His observation had only served to deepen the mystery. Why had someone bothered to climb thirty feet into the air to cut the tree? And where the hell was the top?
Grace looked down and studied her chewed fingernails, blocking out the hushed conversation between Grey and Daar and Robbie as they searched the woods for signs of what had happened while speculating on whyit had happened. Her eyes felt too big for her head, swollen and itchy from a sleepless night of crying. What had started out as a pleasant picnic with Grey yesterday had quickly turned into a nightmare for Grace when her husband had told her about his visit with the old priest that morning.
Their beautiful, innocent, unsuspecting daughter, Grey had explained, was being asked not only to step into her destiny now, but to face an adversary the likes of which none of them could even imagine.
Cùram de Gairn, Grey had said, was likely here—in this time and on their mountain—seeking revenge for the death of his own tree of life. That, or he had some other agenda they couldn’t figure out. All Grey had emphasized was that Winter was their only hope of stopping the bastard.
The fate of the world, it seemed, rested on the delicate shoulders of a twenty-four-year-old child.
Oh, how Grace wished for her predictable science to be all that there was again. At one time her world had been filled with only numbers, equations, and dreams of traveling into space. But when she had met Greylen MacKeage, Grace had discovered that the true wonders weren’t out there,but right here on earth, as close as the mountain she’d grown up on. That was when her science had run headlong into the magic, and thirty-three years and seven daughters later, that magic was threatening not only her innocent baby, but the future of all of mankind.
A shadow fell over her, but Grace didn’t look up. Her husband lowered down on his haunches, lifting her chin so that she was staring into his deeply worried eyes. “Any idea, wife,” he asked softly,
“why the tree was cut so high up?”
She let out a shuddering breath and shook her head in his hand, tears stinging the backs of her eyes again.
“I need ye, Grace. I need ye to be strong right now for Winter. None of us can fight what we don’t understand. Please stop being a mama and be a scientist just long enough to help us figure out what
’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 alljust 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 wantsto 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.