Текст книги "Charming The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“We’re going to make love again,” she said, pulling away and staring up at him. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. Curtly.

He was so unbelievably handsome. His eyes burned with the fire of passion, and his broad shoulders and marvelous chest radiated unimaginable strength. Grace shivered. She wanted him again with a fierceness that consumed her.

And he wanted her. She could feel his desire straining against his pants, pulsing at the very heart of her womanhood. Grace shifted to feel more of him push against her as she began unbuttoning her blouse, her eyes never leaving his, her whole body trembling with urgency.

As soon as she got her blouse open and her bra unsnapped, Grey lowered himself down until his chest covered hers. She moaned with pleasure.

He groaned in triumph.

He kissed her again, and Grace clung to him, opened her mouth to his, and wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting her hips against his erection. His groan became louder, more urgent, and as arrogantly male as he was.

He turned onto his back, taking her with him, and Grace found herself straddling his hips again. She didn’

t swat his hands away this time when he captured her breasts and sent a bolt of sensuous heat coursing through her.

Callum came bursting through the bedroom door, Morgan one step behind him.

“If you’re not wanting your carpets bloodied,” Callum said, “you’ll get yourself downstairs and shut up Stanhope.”

“Dammit. Get the hell out of here,” Grey shouted, the power of his voice jouncing Grace like an earthquake.

Callum came to a sudden stop. Morgan ran into his back. Both men turned as red as their hair and immediately faced the hearth. But they didn’t leave.

Grace certainly wanted to. Preferably by seeping through a crack in the floor. She didn’t need a mirror to know her cheeks were flaming red. She hastily buttoned her blouse back up and tried to slide off Grey.

He took hold of her hips and held her in place.

She glared at him.

He grinned at her.

“We’re sorry, Grey,” Callum said, still facing the hearth. “But Ian’s threatening to toss Stanhope off the north tower. He caught him trying to steal one of the snowcats.”

“Out,” Grey repeated, with less volume this time.

Callum and Morgan headed for the door. Morgan darted a quick look over his shoulder at Grace and shot her a wink. He turned back and all but ran over Father Daar, who came walking into the room next.

Grace closed her eyes and groaned, throwing herself forward and burying her face in Grey’s chest. She felt his sigh lift her a foot toward the ceiling and blow against her hair.

But it wasn’t until she heard Jonathan calling her name as he walked into the room that Grey finally moved. He tossed her off him and stood up, leaving Grace to tumble about wildly on the bed for balance.

She ended up rolling to the other side of the bed and slipping down onto the floor.

“Goddammit! Can a man not have privacy in his own house?” Grey shouted at them.

“Grace!” Jonathan said with a gasp, staring at her with an appalled expression distorting his face. His features suddenly darkened, and his eyes turned hard. “What are you doing?” he asked in a tone that said he already knew and that he didn’t like it.

“Anyone still in this room in two seconds is dead,” Grey said. “And that includes you, old man,” he added, glaring at the grinning priest.

Grace looked down to see if she could crawl under the bed and disappear. First, Father Daar had caught her kissing Jonathan, and now, he’d found her in bed with Grey. The man was going to make her kneel in a corner for nine days straight.

Apparently, Callum and Morgan believed Grey’s threat.

They grabbed the old priest by his arms and all but carried him out of the room. Jonathan, still standing across the bed staring at her, didn’t move. It was as if he couldn’t come to terms with what he had found.

Grace watched as Grey strode to the chair by the hearth and picked up the sword. Her embarrassment forgotten, she jumped on the bed, crossed its great width, and pushed Jonathan with all her might.

“Get out,” she said, stepping down to the floor, still pushing him. “If you want to save Podly, you’ll get out now.”

The name of his precious satellite rousted him into action. He turned and walked to the door but stopped and stared first at Grace and then at the half-naked, dangerously serious man holding a sword in his hand, looking as if he knew how to use it.

“I’ll…ah…wait downstairs,” Jonathan said then, eyeing the sword as he shrugged his shoulders to straighten his shirt, smoothing down the front of it with an unsteady hand.

Grey advanced on him. Jonathan pivoted and ran out. Grace heard him bump into the end of the hall and then stumble down the stairs. And she flinched when Grey slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

Grace could only gape as he turned and stood facing her. The man looked like a medieval warlord from the same picture book as his castle. He was impressively naked from the waist up, his broad shoulders and muscled arms rippling with tension that also shone in the taut planes of his chiseled face. His bare feet were planted wide for balance, and his sword was gripped with the surety of one who was comfortable handling it.

If he replaced his pants with the plaid hanging over the hearth and added a sporran like the one Michael had mentioned, Grey would actually look like a Scots warrior ready for battle.

Grace took a step back. He started toward her, and she turned and jumped on the bed, moving to the middle before she faced him again. He didn’t stop his advance until his thighs were touching the blankets.

“You’ve buttoned your blouse crooked,” he said, his soft voice in stark contrast to his posture.

“I…I’m not falling for that trick, MacKeage. The minute I look down, you’re going to jump me.”

The left corner of his mouth kicked up. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Grace?”

“N-no.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?”

“You are. You should see yourself,” she said, waving at him. “You look like a…like a…”

“A what?”

“Like a warrior.”

He puffed out his already broad chest, running a hand over it as if to smooth down a shirt he wasn’t wearing.

“You think so?” he asked. “Does the look appeal to you?”

“Appeal to me?” she whispered. Was he teasing her now? “Like an ancient warrior,” she clarified, more to test his reaction than to insult him.

He didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m thirty-five. That’s not old.”

He was toying with her, the way a cat toyed with a mouse just before he ate it. Grace slowly inched her way further across the bed and caught her lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. If she didn’t know better, she would think she was the one who had traveled eight hundred years through time—

backward.

Grace couldn’t get Michael’s story out of her head. Her stomach churned, and she felt dizzy in an Alice-in-Wonderland sort of way.

“Where…where did you get that sword?” she asked, slowly heading for the opposite side of the bed.

Her feet got caught up in the blankets, and she lost her balance. Grey was on her before she finished falling, covering her with his body, his sword now resting beside her head.

“It’s been in my family for generations,” he told her, continuing their conversation as if nothing had changed. “Would you like for me to straighten your blouse for you?”

She blinked at him. “N-no,” she said in a whisper, unable to look away from his amused eyes. He was laughing at her, enjoying her state of confusion.

She didn’t know which confused her more, what she was seeing or what she was feeling. He was acting like a throwback to an era long dead, yet she loved the feel of his body covering hers.

It felt natural. Right. And so very confusing.

He brushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. “If you don’t get up now, I’m going to finish what we started,” he said, ignoring the fact that he had to move first, since he was on top of her.

Not that Grace wanted to move. She wanted to lose herself with this man, until all her problems ceased to exist and the old priest died so she wouldn’t have to face him ever again. She wanted to stay in bed with Greylen MacKeage until the rain stopped falling, the ice melted, and Jonathan Stanhope went home.

She also wanted to ask Grey a very important question.

But she just didn’t have the nerve, or the courage, to deal with his answer if that answer was yes—yes, he had been one of the men in Michael’s storm four years ago.

He suddenly sighed and laid his forehead on hers.

“Now what’s the matter, lass? You’re looking as if the weight of the world just dropped on your shoulders. Are ya embarrassed?”

Grace quickly grabbed the excuse he gave her. “Yes,” she blatantly lied. “Father Daar’s going to have me kneeling in a corner for nine days.”

“Nay,” he growled through a chuckle. “I have some influence with the old priest. I’ll not let him set a nine-day penance for ya.” He leaned back and grinned at her. “Two days should be enough to make ya change your ways.”

“Change my ways?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re a passionate woman, Grace Sutter, and I’m thinking ya need taming.”

“By a priest?”

“Nay,” he whispered, lowering his head. “By me, lass,” he breathed into her mouth, covering her lips with his.

And quietly, slowly, the storm of passion returned. Grey trailed kisses down the column of her throat, and Grace tilted her head back to give him better access. One by one, he undid the buttons on her blouse, then slowly pushed back the cloth to expose her.

The warmth of his breath caressed her naked skin, followed closely by the heat of his mouth. Grace cupped his head and guided his exploration, whimpering when he found just the right spot and mewling when he moved to another.

“Yar skin is like cream,” he said with appreciation, his tongue coaxing a shuddering response from her.

“So soft. So supple,” he continued between lavishing, savoring licks that slowly trailed down from her chest to her stomach. “And so very responsive,” he finished, nipping her lightly where her skin stopped and her pants began.

Her head thrown back on a pleasured moan, Grace felt her pants being unsnapped just before Grey’s mouth continued its journey. As his head moved lower, her hips were exposed, and then she felt her pants slide off and heard them fall to the floor.

Warm fingers, feeling like fairy kisses, trailed up her legs and came to rest on the downy-soft hair at the juncture of her thighs. Grace sat up, reaching to cup his face, and Grey moved back to her, sealing their lips in a searing kiss.

His hand, however, remained behind and continued to drive her to distraction with incredibly gentle but maddening caresses.

Grace lifted her hips as she pushed at the waistband of his pants. But he would not be distracted. Or hurried. In fact, it was as if time stood still for them. The world receded. Colors faded, blending into a glow of brilliant white.

Only Grey remained in focus for her. The look of his eyes filled with passion was forever burned in her brain. With her own eyes closed, she could see him perfectly, feel what he was doing to her, and she prayed that he didn’t stop.

His mouth started its journey down her body again, and Grace could only helplessly, and eagerly, anticipate where he would touch her next.

And then it came—that hot, wet, and most intimate kiss. Grace bucked against him, and he held her hips and used his tongue to send her over the edge.

She tightened, spiraling upward, keening her pleasure aloud. And then Grey was there, kissing her face, her neck, and finally settling back over her mouth. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her sensitive nipples. He entered her slowly, pulling back and then pushing just a little bit deeper in an unhurried rhythm that sent her spiraling again.

His tongue made love to her mouth, and Grace could only cling to him as brilliant flashes went off in her head. She reached down and grabbed his hips, pulling him even more deeply inside her.

His hard, overheated body drove against her again and again, and Grace gloried in the strength of his response to her own pleasure. He reared up suddenly, deeply sheathed inside her, threw back his head, and let out a growl that echoed off the high ceiling.

Grace stroked his arms and shoulders and ran her hands over his chest. And when he lowered himself to his elbows and kissed her, she ran her fingers through his damp hair and savored the taste of their lingering passion.

“I’m thinking I can talk Daar into only one day,” he whispered past a lazy smile, moving to lie beside her.

“And if I find ya in my bed tonight, I might even talk him into letting me work out your penance.”

Grace was too spent to rally a response. She was more inclined to cuddle against him and go to sleep.

She yawned, rather loudly, wrapped her arm around his waist, and settled her head on his shoulder.

He shrugged, disturbing her contentment. “Hey. You have a ski lift to save,” he reminded her. “And a boss to get rid of.”

Grace lifted her head and tried to work up enough energy to glare at him. “They’ve both lasted this long, they can last a few more minutes. Or didn’t you know that a woman needs cuddle time after, just as much as she needs foreplay?”

“Cuddle time?” He choked on a chuckle, relaxing back against the bed and gathering her tightly against him.

The sound of a child fussing came from the baby monitor by the side of the bed. Grace let out a groan and tried to sit up.

“I have to go to him,” she said when Grey wouldn’t let her.

He merely cocked his ear to the sounds of Baby demanding attention. “Wait,” he said. “Somebody will get him.”

It was Ian they heard coming into the room, talking to the child in a voice that was barely recognizable.

“Ah, wee one,” Ian said with a sing-song lilt. “Are ya feeling abandoned? Come to your new uncle, little bairn,” he continued.

Grace listened to the rustle of Baby being picked up.

“There now,” Ian said. “You come with me. I’ll fill that tiny belly of yours. And I’ll change that uncomfortable nappy while we’re at it.”

Grace turned a horrified look on Grey as a thought struck her. What would Ian think of Baby if he knew who his father was?

As if he could read her mind, Grey slowly shook his head. “He’ll never know, Grace. Unless you tell him, he will not know.”

“What…what would he do?”

“To the babe?” he asked, leaning back in surprise. “Nothing. Ian’s not a cruel man. But I would just as soon he not have that kind of weapon against MacBain.”

“As you do? It was Ian’s daughter who died, and your…your fiancée,” she said, almost choking on the word. Child-bride would be more appropriate. She met his penetrating stare with a defiant lift of her chin.

“Ah, Grace,” he finally said. “You’re going to make me pay for that supposed sin for a long time, aren’t you?”

She wiggled to see if he would let her up.

Surprisingly, he did. He climbed off the bed, leaving his sword lying beside her. Grace stood up, pulling the sheet with her, wrapping it around her like a cloak. She then took hold of the sword. She couldn’t lift it, so she dragged it across the bed. And as she had guessed, once she stood it on the floor, her hands were even with her chin. It was as tall as she was.

“Well, you don’t ever have to worry I’ll use this on you,” she said, using both hands to try to hold it up like a weapon.

“Wee blessings,” he agreed, taking it from her just as she was about to drop it on her bare toes.

He hefted it with his right hand and held it up without the least bit of effort, saluting her by bringing it to his forehead and bowing.

“Your full accent is back,” she said.

He placed the sword over the arms of the chair. “I’m comfortable with you, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I need not guard my words.”

Grace went weak in the knees. There wasn’t another thing this man could have said that would have tugged at her heart strings more profoundly.

Grey was comfortable with her, like warm slippers on a cold winter night, like hot cocoa in front of a fire, like loafing in bed all day on Sunday reading the papers. She liked the thought of everyday life with Grey.

If she overlooked the fact that the man had no electricity in his bedroom and that he acted more like a medieval warrior than a ski resort owner, she just might like to spend the rest of her days here at Gu Bràth.

Grace sat at the end of a large table loaded with enough food for ten men. At the moment, there were only five of them eating. Father Daar, bless her good luck, was off someplace, she hoped on only day two of his novena. She was still embarrassed about being discovered in bed with Grey and was in no hurry to face the man of the cloth any time soon.

Jonathan was conspicuously missing as well, and Grace guessed he had finally come to his senses and stopped beating his head against the brick wall the four MacKeages presented. Either that, or he had walked into the mountains on his own to look for her disks.

Baby was present, however. He was on his second trip around the table, being passed from man to man, entertaining them all with his new trick. It was becoming a contest to see who could get him to smile the most.

Ian was winning. The grumpy old sourpuss was making a complete fool of himself, rubbing Baby’s chin with his beard and making funny cooing sounds.

As each man got Baby in turn, he gave his opinion on a name for the child. Each MacKeage had lectured her already, saying it was indecent to let the boy go so long without a proper name.

Callum wanted to call him Duncan, saying it was a noble, strong name for such a hearty lad.

Morgan thought Douglas was a finer name and that they could call him Dougie while he was young.

Ian thought she should call him Malcolm.

And Grey? Well, he had given her a cheeky grin and said he thought Satchel fit the boy pretty well.

Their little game reminded her that it was Mary’s wish that Michael name his son. Yet Grace still did not know if the man was sane or not. And she was sitting at a table with the only people she could ask.

She was loath to bring up the subject, though. Her head ached from too little sleep, and she was in no hurry for the shouting to start again.

But the men all looked tired and weather-worn. It was possible they might not even be up to causing a scene. And their bellies were full. Grace remembered from having six older half brothers that a man with a full belly was usually more mellow. More pliable. And less inclined to argue.

“I was wondering,” she started, reaching out to take Baby and settle him onto her lap, “if you gentlemen would answer a question that’s been bothering me for some time.”

“What would that be, lass?” Callum asked, just before he put a fork full of eggs in his mouth.

“I was wondering if you could set aside your prejudices just for a moment. I need your honest and unbiased,” she emphasized for good measure, “opinion. I have a worry that Michael MacBain isn’t quite…well, that he’s not quite sane.”

She ducked her head after her statement, prepared to weather another gale of shouting for mentioning Michael’s name.

But it did not come. Several eyebrows rose in surprise, and then all of them, Grey included, frowned at her.

“What do you mean, not quite sane?” Ian asked, curious despite his darkening expression.

“You know. Not right in the head. Given to delusions. Has he ever had an accident that you know of? Or been caught in a thunderstorm? Did something happen to Michael four years ago that would make him think he traveled through time?”

Every fork in every hand fell to the table, clattering with a loudness that echoed like gunfire in the sudden silence of the room. Every face looking at her suddenly paled.

Grace was beginning to suspect the worst. Father Daar had said he couldn’t confide in her because he was bound by his position not to tell what he knew. And now every MacKeage at the table looked guilty as hell.

“You beat him up, didn’t you?” she accused, pointing her fork at them. “Four years ago, you had a confrontation and put Michael in a coma.”

“What are you blathering about, woman?” Callum asked, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “You’re accusing us of assaulting MacBain?”

“Well, something happened four years ago. Michael told Mary and then me that he’d traveled here eight hundred years from the past. That he’d been in a fight when a terrible storm appeared. And he’d been consumed by a bright light and woke up in modern time.”

“He said that?” Morgan whispered, his face turning slightly green. “To Mary? And you?”

Why were they all acting as if she had just told them ghosts were sitting on their shoulders? Grace looked up the length of the table at Grey. He was sitting stone still, his features drawn, his evergreen eyes unreadable.

She looked down and picked up Baby’s pacifier and stuck it in his mouth. Great. Another dead end.

And that left only Michael MacBain himself. She was going to have to confront him again and not let up until she understood what had happened.

“You will not,” Grey said from the head of the table. “You stay the hell away from him.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken her decision aloud. Grace looked up, making sure he could read in her eyes everything she was thinking.

“I want to know the truth.”

Callum, Morgan, and Ian turned and looked at Grey.

“It’s unimportant,” he said. “MacBain’s sanity is not the issue.”

“Tell me, lass,” Ian interjected, looking back at her. “Was this why Mary went to Virginia?”

“Yes.”

“But she was coming back?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Does that not answer your question, then?” Ian said. “Your sister must have thought him right in the head. And may I ask what difference it makes? Mary’s dead, lass,” he reminded her in a gentle voice, his eyes suddenly softening. “It’s over.”

“But it’s still important to me,” she argued. “I want to know the truth. Mary loved him, and I want to understand why he told her such a story.”

“He’s as sane as we are,” Grey said then, standing up and walking to her end of the table. He took Baby from her and settled him against his chest. He reached down and turned her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry if that only makes things harder for you, Grace, but we will not lie to you. Michael MacBain is no more crazy than I am.”

Chapter Eighteen

Grey, Jonathan, and the MacKeages were standing in the ski-lift shed waiting for Grace to perform her magic on the heavy, ice-burdened gondola cable. And it looked to Grey as if it was about to snap at any minute.

Jonathan stood next to Grace, discussing stress loads, amps, volts, and dead shorts. Jonathan shook his head steadily, saying it didn’t sound feasible. Grace nodded her head and said it should work. Her beautiful features were set in determined lines.

Ian stood between Grace and Jonathan, his head moving back and forth like a child’s swing. He scratched his beard and frowned every time Jonathan said no and mimicked Grace when she nodded.

Callum was fueling up the two snowcats and keeping the generators fueled as well, and Morgan had taken Baby over to the hotel for Ellen Bigelow to watch. Ellen and half the town of Pine Creek, more likely. The kid was going to come back to them spoiled as hell and probably smiled to death.

Grey realized he’d barely dodged the swing of the sword back there in the dining room. He couldn’t believe MacBain had been stupid enough to tell Mary Sutter what had happened four years ago.

And then the idiot had repeated the story to Grace.

Grey had decided that he’d go to his grave with his secret, and Mary’s and Grace’s reactions were exactly the reason why. Mary had fled to her sister in horror, and Grace had labeled Michael MacBain insane.

What other conclusion could anyone draw from such an outrageous story? If he hadn’t actually lived it himself, he would have the same reaction as the Sutter women.

“I’m not an electrician or a lineman,” he heard Grace say to Ian. “I’m only speculating here. If we create a dead short in that lift cable, then send enough amps through it, the ice should simply melt off.”

“Or?” Ian said, giving her a crooked look.

Grace shrugged, tossing her hands up and letting them fall back against her sides. “Or it might blow up,”

she said, darting a look at Grey, then back at Ian. “I don’t know.”

“How do we put power to it?” Ian asked.

“An arc welder would be good, but I don’t know if the one you have is powerful enough. There’s almost two miles of thick cable. It could take days to build up the kind of energy we’re talking about.”

“Our generator is powerful,” Ian suggested. “Would that work?”

“It would,” Grace said, her brows knitted into a frown again. “Is it portable?”

“No. It’s permanently wired into its own shed. There,” Ian said, pointing toward the hotel.

“But there are wires running from it to here,” she observed, looking at the lightbulb glaring over their heads. She frowned again. “We could convert it to two-twenty, but that might create another problem.”

If the sigh he sent through the building was any indication, Ian was getting mighty tired of problems.

“And what would that be, lass?” he asked tiredly.

“We could burn down the shed.”

The old warrior tore off his hat and threw it on the floor. “God’s teeth! It might as well all burn if the cable snaps,” he shouted in frustration. “Just quit talking about it and do the thing, lass.”

Grey walked over to Grace, who was obviously reluctant to blow his business to hell. He took her by the shoulders from behind and whispered into her ear. “If it doesn’t work, Grace, it doesn’t matter. It’s about to collapse on its own.”

She leaned back against his chest and looked up into his eyes. “I made you a promise.”

“Nay. You said only that you would try, and that’s all I’m asking now.”

“The generator might blow up, too, and take half the hotel with it if a fire breaks out.”

She looked so worried he wanted to kiss her. Didn’t she realize that none of it mattered?

“They’re only things, Grace. We’ll make sure no one is in harm’s way, and the rest can take care of itself.”

“It’ll take all day and half the night to make this thing work,” Jonathan said. “What about my disks?”

“Callum can take you into the mountains in the snowcat,” Grey told him. “He knows where the crash site is.”

Jonathan turned his attention to Grace, apparently having learned she was easier to deal with. “You have to come back with me to Virginia the moment I get the disks,” he said. “It’s the only place I can keep you safe.”

Grey waited, his hands still firm and steady on her shoulders, for Grace to decide which was more important to her, him or a satellite that held the key to future space exploration.

What he was asking of her was unfair, but it was also important. What she chose now would tell Grey if her heart was someplace out of this world or with him.

“I’m not going back, Jonathan,” she said. “And Gu Bràth is the safest place I can be right now. Callum can get the disks, I’ll work with Podly from here, and then you can hand-deliver it to AeroSaqii yourself.”

Ian gave a shout of relief, clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. “That’s a good lass.”

“Grace,” Jonathan said, staring at her, then darting a look over her shoulder at Grey. “Dammit, MacKeage. I’ll rebuild your damn ski lift if it’s destroyed. Grace’s project is worth millions of dollars.”

Grey heard only half of what Jonathan said. He was still reeling with relief that Grace had chosen him over her life’s work. He spun her around and embraced her so fiercely he heard her squeak.

It was only then that the guilt set in.

What was he doing?

Eight hundred years ago this is how it would have been; the woman he’d chosen for his mate would suppress her dreams, her wishes, and her hopes—all for him.

Grey was ashamed of himself, considering the heated lecture he had given his men yesterday. He was being selfish, demanding that his hopes for the future take precedence over hers.

“Grace,” he said, leaning back to see her face. “I—”

Morgan suddenly burst into the shed, nearly falling on the path of melting ice. “The Grange Hall is on fire,” he said, out of breath. “And they’re needing every able-bodied man they can get hold of to help put it out before it spreads to Hellman’s store.”

Grey let go of Grace and started giving orders. “Morgan, tell Callum to hook the large sled to the snowcat, bring it over to the hotel, and load it up with whatever men are available. Ian,” he said, turning to him. “Find us some tools. Shovels, axes, whatever will help.”

“But the lift,” Ian said lamely, already moving to do as he was told.

“It will be here when we get back,” he said, taking Grace by the hand and leading her toward the door.

He stopped and looked back at Jonathan. “You’re staying here, Stanhope. But know this. Just as soon as we get back, we’re going to the crash site. Then you and your disks are getting the hell off my mountain. And you’re leaving alone.”

Once outside, Grey turned Grace to face him. “I want your promise to stay here,” he said. “Ian will stay with you, and the two of you can work on the lift if you want.”

He waited for her to nod before he continued. “Promise me you’ll be watchful, Grace,” he demanded, gripping her tightly to show he was deadly serious. “You’ll be safe here as long as you keep close to Ian.

I’ve already warned him about the men who may be after you.”

She nodded again, and Grey pulled her into his embrace, rocking her back and forth like a child. “Did you mean it, lass? That you’re really staying?”

“I meant it.”

He leaned back. “What about your work?”

“This is the age of technology, MacKeage. With my computer and a good link-up, I can be thousands of miles away from anywhere and still be able to work. I’ll free-lance.” She glanced toward Gu Bràth, an impish spark lighting her eyes. “Do you think it will spoil the look of your castle if I put an antenna on the roof?”

With a laugh born of pure joy, Grey lifted Grace off her feet and set his mouth firmly over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her own laughter sending a surge through his body that felt more like contentment than passion.