Текст книги "Only With A Highlander"
Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
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 herin 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 drùidhto 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 hermighty 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 myact of free will and not youmaking 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 yourtrust 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 with 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 haveany,” 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.
She was pregnant.
She was in love with Matheson Gregor.
And she knew exactly how to save mankind!
“What’s that?” Matt asked, still standing by the far wall, still holding her staff.
She held it out for him to see. “It’s a crow’s feather. I dreamt about being in the woods last night, and there was a crow who talked to me.”
Matt frowned at the feather, then lifted his gaze to her. “Seeing spirits again?” he asked.
She waggled the feather. “If he wasn’t real, then explain this.”
Matt walked up beside her, again frowning at the feather in her hand. “I must have carried it in on my clothing last night. Toss it in the fire. It’s likely loaded with mites.”
Winter carefully tucked the feather in her back pocket.
Matt held the pinewood stick toward her with a scowl. “Don’t put your faith in dreams, Winter.
They’re nothing more than wishful thinking,” he said, finally answering her earlier question as he reached down, lifted her hand, and wrapped her fingers around one end of the staff. “And getting what we wish for is not all it’s cracked up to be, believe me.”
The next three months were certainly going to be interesting if not maddening, Winter decided.
It would definitely take all the magic she could summon to turn this stubborn man’s thinking around.
Chapter Twenty
F rom the copilot’s seatof Matt’s powerful jet, Winter looked out the side window, noting but not really seeing the weather observatory on top of Mount Washington as they flew northeast over the New Hampshire White Mountains. She lowered her gaze from the bright morning sun to her lap, replaying the last twenty-four hours in her mind as she studied the thick gold band on her left hand.
She had no idea where Matt had gotten the beautiful ring, only that he had pulled a pair of matching gold bands from his pocket when the minister (she was using that term lightly if not skeptically) asked them to exchange rings during their simple wedding in Las Vegas yesterday. Winter remembered how her hand had warmed the moment Matt had slipped the ring onto her finger, and how when she’d slipped Matt’s ring onto his finger and he’d clasped their hands together, she had thought they might both burst into flames from the charge of electricity that had suddenly shot between them.
It was a beautiful ring, she decided, despite looking old and obviously used. Winter suspected it was a family heirloom that had belonged to his grandmother, the guardian. She also suspected Matt’s ring had belonged to his grandfather, a man who had chosen love over his calling to be a drùidh.The rings were a good omen for her and Matt’s own future, Winter decided. She loved Matt so much that she was giving up her calling for him, and she had faith that in time, Matt would love her just as much.
Winter suddenly wrinkled her nose. Even though she’d taken a shower yesterday in the suite Matt had booked them in Las Vegas—that they’d used only long enough to get cleaned up—and was wearing a completely new wardrobe purchased in the hotel shop, she kept catching the occasional hint of burnt cloth. The odor was still lingering in the jet, from their quick trip west yesterday morning, when they
’d both smelled like smoke.
Before they’d left the cave, Matt had tried to show her how to use her pinewood staff to light a simple fire. But instead of directing the energy to the logs he’d set on the floor, she had caught the pile of blankets on fire again. Then she’d toasted his box of supplies, then singed her saddle. And bless his very alive heart, Matt’s patience hadn’t run out until his duffel bag had exploded. As soon as he’d finished stomping the smoldering clothes, he’d walked up and silently taken her staff away. He’d then made some fancy motion that turned her puny pinewood stick into an artist’s sketch pencil, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he’d turned his sword back into a fountain pen and led her out of the smoky cave and up to his truck, parked on the road above the meadow.
They’d driven to Bangor, climbed into his jet, flown west at the speed of sound, and landed in Las Vegas not two hours later. They’d checked into a hotel after buying a change of clothes and taken turns showering. Then, holding her hand in a death grip as they walked the Las Vegas Strip—apparently worried she might come to her senses and turn tail and run—Matt had found a rather surreal chapel not very far from the hotel.
Winter still couldn’t decide if she’d spoken her vows to Matt in front of Elvis Presley or the Mad Hatter from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,but she was pretty sure the quick ceremony had been witnessed by three members of the Hell’s Angels. In fact, the fierce-looking trio of a woman and two men sitting in the back row had signed her and Matt’s marriage certificate, which Matt had quickly tucked in his suit pocket the moment Winter had finished signing her own name with his powerful fountain pen.
Winter did give her husband credit for remembering to feed her before they boarded the plane again and continued on to Utah. By four o’clock Utah time, Winter had found herself standing on the floor of a massive plant, surrounded by planes and powerful engines in various stages of completion.
When Matt had gotten involved in a serious discussion with several of his managers, Winter had quietly wandered off to give herself a tour of the factory.
Shyness not being part of her makeup, she’d soon found several women gathered in the lunchroom and had easily started up a conversation with them. Winter emerged less than half an hour later with one of the women in tow. Her name was Wanda Farley and she had a doctorate in mathematical engineering. Winter went in search of her husband to introduce Matt to his new quality control manager, Wanda.
Winter sighed and scanned the jet’s many instruments until she found a clock. It was 8:30 A.M., Eastern Standard Time she presumed, and they were only minutes away from landing in Pine Creek, which meant she was only an hour away from facing her parents as a married woman.
She couldn’t wait for that happy scene to unfold.
“I think you should go to your resort suite while I go see my parents,” she said into the mouthpiece of her headphones. “And I’ll come to you after I’ve told them we’re married.”
Matt looked over at her, seemingly startled by her sudden intrusion on his own thoughts, and frowned. “I’m going with you to tell your parents.”
“That’s very noble of you, but I don’t think it’s wise. My mother will be shocked, and maybe hurt that she didn’t attend my wedding, but she’ll be happy, I think. But my papa,” Winter said with a crooked smile behind her mouthpiece, “he’s likely to take his sword and run you through.” She reached over and patted Matt’s arm. “I think it would be best if we let them get used to the idea for…oh, for a week or two maybe, before we plan our first family dinner.”
“This isn’t open to discussion, Winter. I intend to be standing beside you when you face your parents.”
“And just how do I introduce you? As my husband Matheson Gregor, or as Cùram de Gairn?”
Matt took his hand off the yoke and covered hers, making Winter realize she’d been wringing them together. “You can introduce me however you want, as long as I’m standing beside you at the time,” he said softly. “Don’t keep my real identity a secret, Winter, or you’ll only hurt them further. I have nothing to hide from anyone. Not anymore. And neither do you. And you don’t need to protect me, lass.
I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“And Father Daar?” she asked. “And Robbie? You don’t think they’re going to be hopping mad when they find out I’ve married the man responsible for dooming mankind?”
Matt’s smile turned tender as he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “MacBain is an intelligent and insightful guardian. He won’t try to make you a widow without asking your permission first. And as for Pendaär, he’s no longer a worry for either of us. His power is gone.”
Winter’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you saying Father Daar is powerless now?”
Matt nodded. “When you hugged your pine, you transferred all the energy Pendaär’s been using all these centuries from him to yourself.”
Winter narrowed her eyes. She’d finally remembered to ask Matt if he had cut the top off the pine, but he swore it hadn’t been him, and that he’d also been trying to find out who had stolen a good deal of the tree’s remaining energy. And though she ultimately believed him, she couldn’t help being suspicious now. “How do you know I hugged the white pine?”
“I felt it,” Matt said. “Even though I was in Utah at the time, I felt the energy shift. It’s what drew me home to you.”
Winter blinked in surprise. He’d felt her hugging the pine? That’s why he’d come back? And Father Daar truly was powerless now? Just like the crow had told her in her dream?
“Does that mean Daar’s not a drùidhanymore?” she whispered into the mouthpiece. “That he’
s going to…is he going to die?”
Matt squeezed her hand. “Aye,” he softly confirmed. “But not because of you, but because that
’s simply the way Providence works. Pendaär knew this was going to happen, Winter, as he understands two drùidhscan’t control the same energy.” Matt squeezed her hand again. “He’s not going to die tomorrow, lass. He’ll merely live out the rest of his days as a mortal man.”
Winter turned to look out the window, forcing back her threatening tears. She didn’t want Father Daar to die defeated and powerless, no matter what a pest he’d been all these years. She certainly didn’t want him to die because of her. She looked back at Matt. “What happens to Daar if I renounce my calling? Would he get to keep his power then?”
“No,” Matt said with a shake of his head. “The energy has already shifted. If you renounce your calling now, it will simply lay dormant until your grandchild takes it up. That’s why Pendaär kept trying to stop you from seeing me. Even though he thought I was only a mortal man, he knew that if you chose me over your calling, all was lost for both you and for him. He was worried only about keeping the continuum balanced and not about your love life.”
“So he’s known all along he would lose his power the moment I came into mine,” she clarified, and Matt simply nodded. “But he said he would help me destroy you,” she whispered.
“By teaching you how to summon the magic,” Matt explained. He patted her hand, then took hold of the yoke again. “But I’ll teach you now.”
“Yes,” she said with a frown, “but only enough to help you keep your promise to Kenzie.”
“No,” Matt said, staring out the windshield of the jet. “I’ll teach you anything you want to know.” He looked over at her. “Including how to destroy me.”
Winter looked down at her hands and started toying with her wedding band again. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to smack Matt or throw herself into his arms. He truly had given up—completely and irrevocably and utterly hopelessly.
“Do you talk to Kenzie?” she asked without looking up. “And can he talk to you?”
“Most of the time, no,” Matt said. “Only when he walks the earth as a man.”
Winter looked over in surprise. “Kenzie becomes a man sometimes? When?”
“Four times each year, on the solstices and the equinoxes. For twenty-four hours beginning at the moment of each seasonal transition, he turns into his old self.”
“Two weeks ago!” Winter said, twisting in her seat to face Matt. “On the autumnal equinox, you and Kenzie were in the meadow on Bear Mountain, fighting with swords.”
Matt looked at her sharply. “How do you know that?”
“Tom saw you. He told me he saw two men in kilts fighting in the meadow, trying to kill each other. But then you walked off into the woods together, laughing.” She gasped. “The cut on Gesader’s neck. He got hurt in your sword fight, when he was Kenzie.”
Matt laughed and shook his head, looking out the windshield again. “We weren’t trying to kill each other, lass; we were only working up a good sweat. My brother got distracted by a comment I made and let down his guard long enough to give me an opening.” He looked at her, completely serious.
“There’s less than three months before the winter solstice, when Kenzie becomes himself again, and that’
s our best chance to make sure he stays himself.”
Winter could only blink at Matt. She had less than three months to master the magic? Saints and curses, if she didn’t get her staff under control by then, she’d likely blow Kenzie to kingdom come rather than save him.
Winter looked out her side window and quietly placed her hand on her blouse over the black feather she’d tucked inside her bra. Just three more months and she’d be able to stop worrying about saving mankind and start thinking about names for her baby instead. And by the winter solstice she would be designing a nursery for the house Matt was going to build them on Bear Mountain—even if she had to make her own pact with Providence to save her husband’s soul.
Matt stood in the living room of the MacKeage home, unable to decide who was more stunned, Robbie MacBain and Winter’s parents, or his gaping bride. He probably shouldn’t have turned his pen back into his sword as they had crossed the keep’s bridge, nor changed into his eight-hundred-year-old plaid just as he’d stepped through the door behind Winter, presenting himself as Cùram de Gairn.
But dammit, he knew she intended to keep his real identity a secret for as long as she could, out of some misplaced notion she needed to protect him. Now, though, she just looked like she wanted to kill him.
“They know we’re married?” she said through gritted teeth, balling her hands into fists, probably to keep from slapping him.
Keeping a guarded eye on Greylen and Robbie standing across the room in front of the hearth, Matt simply nodded.
“Matt called us yesterday afternoon,” a wide-eyed Grace said from beside Greylen. Matt didn’t think Grace was as horrified by his appearance as her daughter, but only disconcerted. “And he told us not to worry about you,” she continued. “That you were with him in Utah, and that you had gotten married in Las Vegas that morning.”
“But why?” Winter asked, looking from her mother to Matt. “Why would you have called and told them we were married?”
“To give them a chance to get used to the idea,” Matt said, finally giving Winter his full attention.
“I don’t know your parents or MacBain well enough to even guess what their reaction would be when you walked in here today and sprang this on them.”
“You were trying to protect me?” she whispered, looking at the sword in his hand, then back up at him. “From my own family?”
