Текст книги "Wedding The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

He’d expected Grace’s surprise but not her anger. She’d stood up, leaned over him, and poked him quite sharply in the chest. And with that same finger waving in his face, she had proceeded to educate him on the finer points of romance, timing, and modern women’s minds.

Which was why he was here now with all of Grace’s words rattling around in his head, stealing Libby away so that he could propose properly.

Michael snorted, took off his helmet, and rubbed his neck in an attempt to keep the sweat from trickling down his back. Grace also had made him promise that he wouldn’t propose until after he’d explained his journey through time.

Which is why they were going up the mountain. He’d learned his lesson with Mary and was not letting Libby out of his sight until she was calm enough not to run.

He turned at the sound of the storm door slamming shut and saw Libby, her arms hugging an overstuffed pack, running back to the sled. He took the pack and secured it on the backrest, climbed back onto the sled, and waited for her to get settled behind him again.

“Do I have to hold on to the handles?” she asked. “Can’t I just hold on to you?”

“Whatever’s comfortable, lass,” he said, starting the engine. “Ready?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

He saw her take a deep breath, slap down her visor, and nod. The moment her hands came around his waist, Michael set off up the back trail to West Shoulder Ridge. They rode in companionable silence for several miles, until Libby tapped him on the shoulder.

“I want to drive,” she demanded when he stopped to see what she wanted. “It doesn’t seem very difficult.”

He stood up so she could scoot forward and climbed on behind her. “This is the throttle,” he said, placing her thumb over the lever on the right side of the handlebar.

“Push softly, as it’s quick to respond. And this is the brake,” he added, wrapping her fingers over the lever on the left. “Ya must always keep your feet on the rails, Libby, even if it feels as if we’re tipping, or ya might break an ankle. It steers just like a bicycle but without the leaning.”

She used her elbows to nudge his arms away and pushed on the throttle. They shot off like a rocket. And then they came to an abrupt halt when she slammed on the brakes.

Michael braced his feet to keep from crushing her against the handlebars and closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

“It’s touchy,” she complained in a shout through her visor, just as she pushed on the throttle again.

She didn’t brake this time, and Michael was suddenly glad he’d decided not to give Libby her own sled for this trip. For the next two miles, they flew like a drunken jackrabbit up the mountain as she slowly got a feel for the powerful machine. Michael had to intervene only four times to keep them from bouncing off trees.

He finally reached around her and took over the controls, guiding the sled to a small clearing at the base of a south-facing ledge. He shut off the engine and climbed off, pulled off his helmet, and watched as Libby’s head slowly emerged from her own helmet to reveal a beatific smile.

“That was wonderful,” she said, her eyes gleaming with delight as she patted the sled affectionately. “I’m buying one of these babies. I saw a map at the Dolans’ store that showed how you can travel the entire state on a snowmobile.”

Michael took her helmet, tossed it onto the ground, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her beautiful smile.

She tasted sweeter than ever, with just a hint of hot apple cider laced with cinnamon. She felt so precious and tiny, even in her plump down winter jacket, that he couldn’t get enough of her. He lifted her off her feet and groaned in satisfaction when she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth.

He strode up to the ledge and found a place free of snow and covered with dry, fluffy grass. He set her down and followed her, until she was comfortably beneath him—all without breaking their kiss.

Not that she’d let him. She was gripping his hair, wiggling restlessly against him until he thought he would burst into flames, making sweet little mewling sounds of urgency.

Aye, it had been far too long since they’d made love.

With herculean effort, he stopped, pulled Libby’s hands from around his neck, and clasped them between their bodies as he stared into her passion-filled eyes.

“We can’t, Libby.”

“I put three condoms in the backpack. And a blanket.”

Michael shook his head, smiling tightly at her obvious want. “Nay, lass. I brought you up here to talk.”

“We will. After. Please, Michael, make love to me.”

He shook his head again, kissed the tip of her nose, and rolled over until he was sitting upright beside her. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at the distant, frozen waters of Pine Lake tucked in the valley below.

“Have ya not wondered, Libby, why I so easily accept Daar as a wizard?” he asked softly.

She sat up beside him, and Michael could feel her eyes fixed on his face. He did not look at her but continued to stare at Pine Lake.

“I wondered,” she admitted. “But there was so much I was trying to deal with that I… it didn’t seem important.” She set one tiny hand on his arm. “Why do you believe in wizards?”

He finally looked over and met her turbulent, worried, and somewhat frightened gaze.

“He really is adrùidh, lass. I know, because I have personally felt his powers. It was in the yearA .D. 1200, and I was engaged in a battle with Greylen MacKeage.”

“A battle with Grey? Wh-when?” she whispered.

Michael turned and lifted her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her, bringing her eyes level with his. “I was born in the year 1171, Libby. I’m more than eight hundred years old.”

She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

He continued his tale. “During this battle, I caught sight of an old man standing on a bluff above us, his arms outstretched and a long staff held high in his hand. A great storm broke over us, darkening the sky to night, filling the air with a powerful wind and sizzling bolts of lightning. And suddenly, I was falling, tumbling through what I can only describe as blinding white energy. I felt as if I did not exist for that brief moment of time, merely consumed.”

The woman on his lap had gone deathly still, her eyes wide and her complexion pale.

Still Michael continued, determined to make her understand exactly who he was.

“My next conscious thought was that I hadn’t died, after all. I was lying in a field of tall grass and could hear the moans of my men, broken only by the screams of our frightened horses.” He tightened his hands on her arms, more to keep them from trembling than to hold her.

“Greylen MacKeage was lying beside me. Five of my own warriors were there, and Callum and Morgan and Ian MacKeage. Our horses struggled to their feet and stood quivering, breathing hard and snorting in terror, not knowing which way to run to safety. We knew not what had happened or where the threat lay.”

Libby lifted one tiny gloved hand to his face and ran a finger down his taut cheek.

“Where were you?” she whispered.

“In modern-day Scotland.” He captured her hand and held it against his chest, over his pounding heart. “That was twelve years ago, Libby. The five MacBains who were with me are dead now. Only the MacKeages remain from that day. And Daar. His real name is Pendaär, and he is adrùidh .”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She simply turned her gaze to her hand held against his chest.

Michael lifted her chin and smiled. “Your secret is not so terrible, lass, when compared with mine. That ya have this gift to heal people is a wondrous thing, Libby. And that I can understand your powers is my gift to you.”

She was frowning now, staring at his chest again. “You’re saying that you traveled eight hundred years through time? That you were born in medieval Scotland, and a wizard cast a spell and brought you here?” she finished softly, raising turbulent, misting brown eyes back up at him.

“Aye, Libby. That is what happened. As God is my witness, I don’t know how or why, just that it is. And for the last twelve years, I have been learning to live with the fact.”

She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely, her lips touching his ear as she whispered, “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”

He took hold of her shoulders and held her away, staring into her tear-soaked eyes.

“Don’t ya dare be sorry,” he growled. “I have accepted my fate, and it is you who must do the same now.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his anger. “But—”

“You are born of a time whendrùidhs and magic and miracles are considered suspect, Libby,” he continued with gentle force. “Ya cannot comprehend what ya cannot touch or see. But I am from a time where magic was almost a religion and very much a part of everyday life. It is through me that you can come to accept your abilities and embrace them instead of fearing them. It may very well be the reason I’m here, lass.” He suddenly smiled. “And Robbie. He was needing to be born, I think, from a wonderful woman who was very special herself. Robbie’s destiny is yet to be revealed, but I do know that it’s my destiny to be here with him. And with you.

“Which is also why,” he continued before she could respond, keeping the steel in his voice, “we’re getting married tomorrow.”

“Married! Tomorrow!” she sputtered, her own voice cracking with surprise.

Michael nodded curtly.

“But you don’t want to get married!” she hissed, scrambling off his lap. She pointed her finger at him. “I will not live with a man who can’t love me.”

He leaned back against the ledge, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest. “But I do love you,” he softly declared.

She suddenly looked as if she might explode. “You do not! You can’t. You said you have nothing left to give a woman.”

“I was wrong.”

“I’m an aberration. A freak of nature.”

“Then we will be freaks together.” He stood up until he towered over her and smiled.

“But we will be married freaks, Libby. You belong to me. And we will spend the rest of our unnatural lives as man and wife, embracing our destinies together.”

Michael reached for Libby the moment he realized she was about to crumble in a mess of overwhelmed confusion and quickly sat down again, cradling her against his chest.

“Ah, lass. For as much as you’ve been needing an anchor, so have I. We can ground each other, Libby. Our combined strengths can keep us sane, and together we can help Robbie grow into a fine man as he sets out to find his own destiny.”

He lifted a hand and fingered the white lock of hair on her forehead. “And maybe we can have one or two more bairns. Girls if ya want, with cute little locks of white hair and six toes on each foot.”

She slapped her hand over his and gave him a horrified look. “My children will be normal,” she sputtered.

He tugged on her white curl. “But what’s the fun in that? Anyone can be normal.”

She had to think about that, and from the look on her face, it was difficult for her to embrace such a concept. So Michael figured he’d help her along by kissing her cute, pouting lips.

“Marry me, Libby,” he whispered into her mouth.

“Tomorrow at noon, make me the happiest man in the world.”

She pulled back with a gasp. “Robbie knows!” she squeaked. “He said those same words this morning.” She poked him in the shoulder. “He knew before I did!”

Michael quickly captured her hands and nodded. “So does Kate. And Grace. And John.

We’ve been planning the ceremony for almost a week.”

He’d have gotten poked again if she could have freed her hands. “And just when were you going to tell me?”

“I had originally thought to wait until morning,” he admitted, feeling heat creep into his face. This was one time he was certainly glad that Grace had interfered. “I have your ring wrapped in a small box, hidden in our Christmas tree. I—er—I was going to surprise you.”

“With a ring,” she repeated softly, her eyes searching his. She suddenly sighed, all the fight draining out of her. She shook her head. “Every woman dreams of that kind of surprise.” She glared at him. “But she usually has a few months before the ceremony to get used to the idea.”

“Why wait?”

“Why not wait?”

Michael cupped her face with his hands and rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Because I want you in my bed at night, lass. When two people decide to spend the rest of their lives together, a long engagement is wasted.”

She went back to thinking, and Michael decided that Libby’s thinking too long and too hard might very well be a dangerous thing. So he went back to kissing her.

She was hesitant at first, more distracted than responsive, until he was able to wiggle his hand under her coat and find her firm little breast. He also found that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

How nice. And how convenient.

Her skin was toasty warm under several layers of clothes and the down jacket. His much cooler hand sent shivers coursing through her body and beaded her soft, silky nipple into a pebble. He ran his thumb over it, captured her gasp in his mouth, and rolled them both over until he had nestled himself comfortably between her legs.

Finally, Libby joined in the love play and darted her sweet little tongue into his mouth as she arched her breast into his hand.

He thought about the blanket and the condoms in her pack and decided they were no longer needed. They were lying on a soft bed of dried, sun-warmed grass, and it was okay now to start making Robbie a brother or sister.

With tenderness and a newly declared love, they undressed each other in a wonderfully erotic dance that slowly stripped away all the barriers that had stood between them.

Finally, with both hearts fully engaged, Michael slowly entered Libby. Passion flared in her eyes as she lifted her hips to take him deeper, and her smile, which outshone the sun, hit him smack in the center of his heart—in exactly the same spot her well-aimed snowball had hit him just five short weeks ago.

Chapter Twenty-four

Libby sat on the top stepof her porch, bundled up to her nose in wool, enjoying the serenity of the night. Huge snowflakes were falling with quiet intensity, steadily building a pristine blanket over the slumbering land. The silence was absolute, broken only by the muted sounds of conversation coming from inside the house.

Kate was in there, sitting in front of a roaring fire, cuddling four-day-old Winter MacKeage. Grace was sitting beside her, sipping tea. Greylen had deposited his wife and new baby about an hour ago but had left to get his six other daughters before Libby could ask him why he hadn’t brought them in the first place.

Which was why she was out there now, waiting to see what Greylen had said would be a wonderful surprise.

It seemed all these Scots were big on surprises.

While she waited, embraced by the peace of the night, Libby thought about Michael’s secret. And Greylen’s. And Ian’s and Morgan’s and Callum’s. They were all men born in another time, Michael had told her. Once enemies, they were now united by their determination to make new lives.

How was it possible they had traveled through time?

What had Daar said that morning when he’d zapped her flowers awake? Time, he had told her, existed only for clockmakers.

And, apparently, it could be manipulated by wizards.

How unsettling. And frightening. Could Daar send Michael back to his natural time?

No, the old man must never get hold of his powerful staff. She was glad Michael had taken it, and she hoped he’d had the presence of mind to destroy it.

With no sound of warning, Mary quietly glided out of the darkness and landed on the porch rail above Libby.

“Well, hello there,” Libby said to the owl. “I see you got my invitation to our party.”

Mary blinked, then turned her head toward the living-room window.

“Have you seen your newest niece yet?” Libby asked.

“She’s quite an adorable little bundle of joy.”

The silent snowy sidestepped along the porch rail until she was even with the window.

She sat in silence and watched her sister and her niece.

Another sound gently echoed through the night, a soft jingling that slowly drew closer, interlaced with faint voices.

Libby stood, suddenly excited beyond words. Those were sleigh bells. And carolers, their song keeping rhythm with the beautiful bells. Heavily plodding hoofbeats added to the chorus, the symphony resounding through the air.

Libby ran down the length of her driveway to the road and watched as the huge sled slowly came into view. Two giant horses were pulling it, their bells jingling loudly and the lights hanging from poles at the corners illuminating more than a dozen people.

Libby continued to run down the road. The sled was full of MacKeages, some singing, some laughing, the children bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls. Ian was driving, the slash of his grin showing through his beard peppered with snowflakes. He pulled the horses to a stop, and Libby took his offered hand and climbed up beside him.

“Oh, my God. This is wonderful,” she said, turning to smile at the others. “What a perfect way to go to a party on Christmas Eve. Where’s Michael? And Robbie?”

“We thought they were here already,” Ian said, slapping the reins to move the horses forward. “No telling what Michael’s up to,” he said with a snicker, giving Libby a wink.

“They’ll be along soon, I reckon.”

Libby grabbed the side of the seat as the sled jerked forward and couldn’t quit grinning as they turned into her driveway, the horses breaking into a trot to power them up the steep incline.

They stopped in front of the porch, and Kate came out, her hands on her cheeks as she stared mutely in awe. The men jumped off first and started handing down children before helping their wives.

Libby refused to budge from her seat. “Go inside, everyone. Ian’s going to take me for a short ride,” she said, weaving her arm through his, giving him a sweet, pleading look.

“Only if yar mama can come,” he said gruffly, crowding against her and patting the seat beside him. “Come on, Kate. Get yar cute little behind up here.”

“I need to get my coat.”

“Nay. I’ll keep ya warm, lass,” Ian countered, patting the seat again. “We’ll just go for a short jog around the field.”

Kate needed no more coaxing. She stepped off the porch, waving their party guests into the house as she ran past, and raised her arms for Ian to lift her onto the sled.

Libby eyed the reins. “Can I drive?” she asked, again smiling sweetly at Ian. “It doesn’t look that difficult.”

He scowled at her, holding the reins protectively against his chest. “Nay. They’re temperamental beasts and will act up if they realize a woman is handling them.”

Libby scooted over, all the way to the edge of the seat. He could have just said no, without the woman comment. She was hiding the apple pie Kate had baked especially for him, and she was putting a good amount of cinnamon in his cider.

The chauvinistic old coot.

They made one full circle around the field before Kate’s lips started to turn blue, and Libby and her mom ran into the house and left Ian to deal with his precious horses.

Boisterous chaos greeted them; children were running and crawling after the overwhelmed kittens, the men were standing around the food table filling their mouths more than their plates, and the MacKeage women, holding babies of varying ages, were telling their men to save some food for the guests yet to arrive.

Libby’s eyes immediately went to Sadie MacKeage. Her height was like a magnet, and her blond hair shone like a beacon in the crowded room. Libby had met Sadie and Morgan just last week, when they’d come to the shop to buy their Christmas tree. She’d noticed then, when Sadie had taken off her mittens to pay, that the palm of her right hand was covered with burn scars.

The tall, beautiful woman set her daughter on the floor, and the toddler immediately took off in a tear after Trouble. That was when Libby realized her mistake. She never should have tied red ribbons around the kittens’ necks. The child—Jennifer, if she remembered correctly—nearly strangled Trouble. Jennifer’s grandmother Charlotte came to the rescue, quickly untying the ribbon and picking up Trouble for Jennifer to pet.

Libby immediately found Guardian and Timid and removed the dangerous decorations.

A glass of wine was handed to her, and Libby looked up to say thank-you but instead found herself smiling into the glaring eyes of Father Daar.

“Don’t say a word tonight, girl, about my staff,” he whispered through a tight smile of his own. “I don’t want Greylen knowing it still exists.”

“Oh? Why not?” she guilelessly asked, giving him back an equally quelling grin.

“Ya just never mind,” he muttered. “Is the eggnog spiked?”

Libby thought about telling him it wasn’t, then quickly thought better of getting a wizard drunk. “There’s a whole fifth of rum in it,” she told him. “Maybe you should stick to apple cider.”

He harrumphed and headed to the table of food.

Libby scanned the room, her gaze landing on Greylen MacKeage, who was wearing a pack that sat on his shoulders and draped over his chest. Grace was tucking Winter into it.

Libby watched as Greylen cuddled the newborn’s bottom with one of his large hands and turned and used his free hand to start eating again.

Grace looked at the grandfather clock standing in the corner, then back at Libby. “I would have thought Michael and Robbie and John would be here by now. This party is the only thing Robbie’s been able to talk about all week.”

“And I wonder what’s keeping Dwayne and Harry,” Sadie MacKeage said, joining the conversation. “The house looks wonderful, Libby. You have stars on the ceiling in your bathroom,” she added, tilting her head in question. “When I went in, the whole ceiling sparkled just before I turned on the light. So I ran back out, got Jennifer, and showed her.

You should have seen her face when she noticed. Where can I get some? I’d love to put them on the ceiling over her bed.”

“There’s a neat little what-not shop in downtown Bangor,” Libby told her, waving the two women toward her bedroom. “Come on. You have to see my bedroom ceiling.”

The stars were a hit, but not nearly as much as her moose bed. Sadie couldn’t stop running her hands over it. But Grace… Grace couldn’t stop smiling like a woman who knew a secret.

“You know who made this bed, don’t you?” Libby said, looking her directly in the eye.

Grace’s smile turned impish as she tapped her chin with her finger. “Let me see. I remember seeing it in someone’s workshop… now, where was that?” She shook her head and shrugged in unremorseful apology. “Nope. I just can’t seem to remember whose shop it was.”

Libby sighed. She almost didn’t care anymore, as long as Santa brought her a matching bureau tomorrow morning. The three of them left to rejoin the party and were just walking into the kitchen when the porch door slammed open and Michael came rushing inside.

His face was drawn taut over protruding cheekbones, his skin paled gray, and his eyes filled with a sharp anguish that bordered on terror.

“I need help,” he said with palpable urgency to the crowded room. “There’s been an accident two miles east of Pine Creek. Leysa Dolan’s truck left the road. She’s being taken to Dover-Foxcroft by ambulance.”

The collective silence lasted mere seconds before the men in the room moved almost as one. They handed off children to their women and rushed to find their jackets, no questions, no comments, only concern darkening their features.

Libby ran up to Michael. “Robbie?” she asked, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Is he okay?”

The men stilled. The silence returned.

Michael took hold of her shoulders. “I donna know,” he thickly told her. “When Dwayne found the accident, there was no sign of him. Robbie and Rose were not in the truck.”

Libby tightened her grip on his jacket as his words started her heart racing. “Then where are they?” she cried. “They were with Leysa.”

Michael gently pulled free, turned, and took her coat from the peg. With steady, rock-solid movements, he slipped it on her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her tightly against him as he turned his attention to the men.

“I’m thinking he’s on foot, trying to make it home by way of the woods. I was able to find faint tracks leading northwest, but the snowfall quickly covered his footprints.”

“Why wouldn’t he have stayed on the road?” Libby asked, frantic now. “Why go into the woods?”

“He’s not even nine years old,” Kate said, coming to stand beside Libby, gripping her arm in support. “He’s confused.”

“Nay,” Michael contradicted. “He’s acting on instinct. It was a shortcut Leysa had taken.

A back road that’s traveled only through the week to haul logs. He knew the quickest way to find help was over the ridge.”

“Then how did they find Leysa?” Libby asked, drawing Michael’s attention again.

“Dwayne went looking for her when she was late getting home.” He ran his finger over her cheek, brushing away a tear. “Libby, there was blood on the backseat,” he said softly. “Either Robbie or Rose is hurt. I’m guessing that when he couldn’t wake Leysa, he decided to take Rose and go for help.”

He looked at Greylen. “I need you to start from Gu Bràth and head over the ridge to the logging road. If we spread out, we should be able to find him.”

Grey nodded. “We’ll turn on all the ski-slope lights before we go. There’s a chance he’ll see them,” he finished, heading out onto the porch. He stopped and let Ian and Callum and Morgan move past. He looked back at Daar. “Come on, old man. You will help us.”

Daar was already putting his coat on and quickly moved to join the other men. He came to a halt in front of Libby, his crystal-blue eyes deeply piercing hers.

“I’m guessing you’ll have yar answer tonight, girl. And I will pray it’s the one ya was hoping to get,” he said cryptically before turning and walking out to the waiting men.

Michael stopped Libby from following and looked at the women. “John is home, waiting by the phone. One of you should go stay with him. Harry and Irisa are on their way to be with Leysa, and Dwayne is already searching for his daughter with the state police. Make phone calls to those who can help. Have them concentrate on the area between TarStone and Pine Lake.”

With those quiet orders given, Michael finally guided Libby outside. He opened the driver’s side door of his truck, all but tossed her inside, and climbed in after her.

He didn’t immediately start the truck but sat staring out the windshield, his features drawn and his whole body as still as the night. “There was a lot of blood, lass,” he said quietly, still looking forward. “And palm prints the size of Robbie’s.” He finally turned to her. “He wrote something on the window, in blood, that I can’t make sense of.”

“Wh-what?” she whispered, covering his clenched hand on the steering wheel with a trembling hand of her own.

“Three words, in Gaelic. One was spelled wrong, but I’m thinking he was trying to tell me what to do.”

“What were the words?”

“The first one is simple.Pet. He was saying his owl could find him.”

Libby shot her gaze to the porch rail. “Yes. Mary!” she cried, looking back at Michael.

“She was here. Earlier. But she’s gone now.”

“She might be with Robbie,” he speculated, finally starting the truck and backing it up, turning it around, and heading it down the driveway.

“And the other words?” Libby asked. “What did they say?”

Michael watched the road, deep in thought. ‘‘Feargleidhidh.It’s Gaelic for ‘guardian.’ I think he was telling me his duty to Rose. Andfiodh, which could mean ‘a piece of wood.’

Or it could mean ‘forest,’ like the path he intended to take. Hell,” he growled in frustration, looking over at her. “It could damned well mean anything, for all I know. It was spelled wrong.”

“But why would he write in Gaelic?” she asked, quickly fastening her seat belt as they sped down the snow-covered road, traveling faster than the headlights could shine.

“Robbie might be born of this time,” Michael said roughly, downshifting as he turned, skidding onto an unplowed logging road. “But he has the soul of an ancient. He’s in crisis, Libby, guided by an instinct as old as his ancestors.” He shot her a desperate look and then quickly returned his attention to his driving. “The boy knows Gaelic, but he’s not been taught to write it.”

He stepped on the accelerator, pushing the truck dangerously fast over the narrow tote road. “Dammit,” he growled, slapping the steering wheel. “He’s been out there for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Aye. When Dwayne found their truck, the engine was cold, and there was nearly four inches of snow covering it. Leysa was hypothermic as well as seriously injured. Which means the accident happened at least three hours ago.” He looked at Libby, his eyes dark with anguish. “How long can he survive in these temperatures, if he’s losing blood?” he asked thickly.

“It really depends on his injuries,” she told him, laying a hand on his arm. “Sometimes very little blood looks like gallons when smeared around the inside of a vehicle. And he

’s smart enough to try to stop the bleeding. And he’s good-sized, Michael. He has enough body mass to hold heat.”

Libby squeezed his arm and then fell silent, fighting the fear rising inside her, letting Michael cling to the hope she’d given him.

Wood. A piece of wood. What was Robbie saying?

“Wait!” she suddenly shouted, grabbing his arm again. “Stop the truck!”

He slammed on the brakes, bringing them to a sliding halt, and stared at her.

“The staff. Daar’s staff. Did you destroy it?”

“Nay. I tried, but I didn’t dare. Why? What has it to do with finding Robbie? Mary will help us.”

“A piece of wood, Michael. What if Robbie meant Daar’s staff? What if he was asking you to bring it?”

“It probably means something else, Libby. That he’s traveling through the woods.

Robbie’s not even aware of Daar’s staff.”

“Michael, we have to get it anyway,” she said, tugging at him in frustration. “Remember Alan Brewer? I couldn’t help him because I was not powerful enough to get past his defenses. But Daar said that with his staff, I might have been able to.”