for nine weeks.”

  “If he’s that energy, then this is your chance to confront him,” Matt told her, turning her around to face him, likely so she’d quit staring at the crow. He reached for the bag she held between them. “I’ll open it, then,” he offered, pulling on the silk to loosen the drawstrings.

  He opened the bag, held it up to look inside, and frowned. “It’s a statue,” he said, pulling out a tiny figurine.

  Winter gasped and took it from him. “Tom!” she cried, holding up the granite carving of a bear whose body was wrapped around the figure of a woman made from wood. Winter spun back toward the table. “T-Tom?” she whispered, stepping toward the crow.

  “There’s a note with the statue,” Matt said, holding a piece of rolled birch bark in front of her to see.

  “Well, what’s it say?” Daar asked, glaring over Winter’s head at Matt. “Don’t keep us all in suspense. It’s a crow, for God’s sake, and he wants ye to read what the gift is about.”

  Winter looked from the silent bird to the statue in her hand as she heard Matt unrolling the scroll behind her. The statue was an amazing work of art, intricately blending stone and wood together. The sleeping granite bear was only about five inches long and three inches wide, and it all but surrounded the wooden female figure lying inside its tender, protective embrace.

  “It—It seems to be a wedding invitation,” Matt said into the silence, his voice thick with…Winter couldn’t decide if Matt was overcome with emotion or angry. He cleared his throat and began reading. “To all present who believe in the power of love, you are invited to the high meadow on Bear Mountain this afternoon at the time of the winter solstice, to witness the union of Winter Sutter MacKeage and Matheson Macalpin Gregor.”

  Winter looked across the table when Daar gasped.

  “You’re from the Clan of the Mist,” Daar whispered, his face as pale as new snow. “Yer great-great-grandfather was Mathe Macalpin, Bear of Gairn.”

  “Aye,” Matt said thickly over Winter’s head, and she could feel the tension radiating from him.

  She turned around. “What’s wrong with being from the Clan of the Mist?” she asked Matt.

  “Nothing,” Daar said, causing her to turn back toward him. “It’s Mathe Macalpin that means something, girl. Legend says Mathe was the original drùidh, sent by Providence to straighten out the mess mankind had made of the world by that point.” He nodded toward the man standing behind her and shook his head. “Ye married Macalpin’s great-great-grandson, but Matt’s grandfather wasn’t the drùidh who threw away his calling. It was yer grandmother, wasn’t it, boy?” he asked, lifting his gaze to Matt. “Joan Macalpin.” Daar looked back at Winter. “Providence did try to find a softer energy several millennia ago, but Joan wanted none of it. So Providence is trying again with you.”

  “But what does Matt’s heritage have to do with anything?”

  “Maybe ye should ask him,” Daar suggested, nodding at the silent crow still perched on the table.

  Winter tightened her fist around her statue and looked down at the bird. The crow spread its wings, lifted its beak, and let out a loud caw that echoed though Gù Brath. It rose from the table to glide past Winter, and she spun around to watch it land on Matt’s shoulder, where it looked down at the scroll in his hand.

  “There—ah, there’s more,” Matt said, staring at her with unmistakably worried eyes before he looked back at the note and began reading again. “The ceremony will be presided over by Father Thomas Gregor Smythe.”

  Matt looked at Winter when she gasped. “T-Tom’s a priest?” she whispered. “And—And a Gregor?” She lifted her gaze to the crow, then back to Matt. “He’s related to you? But how?”

  Apparently forgetting he had a crow sitting on his shoulder, Matt shrugged. The startled bird gave a disgruntled caw and rose into flight, swooped over the stunned crowd, and disappeared through the open front door, leaving only silence in its wake.

  Winter looked down at the statue in her hand. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she said, looking up at Matt. “Who is Thomas Gregor Smythe? And why were we just invited to our own wedding?”

  “Because yer first wedding wasn’t witnessed by yer loved ones,” Daar said with a curt nod and smug smile. “I told ye that wasn’t right.”

  “We have less than an hour before the solstice,” Greylen MacKeage added, and Winter looked up to find her papa smiling. “We need to get going before you miss your wedding, don’t you think?”

  Winter looked around at the stunned faces of her extensive family, noting that those who had married into the MacKeages appeared confused. Although Winter knew all the husbands were somewhat aware of their wives’ rather strange heritage, this was likely the first time they were witnessing the magic firsthand. “I…ah, I don’t think the children should come with us,” she suggested, turning to look at her husband. “Because we’re not sure what we’re going to find,” she said, reminding him of his earlier worry back at their cottage.

  Matt nodded and looked at Grey and Robbie. “She’s right,” he added. “It would be best if the children stay here. And anyone else who can’t make it through deep snow to the meadow.”

  That left just her sisters and husbands, her parents, uncles and aunts, and a few grown cousins, Winter figured. Well so be it. Whatever they were about to encounter at the cliff, they would stand united.

  Utter chaos once again ruled as parents explained to their offspring that they were leaving for a while, but that they’d be back soon to continue the party. Children cried, those staying behind tried to soothe them, and everyone else went in search of their coats and boots.

  Matt took Winter by the shoulders and turned her toward hi
m. “He’s lived here for almost three years. What do you know about Tom?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” she said, clutching the statue between them. “Only that he showed up one April morning, moved into your cabin, and that his carvings are beautiful works of art.” She shrugged. “I don’t even know how he supports himself. He always gives the money from his carvings to people in town who need a little financial help.”

  “He was obviously a pilot,” Matt said, “considering how he handled that jet this morning.” He shook his head. “I don’t know any Thomas Gregor Smythe.”

  “D-do you think it’s safe for everyone to go to the meadow?” Winter asked. “What if it’s a trap?”

  “To trap what, lass? A bunch of women and a few men, most of them old? For what purpose?” He smiled and smoothed her hair back from her face. “You’ve trusted Tom this long, maybe you should trust him now. You’ve never felt anything dark or foreboding when you were with him, have you?”

  “No,” Winter said softly, looking down and fingering the head of the bear statue. “I always felt…I felt peaceful when I was with Tom.” She looked up. “Didn’t he make you want to just crawl up on his lap and tell him all your secrets?”

  Matt gave her a lopsided grin. “No, I can’t say Tom ever had that affect on me,” he drawled. He took the statue from her and studied it. “Is this us?” he asked, holding it up for her to see. “In our cave, that first night I came to you?”

  “No, the second night,” Winter told him, taking back the statue. “Once there were no secrets between us, and you came back and kept my nightmares away, holding me safe and secure so I could have a dream that promised hope for our future.”

  Matt had just cupped her face and was leaning down to kiss her when he suddenly stilled with the strangest expression. He slowly broke into a smile that made his eyes gleam with golden warmth, and he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. “Are you ready to hear me repeat my vows of trust and loyalty to you, Winter?” he whispered, pulling mere inches away from her lips.