Текст книги "Charming The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Grace forced herself not to flinch when he knelt down in front of her. She didn’t have much experience with angry men, especially angry strangers who admitted they wanted to kill people.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, his tone warning her to answer truthfully.

“I’m not sure I am hurt,” she said honestly. “I think I’m just weak in the knees from the…ah…landing.”

She did flinch then, when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “You’re bleeding,” he told her, lightly rubbing a finger over her cheek. He held up his bloody hand for her to see.

“So are you,” she told him, nodding at his forehead.

As he gazed into her eyes, he reached up with the same finger that wore her blood and slowly rubbed his own wound. Then he held his hand up between them and rubbed his fingers together, mixing their blood.

And still he stared at her.

For the life of her, Grace could not look away. Nor could she breathe very well at the moment. He moved his finger back to her face and rubbed her cheek again, further combining their blood.

Something…a feeling she couldn’t name…like a surge of energy maybe, passed between them.

What was he doing? And why did she suddenly feel that her torn-up, grief-ridden, uncertain world had just tilted on its axis yet another ninety degrees?

“Grace,” he said, his hand now cupping her chin so that she couldn’t turn away even if she found the strength to. “I will never hurt you.”

“I…I know,” she said, wondering where she found the nerve to lie to him now.

“You’re afraid of me.”

“You were wanting to kill a man.”

“I wouldn’t have.” The right corner of his mouth lifted. “Not with a witness around, anyway.”

She tried to pull her chin free, but he spread his fingers along her jaw and turned her face to him, making eye contact again. “I won’t hurt you, Grace.”

What did he want from her? A grateful thank-you? Acknowledgment that she believed him?

“I won’t hurt you, either,” she said.

Her absurd promise caused the other side of his mouth to lift, and he gave her an enigmatic smile. “You’ll do, Grace Sutter,” he said, finally releasing her and standing up.

Grace pulled her jacket back over her head and watched him as he stood ten feet away, facing her and the plane as he surveyed their surroundings.

He really was a strange man. And big. He had long legs, strong hands—she knew that from personal experience—and shoulders wider than any of her brothers’. His overlong hair was nearly black now that it was wet, and it curled over his collar. But earlier, in the terminal, it had been a beautiful, dark mahogany with lighter streaks running through it, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors without a hat. The two-day growth of beard on his face showed signs of having red in it as well.

But his eyes were what really made Grace’s heart beat just a little bit faster. They were a deep, pine-forest green that spoke of intelligence and strong character. Those eyes said Greylen MacKeage was a man who lived life on his own terms and made up his own rules as he went.

“I’m trying to figure out where we are,” he said, looking around the dense pine forest.

Grace looked around, too, and discovered a wonder-land that would have been beautiful in any other circumstance. The old-growth forest, draped in a freezing mist that made it look otherworldly, presented a very real problem for their continued survival. Ice was building on everything, weighing down the stately old trees, crackling in gentle rhythm with the stirring breeze.

It was late afternoon in February in Maine, which meant that what little daylight was left would soon be fading. Fog shrouded the treetops. Grace couldn’t see much more than fifty yards in any direction, and what she did see was sloping quite steeply.

“We’re on the side of a mountain,” she said lamely. She suddenly sat up straighter. “Hey. I have my computer and satellite link. I can get our coordinates.”

“Our what?” he asked, turning to face her.

“I can get a GPS reading on our position.”

He gave her a blank look. Grace set her jacket on the ground, then set Baby on it and wrapped him up tightly. “Help me find my computer,” she said, turning to climb back into the plane.

Grey tried to open the back cargo door, but it wouldn’t budge. He walked around the fuselage, tamping snow as he went, and after several tries and a few grunts, he was able to rip open the door on the opposite side. Her carry-on bag fell into the snow.

“Please, be careful with that,” she told him, reaching out and pulling it back inside the plane.

“Be careful?” he said, giving her an incredulous look across the compartment. “The damn thing just fell three thousand feet.”

“There. That one has my computer,” she told him, pointing to the metal suitcase now sitting in the front compartment, on top of the still hissing engine.

Grey worked the suitcase free and handed it to her across the plane. Grace pulled it out into the snow and packed down a level place to set it. Once satisfied that it was not in danger of tipping, she opened it up.

“Have you ever noticed,” he said, walking back around and hunching down beside her, “how we package our possessions better than ourselves? Our luggage fared better than we did.”

Grace didn’t think he wanted an answer to his observation, so she continued her task in silence. She unpacked the satellite link and handed it to him.

“Here. Set that down away from the plane in as open an area as you can find,” she instructed. “There’s fifty feet of cable, so find a spot where the tree canopy is fairly open to the sky.”

“Will the rain bother it?” he asked as he looked for an open space for the device.

“No. That part is waterproof,” she said. “No. It’s upside down. Turn it over.”

He did, then walked back and picked up Baby, who was beginning to fret.

“He’s hungry,” he said, unwrapping her jacket and peeking inside.

Grace looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “How do you know that? I still can’t discern one of his cries from another.”

He shot her a crooked grin. “One baby brother and two sisters,” he answered.

Grace ducked her head and turned to find her bag with Baby’s formula. Grey beat her to it and started to open it.

“No! I’ll get that,” she said, taking it from him. “I…ah…I know where everything is.”

He didn’t question her overreaction. He simply sat down on the snow with Baby. Grace fished around for the formula and pulled out one of the small bottles. She screwed a nipple onto it and handed it to him.

“It’s probably cold,” she said. “Won’t that cramp his stomach?”

“I’m more worried about it bringing down his temperature,” he told her, taking the bottle and holding it up to his cheek. He nodded. “Nope. It’s fine. It hasn’t chilled yet.”

Relieved, Grace returned to her task of booting up her computer and pulling up her GPS program. That took her a good five minutes. The formula might not be chilled yet, but her computer sure wasn’t happy with the weather.

“What’s a satellite link?” he asked, watching her work while Baby contentedly ate. “And what’s a GPS

position?”

Grace was pleased, if a little surprised, that Greylen MacKeage was not afraid to admit his ignorance about something.

“There are at least nine satellites orbiting the Earth whose sole function is to send signals back to the ground. I can use three of them and get a fix on exactly where we are.” She turned to look at him. “The computer will pick the satellites nearest us, lock onto them, and form a triangulation between them and us. My computer will read the data and calculate our position. Using the numbers it gives me, I can pinpoint us on a map.”

She watched Grey look up at the overcast sky, his expression contemplative. “There are machines traveling around the Earth and sending signals back down?” he asked, still looking up.

“Oh, there are dozens of satellites, not just the GPS ones. There are communication satellites, weather and photography satellites, and other things, like the Hubble telescope and the space station.”

He slowly lowered his gaze back to her. “Really?” he murmured. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What is it you do for a living, Grace, that you carry computers and satellite links?”

She broke contact with his gaze and punched several buttons on her computer. “I work for StarShip Spaceline, a civilian space travel company.” She looked back at him. “I’m a rocket scientist,” she said defensively, expecting…what? A look of disbelief? Of awe? Or horror, maybe?

What she got from Grey, though, was another smile.

“I’m a lucky man to have crashed with you, then,” he said. “Can your satellite link penetrate these heavy clouds?”

Grace returned her attention to the job at hand, so Grey would not see how startled she was by the warmth of his smile. Did nothing rattle this man? He was sitting in the middle of a plane crash on the side of a mountain, feeding a baby, with a woman who had just admitted that she was probably smarter than he was. And he was smiling.

“Well, can it?” he asked.

“Can it what?”

“Can your computer read the numbers through the clouds?”

“Yes, of course. At least, I hope so,” she said. “But all sorts of things could interfere with the link. The mountains, these trees, or a combination of both. Oh, damn.” She pushed a few more buttons, and a map of northwestern Maine popped up on the screen. But there was no magic little dot saying where they were on that map.

“What?” he asked, leaning closer to look over her shoulder.

“It’s not going to work. Either the mountains are blocking our trajectory, or the forest is too dense here.”

She turned to look at him. “And that means the ELT might not get out, either,” she told him truthfully. “It can work on the same system, or if we’re lucky an overseas plane will pick up the signal. They are constantly monitoring the channel the ELT emits from.”

He leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “What’s an ELT?”

“It’s the emergency locator transmitter every aircraft has. If you crash, it automatically starts sending out a signal for a search party to follow.”

Grace climbed back into the plane and searched through the debris for the ELT, keeping her thoughts to herself that Mark might not have been a very conscientious pilot. The guy had been a cowboy, overconfident and reckless by nature. Most bush pilots kept their equipment in pristine condition, knowing their lives often depended on it.

Mark had not. She found the ELT ten minutes later, but she also found that it wasn’t working. She opened it and saw that the battery had leaked and corroded the transmitter beyond use.

Grace had a thought, just a fleeting thought, that she wanted to kill Mark herself. The only hope they had was dead in her hands, a useless piece of smart technology that neglect had ruined.

She backed out of the plane and threw the ELT into the forest as far as she could. She swiped at the tears welling up in her eyes and looked at Grey.

“It’s useless,” she said. “It’s broken.”

Grey sat back against the fuselage and busied himself with Baby. Grace used her sleeve to wipe off her computer. She shut it down and closed the cover.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Nothing works. We’re even too remote to get a cell phone signal.”

“It’s not your fault,” he told her, looking up. He smiled suddenly. “So I guess it’s a good thing you crashed with me. I can do what your technology can’t, Grace. I can get us out of here.”

“Excuse me? I’m not walking off this mountain. They say you’re supposed to stay with the plane.”

“They?” he asked, his dark forest eyes lighting with humor. “Would these be the same they who said Baby should be in his car seat? He would have been bludgeoned to death.”

“They are the experts,” Grace retorted, lifting her chin, refusing to let that smile disarm her. “The people who study these things.”

Grey set the empty formula bottle on the ground and gently slung Baby onto his shoulder, pulling the edge of his jacket over him.

“Your experts are wrong this time.” He waved a hand at the forest. “This is my world. This is where I’m the expert. I can have us off this mountain and in front of a warm fire by morning.”

“That’s your male ego talking. And more than one group of crash victims have been found dead from such confidence.”

He came over and hunkered down in front of her. “Grace. I’m not boasting. If I thought our chances were better here, then we would stay put,” he told her, his tone solemn. “But I’m worried this storm will get worse before it gets better. And I want you and your child off this mountain tonight.”

“But you don’t even know where we are.”

“I will, once I get my bearings. I’ll have to leave you for maybe an hour, but then I’ll come back and take you out of here.”

“We shouldn’t separate.”

He reached out and touched her cheek. “Trust me, Grace. One hour. And then I’ll be back. I promise.”

* * *

And with that promise echoing through his head, Grey laboriously made his way through the steeply sloping deep snow of the forest, the avowed litany interspersed with curses.

How many more storms, more trials of terror, would he have to survive before he understood why he was here? What kind of power brings men eight hundred years forward in time and then places such obstacles in front of them to test their courage?

He wished he had his sword. His right hand felt naked, lost without the security of its weight. It was at home, though, in his room at Gu Bràth, uselessly out of reach.

He’d wanted it with him in Chicago this past week, just as badly as he wanted it now. The travel convention had been noisy, crowded, and oftentimes frightening. He had seen so many people, different-colored complexions, odd languages, and even odder clothing. Thousands—millions of people

–all massed together in the city of Chicago, living unimaginable lives. His business trip had been a trial unto itself, necessary to the success of their resort but unpleasant nonetheless. He had accomplished his goal of making TarStone Mountain Ski Resort known to the world of travel experts, but it had come at a price.

The airplane ride to Chicago had nearly undone him.

And the ride home had very nearly killed him.

Grey turned and started making his way back uphill, taking a more northerly direction. Slowly he relaxed, still not knowing where he was but feeling—sensing, really—that he was walking familiar ground. At least here in these mountains his life force was beginning to rebalance.

Grey snorted to himself. If that were even possible now. For four years he and his men had struggled to make sense of this journey they found themselves on, forced to make their way in this strange new land.

Learning to adapt in order not to perish.

The old priest, Daar, had been their only means of survival, and that simple fact bothered Grey more than he was willing to let anyone know. There was something strange about the priest, something unnatural.

Such as the fact that Daar had sold their daggers and swords for such an unbelievable sum of money.

Grey had studied the market, once he’d learned how; though valuable today as antiques, their weapons could not have brought the fortune the priest had said they did. Gu Bràth had been purchased with money that had appeared almost as if by magic.

And that was another thing. Why had the old priest not acted more surprised to find ten dangerously scared warriors invading his church? It was as if Daar, like the money, had appeared by magic just when they needed him most.

And that bothered Grey more than he was willing to admit, even to his men. He’d been tempted more than once to confront Daar, to ask the priest why he’d so readily believed their tale and why he had so eagerly agreed to help them. But each time Grey had thought to broach the subject, he had decided against it.

The old priest reminded Grey too much of the man—or the wizard or whatever the hell he’d been—he had seen on top of the bluff just before the great storm had descended upon them four years ago. Daar’s hair was shorter, his beard neatly trimmed, but beyond age and hair color there was an uncanny resemblance that had made Grey suspicious enough ultimately to back down from a confrontation with him.

If Daar really was the same man he’d seen four years ago, Grey needed to tread carefully around him.

Because magic was something even a laird didn’t mess with. And wizards were not people you wanted to anger. And so Grey had kept his thoughts to himself and contented himself instead by keeping a careful watch on the priest. If the old man began acting strangely, if his crooked old cane ever started to glow, well…Grey would find some way then to deal with the problem.

But so far the priest had been nothing but helpful since their suspiciously convenient meeting four years ago. Because of Daar, Grey and his men were viable members of this community now, naturalized citizens who paid taxes, engaged in commerce, and voted in a government they still didn’t fully comprehend. They could read, drive automobiles, and function in society without calling undue attention to themselves—insulated from the world while still being part of it.

They had drawn a mantle of security around themselves, walking a very thin line between the present and their eight-hundred-year-old past.

And because they were forever aware of that fragile boundary in time, all of them had spent the last four years looking over their shoulders—watching for storms. Hell, four of MacBain’s men had actually died in lightning storms, when they’d foolishly—or maybe insanely—sought them out in hopes of returning home.

Not Grey. Or any of his men. They were here, for better or worse, and determined to rebuild their clan.

If they survived long enough to father children.

Grey crested the top of the ridge and stopped to study the landscape. The clouds hung low, sagging over the summit and rolling through the forest like heavy smoke from a fire. Crystallized rain winked through the last of the daylight, weighing down branches as it clung to everything it touched.

Grey unzipped his jacket, letting his body cool. He thought about this new trial he found himself in. And he thought about the woman who shared it with him.

Grace Sutter. She’d been remarkably calm through it all—through the crash, her son’s near death, the pilot’s certain death, and finding herself stranded in the woods with a stranger. And yet Grace had put her trust in him when her technology had failed her.

Grey admired her for that.

Which only made him want her more.

She would make a fine wife for a man who needed a woman of courage, intelligence, and endurance.

She would be a strong mate, capable of partnering a warrior such as himself. Her son was proof she could bear him children, and her actions in the face of today’s danger spoke of her ability to think on her feet.

Although it seemed she would need a firm hand to guide her. Her son was also proof that Grace might be a wee bit too independent, seeing how she was returning to her childhood home with a child of her own

–and without the babe’s father.

Grey stood overlooking what he now recognized as North Finger Ridge and decided that he could handle Grace Sutter. Once he claimed her, he would see she abandoned this tendency to wander around without the protection of her man.

Satisfied with the direction of his thoughts and with his resolve to claim both woman and child, Grey started back down the ridge in the direction of the plane. It was time he made good his boast that he would have them all safely in front of a fire by morning.

He had already been gone ninety-eight minutes.

And in that time Grace had changed Baby, putting two T-shirts and two jumpsuits on him, and settled him back inside the carrier on her chest. She had to keep his little body close to hers instead of wrapping him up in her jacket, because she was afraid Baby was too small to produce enough body heat to keep himself warm. He only weighed eight and a half pounds now. So she put several layers of her own clothes on, put Baby back on her chest, and zipped him up tight to give him the benefit of her own body heat. Then she rearranged the supplies she wanted to take with her into one bag.

Dammit. She did trust him. She couldn’t explain why, but Grace just knew that if Greylen MacKeage said he would get her and Baby off this mountain tonight, it was a statement of fact, not wishful thinking.

The freezing rain had started again about twenty minutes ago, and the daylight was gone now. Only an eerie blue light remained, a persistent glow that seemed to emanate from the wreckage of the plane in swirling waves of effervescent warmth.

Grace couldn’t decide what caused the phenomenon, but her educated guess was that maybe the crash had disturbed the energies of the ice storm, charging the heavy atmosphere with ions of light. Mother Nature was fickle sometimes, and if people lived on Earth another million years, Grace knew that man would never explain all her mysteries.

And like the light glowing softly around her now, Grace welcomed that truth. As a scientist, she did not want to conquer Nature or rule her laws; she wished only to understand her.

And this blue light, which seemed to have grown stronger within minutes of Grey’s departure, was just one example of why she had left Pine Creek at the age of sixteen to pursue a career in science. So many mysteries, so much to discover, all those unending questions waiting to be answered; science was the passion of her life. And just as soon as she got off this mountain, she intended to figure out what had caused this blue light engulfing her now. And why it gave her such a feeling of well-being, a sense that things would turn out okay.

Grace sat in contemplative silence inside the fuselage, hugging a sleeping Baby to her chest, and listened for sounds of Grey’s return. All she heard was the forest cracking with eerie moans as trees protested their growing skin of ice.

Grace peered into the darkness of the forest, in the direction of Mark’s body. He was lying out there in the cold, getting covered with ice. She’d been tempted to walk over and cover him with something, but she hadn’t been brave enough to do it.

And that sorry state of affairs bothered her. She was a coward. She couldn’t give a dead man the dignity he deserved, she couldn’t let go of her sister, and she couldn’t keep her promise to give Baby to Michael MacBain. As much as she was afraid of taking on the responsibility of Baby, Grace was more afraid of giving him up. He was all she had left of her sister and the one thing in Grace’s life that was real. Her dream to travel into space was just that: a dream.

Baby was a reality. Raising him would make her someone, not just something, not just a brain walking around in an inconsequential body. Men either ran from her intelligence or they used it, but they never saw anything else, not her smile, her heart, or her hopes and dreams.

They never saw her.

Grace hugged Baby closer against her body. He would see her. She would be his aunt, and that was the one thing no one, not even his father, could take away from her.

She fully intended to keep her promise to Mary and tell Michael MacBain he had a son. It was the timing she just wasn’t sure of. Tomorrow or ten days from now, or maybe ten years from now, she would introduce them. That would depend on Michael MacBain when she met him and on her own questionable courage.

Grace jumped as if she’d been shot when Grey suddenly loomed in front of her. She hadn’t heard him approach over the crackle of the forest.

“Grace?” he said, peering down into the plane.

“I’m here. Did you get your bearings?” she asked, scrambling to climb out. It wasn’t easy. With Baby strapped to her chest and her legs still not working well, she had to grab onto Grey and let him pull her to her feet.

“We’re halfway up North Finger Ridge,” he told her.

“That runs up the north side of TarStone Mountain,” she said, getting excited. “We’re only about six or seven miles from Pine Creek.”

“You know this land?” he asked.

Grace couldn’t see his face very well, but she heard the surprise in his voice. “I grew up here,” she told him. “I used to hike all over this place with my father and brothers.”

“It’s more like eight miles,” he told her. “And they’re long, steep, hard miles. The snow’s deep, and the forest is raining tree limbs and ice the size of my fist.”

“Are you saying we can’t make it?”

He took her by the shoulders. For some reason the blue glow had suddenly faded, and she couldn’t see Grey well enough to judge his expression. But she could feel the tension in him.

“No, I’m not saying we can’t. But I have a better idea. There’s a cabin about four miles from here. An old priest named Daar lives there. I’m going to get you and your son that far, and then I’ll continue on to Gu Bràth. I’ll bring back the snowcat then, and my men.”

“What’s Gu Bràth?”

“That’s our home. It’s on the west side of TarStone, just a few hundred yards from the resort. Now, are you gripping my jacket so fiercely because you’re glad to see me, or are you having a problem standing?”

She almost missed his question, he changed the subject so quickly. “I…ah…my knees are still a bit shaky,” she admitted. She wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the problem. Not with the hike he was planning.

“Damn. Can you walk?”

“I’ve walked a bit just near the plane. I’m not hurt. Not really. I think I’m just bruised.”

He was silent so long she was afraid he was angry again. But if he was, it didn’t show in his voice when he next spoke.

“Can you rig…what is your kid’s name, Grace? I’ve only heard you call him Baby.”

“Ah…that’s it. Baby. I haven’t decided on a name yet.”

“But you said he’s four weeks old.”

“He is. But a name is very important. He’s going to have to live with it all his life.”

She could just make out Grey shaking his head. “Okay,” he conceded, warmth in his voice. “Can you rig Baby’s pack to fit my shoulders?”

“It adjusts. Why?” she asked, wondering just how big it adjusted.

“Because I’m going to carry him, and he’ll be more comfortable and secure in the pack.”

“I can carry him.”

He was shaking his head again. “You just have to worry about putting one foot in front of the other and staying on my heels.”

It was Grace’s turn to shake her head. “You’re not Superman, you know.”

“I’m damn close.”

“You certainly are arrogant enough to be Superman,” she whispered.

“Grace?”

“Yes?

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said then, just before he leaned down and kissed her full on the lips.

Grace was so stunned she simply stood there like an inanimate fool. She didn’t kiss him back. She just stilled like a stone, feeling his power and warmth wash over her.

He kissed like he looked. Large. Rather overwhelming.

She didn’t dare breathe. Every damn one of her primitive instincts told her to kiss the man back. His tongue swept across her lips, sending a shiver through Grace that was electrical in nature.

The ice storm receded, the plane crash never happened, she was not standing on the side of a mountain with her fate uncertain. All that existed for Grace at that moment was the feel of Greylen MacKeage as he wrapped his arms completely around her.

He smelled like the forest, felt solid as rock, tasted warm and sweet and so very male. Her senses swam in chaotic circles. Nothing in her limited experience with men could have prepared Grace for what she was feeling now. Passion overwhelmed her, and she lifted her hands against his shoulders and shoved him away. “Wh-what did you do that for?” she asked, clinging to the side of the plane, afraid her knees were about to buckle.

“Because I wanted to.”

Now, there was an answer that fit Greylen MacKeage very well.

She had to admit it had felt deliciously good to have his mouth on hers.

“What would you have done if I said I was married?”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a half-grin. “I’d have kissed you anyway. Any man who would let his woman get into this mess doesn’t deserve her. And that makes you available to my way of thinking.” He took her chin in his hand. “It’s a moot point, though, isn’t it, Grace? Baby’s father is not in the picture.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because women with husbands or lovers don’t come running home four weeks after childbirth.”

Well, she couldn’t very well argue the point, now, could she? She didn’t have a husband or lover, but then, she hadn’t just given birth to Baby, either.

“Are you ready to leave now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s see if we can get Baby transferred to my chest without waking him.”

It was no longer just her knees shaking; her whole body was trembling, and it wasn’t from the cold. The heat, maybe. She was feeling unusually warm. Did raging hormones produce heat?

Grace carefully released her death grip on the plane and unzipped her jacket. She peeled it off and relished the fresh, cold, wet air that struck her. She turned around and presented her back to Grey.

“You’ve got to undo the buckles on my shoulders,” she told him. “If Baby’s not in it, I can usually pull it off over my head. But we’ll have to adjust them anyway.” She lifted Baby up slightly to lessen the tension on the buckles. “Okay. I’m holding him. Undo it.”

Grey deftly unfastened the straps, lifted Baby off her chest, and placed him against his own. Grace moved to his back and discovered two problems. One, it was too dark for her to see what she was doing. And two, she couldn’t reach the buckles even if she could see. The man stood a good deal taller than her five-foot-four-inch frame.

“Ah, could you maybe get down on your knees?” she asked.

Grey craned his head around to look at her, and she made out the slash of his grin. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think.”

He lowered himself, not to his knees but hunkered down on his haunches instead. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Your knees would be lower.”

“Now, lass. I’ve learned a man best not get on his knees for a woman the very first day. It doesn’t bode well for his future.”

“You called me lass. Are you Scottish?” she asked, alarmed. She had thought by his slight accent that he might be Irish. Was he related to Michael MacBain?

“Born and bred a Scot,” he admitted.