Grey took a deep, almost painful breath. This is what he wanted, to come home to a woman and child and to know that he was needed by them.
He wasn’t sure when he had fallen in love with both of them. It was possible it had happened on the mountain, on their desperate descent to safety. Or when he had used his body to warm Grace. His heart may have warmed up with her then. But if he had to choose one single moment, Grey would guess it was when they had been standing outside the summit house, when Grace was bargaining to save his lift for the use of his equipment to save his enemy.
That was when he knew he’d found the woman of his heart. He’d pricked her temper, and she had given him an ultimatum. He knew she hadn’t intended to ask him that way, but when Grace Sutter got mad and she felt she had the power of right on her side, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Yes, it was then, as she’d stood facing him, the rain driving her long, curly hair against her face and the fire of anger driving her words, that Grey had felt the sledgehammer blow to his chest.
That was when he decided he wasn’t letting her back off that mountain without claiming her first. Finding out he was her first had only strengthened the bond that was now sealed. The marriage was only a matter of legalities now, as far as he was concerned. She was his, and though she probably didn’t realize it yet, he was hers for the rest of their lives.
And Baby, too, he hoped.
He had fallen in love with the bairn long before he’d known Baby’s heritage. Not that it would have mattered. There was something about the innocent and unquestioning trust Baby had given him that had tugged at Grey’s heart strings.
He didn’t want Grace to give Baby to MacBain.
And that ate at his insides. He couldn’t imagine having fathered a child and not even knowing it existed.
There would be hell to pay for anyone who dared keep such a secret from him. Yet that was the very sin he was willing to commit against Michael MacBain if it kept Grace’s heart from breaking.
Only time would tell. It was Grace’s decision, not his and not anyone else’s. She would have to come to terms with her sister’s wish and with her own desire to keep the child.
Grey finally entered the living room and gently picked Baby up from Grace’s arms, careful not to wake either one of them. He settled the child into his cradle. The boy was growing like a weed on fertile ground. He looked as if he had gained at least a pound this week. His baby cheeks were plumper, his features seemed less wrinkled, and even his terrible mess of hair looked longer.
Grey covered Baby with a blanket, smiling at the sucking motions he made with his mouth in his sleep.
Such an adventurous beginning in such a short life, and still Baby prospered. That, Grey decided, was a miracle. He was grateful the child was young. An older babe might not have fared as well, considering what he’d been through. He leaned down and kissed the relaxed, tiny fist on the blanket and slowly straightened.
He wanted a dozen more just like him. Strong, healthy sons that would be the foundation of the future.
And the woman who would give him that future was in desperate need of some rest herself. Grey checked the baby monitor sitting on the table beside the cradle and picked up the small receiver that Grace had explained to him earlier would allow them to hear Baby from another room. He tucked the small box into his belt, then turned and carefully picked Grace up, holding her against his chest. She instinctively settled her head in the crook of his neck, and a shiver of warmth ran through Grey at the feel of her breath on his skin.
Damn the ski lift, he decided. It had waited this long, it could wait until daybreak. He was taking his woman upstairs and lying beside her while they both caught up on their sleep.
He carried her through the foyer and started up the stairs, smiling at the thought of Grace’s reaction when she woke up and found herself in his bed.
“Are we leaving now?” Jonathan Stanhope asked from the foyer below, looking as if he had just woken up. He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. His other hand held a map.
Grey stopped and turned. “No,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb Grace. “We’ll leave at noon.”
Jonathan came fully awake and rushed to the bottom step, grabbing the newel post. “But that will be too late!” he said. He stared at the woman in Grey’s arms, and his eyes widened with surprise. “Where are you going with Grace?”
“To bed,” Grey told him, turning and heading back up the stairs.
“Wait! Grace!” Jonathan shouted.
Grey felt the warm, pliant woman in his arms stir against him, and he stopped again and turned to look at Jonathan. “You’re beginning to annoy me, Stanhope,” he growled. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
Chapter Seventeen
Grace didn’t know what to think. She was somewhat disconcerted to find herself waking up in bed with a man beside her. Or, rather, with a man sprawled on top of her.
She couldn’t move. Grey had thrown his leg over her thighs and his arm across her chest, pinning her down as if he were afraid she might disappear while he slept.
So while Grace lay there contented and in no hurry to move, she studied Grey’s bedroom.
She was back in a castle.
And she was the most modern thing in the room. The ceiling above her was at least twelve feet high and made of darkened wood. Two of the walls were of black stone like below, polished to brilliance. The other two walls were of honey oak paneling. And nowhere did she see an electrical fixture or switch.
There were candles in wall sconces, and on a table beside the bed was an entire candelabra of half-burned tapers and a box of matches.
There was a giant hearth on the far wall, flanked on both sides by narrow windows high enough up the wall that she wouldn’t be able to see out them if she were standing on her tiptoes. The bed beneath her was the size of her kitchen at home, and it was a good three feet above the floor.
And those were the more normal things she could see. The rest of the room looked as if it had come directly out of a picture book of medieval castles. A long, narrow length of cloth was draped over the mantel, its colors the same as the shirt she had stolen from Grey. There was an odd-looking saddle with a thick leather bridle hanging down the front of it on a wooden rack standing in the corner of the room.
And then there was a sword lying across the arms of a chair, as if it had been absentmindedly placed there after slaying a dragon.
A sword. She didn’t know much about antiques, but Grace would bet a penny it was worth a fortune. It looked just as tall and heavy as she was. The blade wasn’t shined to a mirror finish like other swords she
’d seen in museums but had the patina of age and use. The handle was not ornate by any means. It had a worn, comfortable look, perfectly designed for a large, masculine hand. The sword was obviously a service weapon, not a ceremonial decoration.
A sword. An antique saddle. Candles. And a castle.
Grace frowned at the hearth as she tried to assimilate what she was seeing, remembering Michael’s story of his supposed journey through time. Ten men, he had said, were caught in the storm. Six MacBains and four others he had refused to talk about, much less name.
A battle. Enemies. And seven years of hatred.
Naw. It couldn’t be. Not one of the four MacKeages had shown even the smallest sign of being delusional.
They were Scots, so why shouldn’t they want to live in a castle? It probably reminded them of home.
Castles were part of their culture, after all.
And besides, would Michael have moved here a year ago if Grey and the others were the enemies he’d been fighting during that storm?
But it was the MacKeages themselves who had told her about Maura. Seven years ago. Before Michael’
s…mishap.
Grace turned her head and looked at the man beside her. His eyes were open, watching her.