Charming The Highlander

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 wi

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 begi

“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.