Текст книги "Charming The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“How long have you lived in America?”

“Oh, nearly three years.”

“But your accent is so…so…American.”

“Because I am an American now.”

“You’ve deliberately worked to change your accent? But why? What’s wrong with being a Scot and having a Scottish accent?” she asked as she worked on fastening the buckles.

“I’ve also learned the phrase ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans.’ I live here now. I intend to speak like one of you.”

Grace laughed as she pushed at his back to let him know the job was done. “Then you’ve got to drop your final consonants a bit more if you want to sound like a Mainer.”

He stood up and turned to face her. “You don’t have a Maine accent.”

“I haven’t lived here for fourteen years. It was washed out of me in college.”

Grace was tempted to ask him if he knew Michael MacBain, but then she thought better of it. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge the man, not even in her own mind. Not yet. She would wait until she was back in her old house and had recovered from this little adventure.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes. Just let me get my bag.”

“It’s not the heavy one, is it?”

“No. I repacked everything. I’m only bringing Baby’s food and diapers, my bare computer, and one or two personal things. The computer’s not heavy. It was the satellite link and other equipment that weighed so much.”

She reached into the plane and pulled out the bag, clutching it to her when he tried to take it. “Ah…I can carry this. It’s really not that heavy.”

He planted his feet wide and put his hands on his hips. “Will you tell me what’s so godly important about that bag that you can’t let it out of your sight? Since I met you, you’ve done nothing but guard it the way a drunkard guards his wine.”

Grace tightened her hold on the bag and lifted her chin, refusing to give in on this point. She didn’t care that the man looked big, even scary, and determined enough to stop a freight train. She was carrying her own bag.

“Personal things,” she told him. “Precious things.”

“There’s nothing precious enough to risk your neck over. So what’s in the bag, Grace? Thousands of dollars? Illegal drugs?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“My sister.”

Chapter Five

Grey could only stare at the trembling woman standing in front of him. Had she just said her sister?

“Mary? Your sister, Mary Sutter?” he finally asked in a strangled whisper, hoping like hell he’d heard wrong.

She nodded.

He stared at her in silence. “Mary’s dead?” he asked, finally comprehending.

She nodded again.

Grey took a step back and leaned against the side of the plane, bending over until he supported himself with his hands on his knees. “When?” he asked, staring at the ground. He looked up at her, just barely able to make out her stark white face in the growing darkness. “How?”

“An automobile accident,” she said.

He lowered his gaze to the bag she was clutching with a fierceness that was heartbreaking. “What do you mean, Mary’s in there?”

He saw her chin rise again. “I had her cremated, to bring her home. She’s in a tin in this bag.”

He straightened and rubbed both his hands over his face, several times, trying to wash away the picture of Mary Sutter, so happy, vibrant, and contented with life, now just a handful of ash. “Damn.” He looked at Grace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You said you knew Mary?”

“Yes. We bought eggs and herbs from her. She was a good neighbor and person.”

“Yes, she was.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, unable to think of anything else to say. He walked over to her and held out his hand.

“Let me carry the bag, Grace. I’ll be careful with it. You just worry about keeping your feet beneath you.

The going will be rough.”

She hesitated but finally handed him the bag. Grey took it gently, unable to believe that he would be carrying Mary Sutter down off this mountain, so close to the home she lived in just five short months ago.

“Has she been with you these last months?” he asked, not turning to leave. There was one other detail he wanted to discuss with her, but he was not in a hurry to broach the subject. Not now. Not after learning that Grace was grieving her sister’s death.

“Yes. She was down visiting me.”

“I’m glad you had some time together.”

“I am, too.”

“Ah…did you happen to change your shoes while waiting for me to get back?” he asked then, deftly slipping his question into the conversation.

“My shoes? No. Why?”

“You’re wearing sneakers, Grace. You don’t have any boots?”

“No,” she said, ducking her head. “Tell you the truth, I completely forgot it was the dead of winter here. I never even thought of boots.”

Damn. Well, he was about to find out just how gutsy, or how squeamish, Grace Sutter really was.

“Then I’d like for you to wear Mark’s boots, Grace.”

“What?” she asked on an indrawn breath, turning to look at the pine tree where the dead pilot lay.

“I’m talking about the difference between making it down off this mountain or not being able to walk because your feet are wet and frozen. Can you do that, Grace? If I get them for you, will you put them on?”

She turned back to look at him. He could see white completely surrounding her beautiful blue eyes, and he was sorry for having to put her through this. But it was necessary.

She suddenly straightened to her full meager stature. “I’ll wear them,” she said, her voice sounding strained.

Grey blew out a relieved breath. He handed the bag back to her and walked over to the pine tree. He bent down, careful of Baby and thankful for the wonderful pack that held him secure, and quickly took off Mark’s boots. He held them up and spanned their length with his hand.

Thank God Mark had been one of the small, wiry Frenchman who populated these woods. He didn’t have size twelve feet. The boots might be a little big for Grace, but with extra socks they should keep her feet dry and allow her to walk well enough.

He’d give his eye teeth to be able to build a fire to dry her out completely before they started off, but every burnable bit of wood was either buried under three feet of snow or covered with ice. Hell, he couldn’t even offer her the security of a flashlight.

He didn’t need a light to lead them off this mountain. He had excellent night vision. And his body produced more than enough heat to keep himself and Baby warm.

But he was really worried about Grace. She couldn’t weigh much over a hundred and ten pounds. She didn’t have his strength or physical endurance. And then there was the fact that she had just given birth four weeks earlier. The trek down the mountain might be too much for her.

She had grit, though, he’d grant her that. He was proud of the way she was taking this all in stride. Not many women would be so calm and cooperative, much less agreeable, after crashing into a mountainside.

She was capable, in her own right, of making decisions for her own survival—but she was putting her trust in him.

That impressed him most of all.

Grey used his pocketknife and cut the belt that held Mark to his pilot’s seat. He pulled off Mark’s jacket next and considered its heft against the one Grace was wearing. It would not offer her any advantage. So he carefully set it over Mark, covering him from the elements.

He still damned the man, but he could not, in good conscience, leave him there unprotected. He shook his head. It had already started. Grace Sutter’s goodness was already creeping into his own damned soul.

He carried the boots back to Grace. She was sitting on the ground again and already had her sneakers off. One of her other bags was open beside her, the contents spilled over the snow.

“I found some dry socks,” she said. “Is there anything in your bag you want to take with you?”

“No,” he told her, dropping down and fitting the boots on her himself. Assured that they weren’t too big, he finished lacing up the last one and took hold of her legs just below the knees.

“How are your legs?” he asked, running his hand over both calves. “Do they hurt?”

“It’s not my legs,” she said quickly, attempting to sidle away. “It’s my back. I wrenched it. But it’s not that bad.” She took hold of his wrists to stop his inspection. “I’d tell you if I were really hurt. I’d let you go on without me.”

“I thought about doing just that,” he admitted.

“Then why don’t you?”

He shook his head, not caring if she could see him or not. “The worry would kill me. I’d rather take it slow and have you and your son right beside me, where I can keep an eye on you both. We can’t build a fire that would sustain itself, and the cold might get to you before I got back.”

She was silent so long that Grey was afraid she was seriously considering that possibility. Which was why he wasn’t surprised by her next comment when it finally came.

“You could take Baby with you,” she said. “I could put on every piece of clothes in our bags. And it’s really not that cold. There’s almost no wind, and the temperature is only a bit below freezing. I would be fine,” she finished on a strangled squeak.

“Slow your breathing down, Grace.” He grabbed the back of her head and gently pushed it to her knees.

“Count to ten between breaths.”

“I’m not hysterical,” she snapped, pulling free. “I’m being reasonable.”

“You’re going with me. Now tell me if you’re still having your woman’s flow,” he said, hoping the quick change of subject would distract her.

Silence met his demand.

“Are you?” he repeated.

“My what?”

“Your woman’s flow. From childbirth.”

All he got was silence again, and then finally, “Are you implying that my hysteria is a woman thing?” she whispered.

Grey pinched the bridge of his nose so she wouldn’t see his grin. “Grace, I need to know only because of the hike we’re about to take. So I’ll ask you again. Are you bleeding?”

“No,” she squeaked after several long seconds of silence.

Well, he had accomplished two things. She had forgotten all about protesting her going with him, and he had managed to embarrass her beyond speech.

His grin widened. He’d probably riled her just enough that she could walk off this mountain by herself.

He stood up, reached down, and pulled her up beside him.

“Come on. We’ve delayed long enough,” he said. “Can you see to follow me?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated. “Try to step in my tracks, and if you get tired, tell me. We’ll take it slow.”

She left without him. Grey hefted the bag holding her sister over his shoulder and ran to catch up. He moved ahead of her, silently laughing to himself.

Yes, Grace Sutter would do.

They walked for nearly an hour before she asked him to stop. Grey found them a place beneath a heavy-branched spruce tree, the only species of tree that seemed to be weathering this ice storm without damage. It protected them from the now driving rain that was only freezing when it connected with something cold. His hair was soaked, and rain was running down the neck of his jacket.

Baby was sleeping. Grey was actually thankful the child was so young. He was content just to sleep and eat, he weighed almost nothing, and as long as he was dry and warm he wasn’t even aware of the peril he was in.

“How are you doing?” he asked, sitting down beside the spot where Grace had dropped like a stone.

“Okay. My muscles have actually limbered up. But I’m sweating to death.”

That was not good. Wet clothes pulled heat away from the body. “Unzip your jacket,” he told her.

“Maybe you should take off a few layers.”

“I’m thirsty.”

He thought about that. “You can take some snow and suck the water out of it, but then spit it out. Don’t hold it until it all melts.”

“Why not?”

“It takes too much of your body heat to melt ice. Just suck what water is immediately available. Then spit out the rest.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

He grinned in her direction through the darkness. “I’m from the Highlands,” he said. “The tricks of winter survival are taught from the cradle.”

“Why did you move to America? And why Maine?”

What to tell her? Not much, that was for sure.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It seemed like a good idea. The four of us wanted to build a new life for ourselves, and Maine, although slightly more forested than the Highlands, seemed as good a place as any.”

He couldn’t very well tell her that Daar, the old priest, had convinced the four of them that these mountains were where their destiny lay.

Too bad Daar had saved the MacBains’ lives, too. All of them had died from their inability to adapt. All except Michael MacBain. Finding himself suddenly alone in this strange world, the bastard had followed them to Maine. And it had taken all of Grey’s power as laird of his shrunken clan to keep his men from dispatching Michael MacBain to hell with the others.

“I’m ready now. How far do you think we’ve come?” Grace asked.

“About one mile,” he told her truthfully, thankful that she didn’t pursue her previous line of questioning.

“One mile!”

“The crust of ice on the snow is getting thicker. Soon you should be able to walk on top of it. But then there’s the risk of you slipping and falling.”

“We’re not going to make it, are we?”

“We will,” he told her. “I’ll have you in front of a fire by daybreak.”

But for the first time in his life, he was going to break a sincerely given promise, Grey decided three hours later.

Grace could not walk any farther. The crust had grown thick enough to support her, but, as he had feared, she had fallen more than once down a steep incline or stumbled over an ice-covered rock. This time, however, he could see that the fall had finished her.

He helped her up and brushed the hair from her face. His hand came away wet, and he knew it wasn’t rain he was feeling. She was crying, silently, not saying a word.

He had to leave her, and that went against every instinct he possessed. The temperature was only just below freezing, but Grace was soaked to the skin. And she was not sweating or shivering. Her exhausted body was no longer producing heat.

“Sit down and rest,” he told her, helping her to a spot under the canopy of a giant spruce tree.

Grey walked around, pushing at the crust with his feet. He found a place that he broke through all the way up to his thigh. He walked back and carefully took Baby out of his nest.

“He’s stirring. I think you should feed him. Can you do that?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice barely audible.

He set Baby in her arms and took out one of the bottles he’d put in the bottom of the pack on his chest to keep warm. “When you’re done, I’ll change his diaper. It’s important he keep dry.”

She didn’t answer him. She was too busy concentrating on her task. Grey watched for only a minute and then went back to the hole he had made in the crust and started digging. He scooped out the dry snow from the drift buried beneath the ice, forming a cave large enough for a person. Then he broke off several pine and spruce branches, shook the ice from them, and laid them on the floor of the cave.

Satisfied with his job, he returned to Grace to find Baby fussing in her arms. Grey picked him up and laid him on his shoulder. The infant let out a burp that would make a drunkard proud. He took off his jacket, laid it on the ground, and quickly changed Baby’s diaper. Then he wrapped Baby up, protecting him from the elements, and turned to Grace.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Grace,” he said, slowly peeling her jacket off. “I think it’s time we changed your clothes.”

“I didn’t bring any,” she said, trying to slip back into her jacket.

He forcibly pulled it away. “I’m going to give you my T-shirt and sweater.”

He saw her eyes widen in alarm. “What will you wear?”

“My jacket is waterproof. Yours isn’t. I can put Baby’s pack against my bare chest and put my jacket over us.”

“But your sweater will just get wet then, if I wear it.”

Well, at least some part of her brain was still functioning. That gave him hope. “No, it won’t, Grace,” he told her.

“Because I’m going to tuck you into a waterproof cave. But I can’t put you in there wet. Help me take off your shirt.”

She merely blinked up at him. She wasn’t catching on to his plan. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even realize he was leaving her until he was gone. He hoped like hell she didn’t panic then and try to follow him. He was going to have to seal her into the cave securely.

He didn’t like the idea of burying her. But it was the only thing he could think of to keep Grace alive long enough for him to get help.

He pulled Baby’s pack off his shoulders and pulled off his sweater and T-shirt in one swipe. He grabbed Grace’s wet tops by the hem and pulled them off over her head. The skin beneath them shone lily-white in contrast to the darkness.

“The bra, too, sweetheart,” he said, reaching around her to undo the clasp. He didn’t find one. But he saw her hands go to the front of her breasts. He pushed her cold, shivering fingers out of the way and worked at the intricate snaps for at least a minute, finally admitting defeat and ripping the delicate material with his hands.

Her skin was cold to the touch. Grey realized they were both sitting there naked from the waist up, and he quickly gathered her into his arms, pulling her into an embrace that would transfer some of his heat to her.

Grace immediately snuggled against him. Grey closed his eyes with a groan at how cold she was. He tucked her head under his chin and held her tightly.

“My God, you’re so warm,” she murmured.

He couldn’t respond because she was scaring him to death. She should be slapping his face for such intimate contact. The freezing sickness was slowly claiming her body. She was shutting down, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Except leave her.

“Aw, hell,” he growled, tugging her head back and lowering his mouth to hers, kissing her with a fierceness that heated his blood to near boiling. He moved one hand from her back to her breasts, covering them completely, willing his heat into her.

Grace opened her mouth and accepted his assault. She made a noise that sounded more desperate than lustful and began squirming until she was straddling his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, tugging him closer, acting as if she wanted to crawl under his skin.

Grey was ashamed of himself. Grace Sutter was acting instinctively, desperate for the contact, wanting to pull his warmth—the very life energy he possessed—into herself. But he couldn’t stop kissing her. She felt like an ice cube and tasted like sunshine. He wanted her. He wanted her to live.

And he wanted to get her down off this mountain and claim her as his.

Grey had to force himself to pull his mouth free, but he still couldn’t leave her. He rained kisses over her eyes, her tear-covered cheeks, her nose, chin, and throat. He moved his lips lower, to her breasts, and kissed them when she arched her back against his mouth.

He was shaking with need for her.

She was shaking with need for his warmth.

With great reluctance and no small amount of will-power, Grey straightened and embraced Grace against him again, wrapping his arms around her until she was completely surrounded by his heat. He held her in silence as long as he dared, the cold slowly, quietly creeping into his own naked skin.

He gently pushed her away, gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and settled first his T-shirt and then his sweater over her head, pulling them down to her wet pants.

“Grace,” he said, his voice sounding strained even to himself. He didn’t want that. He wanted to sound confident for her. “I’ve got to leave you,” he told her as she stared up at him, her big blue eyes two stark circles of desolation. “I won’t be gone long. Just a few hours.”

“Are you leaving Baby?” she asked, clutching his arms, that desolation suddenly turning to desperation.

“Please, take him with you.”

“I will, Grace.” He stroked her wet hair. “He won’t hamper my travel. I’ll get him to safety, and then I’m coming back for you.”

His news seemed to calm her. She settled back down, then turned and began looking for her jacket. He found it before she did and tossed it away from her.

“No. That’s soaked. It will only freeze you quicker.”

She just stared at the spot where her jacket was. Grey picked her up and carried her to the cave he had dug.

“I’m going to tuck you in here, out of the weather.” He took her by the chin and made her look at him. “I

’m going to seal it up after you’re inside. Do you understand, Grace?”

Her chin moved slightly up and down in his hand. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. “That’s my lass. Are you afraid of small places, Grace?”

She moved her head from side to side. He kissed her again, first on one of her cold cheeks and then on the other. “Good. Here, now, in you go.”

He tucked her, feet first, into the hole.

“It’s too small. I don’t fit.”

“Yes, you do. Curl into a ball, just like your baby when he was inside of you. You’ll stay warmer.”

She popped her head out of the hole and looked at him. “I’m…I’m not brave,” she told him, as if she were confessing her greatest sin. “I’m a coward.”

“You are not. Courage is nothing more than having a choice and doing the scary thing anyway. You’ve shown more courage today than any other person I know, Grace Sutter. And you’ll continue to fight because of your baby, and because I’m going to be damn mad if you don’t.” He leaned down until their noses were nearly touching. “And believe me,” he said softly, “this cave will seem like heaven compared with my temper.”

He almost fell over when she kissed him. She tilted her head and brushed her cold, soft lips against his.

His heart nearly stopped beating. He held her by the back of the head and deepened the kiss. She opened her mouth and accepted his tongue inside her again, gently sucking on it with innocent ardor.

It was Grey wanting to crawl inside her skin this time. The woman was slowly killing him with desperation

–and with her unbelievable trust. She was kissing him, not crying or railing that he take her with him.

Not even questioning his decision.

Just simply kissing him.

Grey pulled her back out of the hole, just enough so he could wrap his arms around her again. He slid his hands up under his shirts that she wore and once more covered both of her breasts as he swallowed her moan with his mouth.

A large chunk of ice suddenly hit him squarely on the back. Grey broke their kiss and stared at Grace, his hands still holding her intimately.

“Thank you,” she whispered, covering his hands with hers, clasping them to her breasts.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, looking at her mouth.

“Don’t…don’t read anything into what just happened,” she said, suddenly wiggling back, sounding more like herself. “Your kisses just warm me up.”

Grey dropped his hands away from her breasts and smoothed down her sweater.

“Can I keep the bag?” she asked.

He had to mentally shift gears. He shook his head. He was still feeling the effects of her kiss, and she was back to business.

“Yes,” he said, inwardly cringing at the thought of putting her dead sister into the tomb-like cave with her.

He stood up and found the bag. He took out some supplies for Baby and then carried it over to her, tucking it in beside her.

“Grace. I don’t want you going to sleep, do you understand? You’ve got to stay awake until I come back.”

“I know. I might not wake up.”

Satisfied that she understood the consequences, he reached down and ran a finger over her face. “I want you to spend your time thinking of a name for your baby, Grace, while I’m gone. I expect to hear your answer when I get back.”

She didn’t answer him. She was too busy digging into her confounded bag again. He watched her pull out a thin black box, recognizing it as the computer she had used earlier. She opened it up and pushed a button. The machine started to hum and make funny noises, and suddenly Grace’s little cave was awash in light.

She looked up at him. “I’m going to write a letter,” she said. “And it won’t be dark in here, either.” She reached up and ran her finger over his cheek. “Okay. Cover me up.” He saw her take a deep breath. “I’

m ready.”

“Never say you’re a coward, Grace. Never use that word for yourself again,” he said past the lump of anguish clogging his throat. Damn, he wished she had waited until he was gone to give herself light. Now he couldn’t get the picture of her out of his head.

He could see her clearly, and it was not a reassuring sight. There was no color left on her face. She was as starkly white as the snow that surrounded her. Her hair was soaked, and her eyes were sunken into her head. Her lips were the only thing he could see that had any color, and they were blue.

And all his lovemaking had accomplished, as far as he could tell, was to warm her up just enough that she was shivering again.

But how long would it last?

Grey forced himself to turn away. He began carving out a large slab of crust with his fist. He pounded the ice until his hands were raw, taking out his frustration at what he was about to do.

He picked up the slab of crust and held it over Grace, and this time it was his turn to take a steadying breath. She was clutching the computer as if it were a lifeline, its light reflecting off her pale features.

“I’m coming back, Grace. In just a few hours, I’ll be pulling you out of here.”

“I know.”

He started to set the slab over the entrance.

“Grey?”

“Yes?” he said, moving it aside.

“Warmth isn’t the only reason I like your kisses,” she softly admitted, not looking at him.

“I know,” he said. “You like kissing a superman.”

“Hmmm,” she murmured, still not looking at him.

“Something like that.”

“Tomorrow, lass, once you’re sitting in front of the roaring hearth at Gu Bràth, I’ll explain to you why you like them so much,” he whispered before setting the slab of crust over the entrance, patting it into place and securing it with more snow.

Grey closed his eyes and began the same litany of prayers he usually reserved for flying. They had worked once already today, allowing him to survive plummeting three thousand feet down to the ground.

He hoped they worked again to keep Grace Sutter safe.

That done, he quickly returned to Baby. He put the pack back on over his naked chest and then unwrapped his jacket. Baby, still blissfully unaware that he was in the middle of a treacherous march, was sleeping again. Grey picked him up, kissed his warm little cheek, and settled him into his pack. He slipped back into his jacket, then picked up Grace’s shirt and coat. He hung them over an ice-encrusted branch, at eye level, to mark the spot for his return.

He headed down the mountain again, this time setting a pace as if the hounds of hell were dogging his heels.

Grace waited until she was sure he was gone before she broke into loud, gut-wrenching sobs. She had survived the terrifying crash with Grey, argued with him, and helped him. He had listened to her opinions, discussed their choices, and allowed her the dignity to go down fighting. Not once had he tried to brush her aside and take complete control of the situation. And she knew, without compunction, that if she had fought him about staying here now, he would have died trying to take her with him.

Today they had forged a bond that she hadn’t known could exist between two people. Together they had struggled for their very survival, and they were winning.

She was burrowed into a snow cave like a hibernating bear, but Grey would return for her. She knew he would.

But she wasn’t stupid, either. She also knew that anything could happen on his trip down the mountain, and there was no guarantee he would make it back in time. So she was going to pull up her word-processing program and write her last will and testament.

And she was going to write a letter to Michael MacBain.

She was the only living person in the world who knew who Baby’s father was. She could not go to her grave without revealing the truth.

Chapter Six

The old wizard opened the door and stepped out onto the cabin porch, ignoring the sting of sleet on his face as he looked up toward where TarStone Mountain stood in dark, stoic indifference. He couldn’t see past the end of the clearing that surrounded his home, but he still felt the mountain’s substantial presence.

He also knew all was not right with it.

The storm had arrived on unusually silent feet, creeping down over the east ridge like a predatory beast.

The rain had started yesterday morning, beginning as a mist that had clung like hoarfrost to everything it touched. By afternoon it had become steady, relentlessly encasing the world under a sheet of glistening ice. And now, deep into the wee hours of the morning, the heavy, entombing ice was half an inch thick.

Daar pulled the collar of his red plaid wool Mackinaw coat up to meet his trimmed white beard. The kerosene porch lamp he had lit at dusk last night, and had filled three times already, dimmed from lack of fuel yet again. He reached up, took it down from the nail, and carried it inside to refill it, his sense of urgency stronger than ever.

All was not right on the mountain.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of gathering menace since the storm had descended. He had not slept or eaten since last night. Instead he had kept vigil, refilling his lamps and pacing the length of his porch until the cold seeping into his tired old bones sent him back to the fire. He was in the seventh hour of the incessant ritual.

He poured the last of his kerosene into the lamp, mentally reminding himself to ask Grey to bring him some more. He still had candles, and the old river-stone hearth produced some light, but he liked the brightness the kerosene lamps offered.

Daar suddenly stilled in the act of replacing the chimney on the lamp, and turned to the front door. The sense of urgency was stronger now. Whatever was out there, on the mountain, was coming closer.

He picked up the lamp and carried it back out to the porch, replacing it on the nail pounded into the side of the cabin. Using his stout, burl-ridden cane to steady himself, he walked to the end of the sturdy-planked deck and looked out in the direction of TarStone. The hair on the back of his neck stirred in apprenhension. Urgency, desperation, and fear were moving toward him at a relentless pace, the energy pushing ahead of it strong enough to make Daar step back.