Страница 27 из 70
’s happening.” His eyes softened with a tender smile. “Then ye can go back to protecting yer daughter.”
“But I don’t know why it was cut so high.”
“Robbie said he thinks he can save the pine, at least for a little while,” Grey said softly, turning to sit on the log beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her to him, just as he had been doing since yesterday afternoon. “He’s going to cap the wound so it will stop oozing pitch, and we’
ll mulch the roots with leaves and pine needles to keep the frost away for as long as possible.”
“What’s the point?” Grace whispered, leaning into him, just as she had been doing since yesterday afternoon.
“It’s not dead yet,” Grey told her. “And it’s all that’s left of Winter’s power. Robbie will cut one of the remaining branches so Daar can make her a staff.”
Grace looked up without lifting her head off his shoulder. “You’re sending our baby after this monster with nothing but a branch from a dying tree?” she asked. She sat up and clutched his arm. “Why can’t Robbie give her some of his power? Or Mary? She’s still around. I saw the snowy this morning, when Robbie came to the summit house to get us. Why can’t the guardians lend Winter some of their powers?”
Grey held her face in his hands and used his thumbs to brush away her tears. “The white pine is their energy source as well as Daar’s,” he softly explained.
Grace pulled away and stood up, hugging her arms as she stared at the old priest studying his wounded tree. “Then he’s won,” she said. “Cùram de Gairn stole back his power, and he’s won the fight without us even realizing we were at war.” She turned and faced her husband. “It’s over. Winter doesn’t ever have to know about her destiny. Telling her would only make her think she’s failed us somehow, when it’s really our fault for wanting her childhood to be normal.” Grace lifted her hands, then let them fall back to her sides. “We’ll all just die together.”
Grey stood up to his towering height and ran his palms soothingly over her arms and shoulders.
“Daar doesn’t believe it was Cùram who did this,” he said, nodding toward the tree behind her. “He thinks Cùram would have taken a piece of the tap root, and then likely burned what was left of the pine.”
“And you believe that senile old goat?” Grace snapped, stepping away and angrily waving at the air. “Most days he can’t even remember what year he’s living in!”
Her husband brought her into his arms again and held her head to his chest. “Shhh,” he crooned. “Calm down, wife. Ye can get angry when this is over.” He tilted her head back so she could see his smile. “We’ll get angry together, I promise. But for now ye need to think about Winter and how we can help her.”
“Grace,” Daar said from behind her.
Grace tried to turn, but her husband shifted them both toward Daar while keeping her in his embrace.
“Grace,” Daar said again, wringing his hands, his eyes fraught with worry. “Ye have to tell Winter today.”
Grace pulled free and glared at Daar. “I am not telling my daughter a damn thing,” she hissed.
“And neither is Grey and neither are you.”
“But—”
She pointed an angry finger at him. “You say one word to Winter, and you’re going to discover I can be just as dangerous as my husband. I will cut out your heart, you interfering old goat,” she growled, taking another threatening step closer.
Daar took several steps back, his eyes widened in shock. He’d never heard her speak to him like that, and truth told, Grace was a bit surprised herself. But dammit, she was angry enough to kill something.
Grace spun around at the sound of her husband’s laughter, only to have Grey pull her back against him in a tight hug. “And that, old man,” Grey said over her head, “is what happens when ye threaten a mama’s bairn. I agree with my wife. We find out who cut yer tree, and why, before we tell Winter anything.”
“But—”
“Ye make my daughter her staff, priest, and worry about saving what’s left of yer precious pine.
When we feel the time is right, Grace and I will have our talk with Winter. But until then, ye’ll just have to wait for yer heir. If,” he tightly whispered, “Winter even wants to follow her calling. The choice is ultimately hers.”
Grace smiled into her husband’s chest. Now she remembered why she’d married this wonderful man. She’d fallen in love with a highland warrior formidable enough to scare the whiskers off a charging lion.
Chapter Eleven
D espite only getting about six hours of sleep, and waking up still worried about her parents, Winter did spend the morning doing as Robbie had suggested by going about her business as usual. The storm had quickly spent itself out overnight, giving way to a late September sun that was shining brightly through the sparkling clean, floor-to-ceiling windows of her art gallery.
Megan, having survived her evening of practicing motherhood, seemed to be in a domestic mood this morning. By nine o’clock, she had already feather-dusted every painting and display in the gallery, and had gone outside to remove the street grime from the windows with a long-poled mop and squeegee. Having finished a good half hour ago, Megan had next turned her mop on the windows at Dolan’s Outfitter Store, and then shared tea with Rose by the potbelly stove in Rose’s store.
Winter had spent her first hour at the gallery setting Tom’s newest figures out and getting caught up on her paperwork. She was now sitting on a stool behind the counter with a sketch pad and pencil, so engrossed in her vision of Matt’s home nestled in the highland meadow that she never heard the overhead doorbell tinkle. She gasped in surprise when a large shadow suddenly appeared over her drawing and would have fallen off her stool but for the strong hands that caught her.
“What are you working on?” Matt asked with a chuckle, letting her go and tucking his hands behind his back as he looked over her shoulder.
Winter slapped the sketch pad to her chest and turned on her stool to scowl at him. “I’m just doodling.”
He stepped around to face her and folded his arms over his chest. “That looked like a house you were ‘doodling.’ ” He lifted one brow. “Is it my house?”
Winter stood up and closed the pad. “Maybe,” was all she said as she slid the pad under the counter.
“Can I see?”
“No. I don’t show my work until I’m done.”
His brow lifted again. “Why not?”
“Because my work never makes sense to people until it’s completed. What I start out with is usually a lot different than the final product.”
“So your doodling is really your thought process?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning when she noticed what he was wearing. “You have to start dressing more appropriately, Matt. You’re going to ruin all your nice clothes.”
“I am dressed appropriately,” he said, glancing down at his crisp gray suit, then back at her,
“for the office. I have to fly to New York this morning, but I’ll be back early this evening. Have di
“You expect to fly to New York and be back before di
“Better yet,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll eat at Lutèce, and I’ll have you back by bedtime.”
Winter just got her second surprise of the morning. “Come with you to New York City?” she squeaked. “In your jet?”
His grin broadened. “I’ll even let you try your hand at flying,” he offered, his face lit with that same cajoling expression he’d used on her the first day they’d met, when he’d been trying to get a discount. “Ever fly at mach one?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Private jets don’t go that fast.”
“Mine does. It’s a modified fighter.”
Her suspicion grew. “You couldn’t have landed a jet that powerful at our tiny airport. The runway’s too short.”