She said nothing, and Matt—or Cùram de Gairn or whoever the heck he was—quietly walked out of the cave.
Chapter Nineteen
W inter sat on the singed sleeping bagin front of a fire she didn’t really need because of the warmly glowing walls. While staring up at her pinewood staff, she chewed the last bite of a candy bar she
’d found in her saddlebag. She’d had a moment’s guilt that Matt was probably hungry; the soup he’d eaten hours ago couldn’t have sustained him very long. But her guilt had lasted only as long as it had taken Winter to remember how mad she was at him.
And she hoped Gesader—Kenzie—had a terrible hangover.
She couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Didn’t believe it. She would know something that important, wouldn’t she? She’d always been able to sense the energy of spirits. Wouldn’t she know if a little one was growing inside her?
They hadn’t used any protection last night. Winter hadn’t even considered the risk of pregnancy, much less been able to think about anything other than loving Matt so much her heart had near burst with wanting him. What was she going to tell her parents? How could she put them through this right now, while they were still trying to deal with Megan’s pregnancy?
Winter’s heart went out to her sister. She finally understood why Megan couldn’t quit crying, as her own eyes hadn’t stopped leaking since Matt had left over four hours ago—though some of those tears might be from her cold. Maybe.
But probably not. The Matt Gregor she’d fallen in love with over the last two weeks was still entrenched in her heart, though that was the only thing Winter was sure of. The rest—the story of the young warrior having lost everyone dear to him, and her pet panther actually being a man—she still couldn’t decide how she felt about that.
It did explain a few things though, filling in most of the puzzle of what had been happening lately.
Except…except she hadn’t asked Matt why he’d cut the top off Daar’s tree. If he truly did need her magic, why would he have risked weakening the white pine?
And this wedding he kept insisting they were having in Las Vegas tomorrow—how was she supposed to feel about that? Angry? Appalled? Grateful he wasn’t abandoning her like Wayne Ferris had abandoned Megan?
Winter realized she had to remember what time Matt was from. Conceiving an illegitimate child centuries ago guaranteed a life of misery for both mother and baby. And his sister, Fiona. She also had to remember how Fiona’s tragedy had affected Matt; how he hadn’t been there to protect his sister when she’d gotten pregnant and had died in childbirth, her bairn dying soon after.
Poor Matt. He was riddled with guilt. He was supposed to be a guardian and powerful drùidh,but he hadn’t been able to protect those he loved, not the villagers who had been kind to him, not his family, and ultimately not even Kenzie.
Which was why, despite deceiving her and despite messing up the magic so badly he’d doomed mankind, Winter couldn’t bring herself to expose Matt’s true identity to Robbie and Daar and her papa.
Oh, she understood perfectly well why Matt had demanded those vows from her last night, why he’d hope to gain her loyalty at least long enough to keep his promise to his brother. He was counting on Winter to honor her word, even though she’d innocently given it to her enemy.
What a mess. It seemed she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She could betray her own family and pretend Matt was nothing more than the man she loved, or she could betray the man she loved and protect her family. Oh yeah, she could also betray all of mankind while she was at it!
There had to be a way to bring the continuum back into balance without creating even more of a mess. All she needed to do was figure out how to stop the pine from dying, grant Kenzie his wish, and redeem Matt’s soul without losing her own. She was powerful, Matt had said. So powerful, in fact, that he’d chosen her to help him.
Winter stopped rubbing her nose on her sleeve in midswipe. But why her?Of all the wizards from all times, why had Cùram de Gairn come to this century to involve herin his damnation?
Curses, would the questions never cease? The more she learned, the more she didn’t know.
Winter yawned, then sneezed so hard her head started to throb. She looked toward the entrance, realized it was already dark outside, and yawned again. Crying was definitely hard on a body, she decided for the second time in two days as she fluffed up the remains of the sleeping bag and laid down.
And tomorrow didn’t look to be any more promising.
Winter woke up surprisingly calm, considering how disturbing the first half of her night had been. Within minutes of falling asleep, she’d experienced horrific nightmares of murdering thieves slaughtering defenseless villagers, of her frantically searching an unfamiliar mountain for unmarked graves, and of her chasing Matt through a dark void of hopelessness as she shouted his name and cried uncontrollably. But sometime in the wee hours before dawn her nightmares had changed, transforming into a colorful, pleasant dream filled with such promising hope that she was still reluctant to open her eyes and have it end.
She was pretty sure she knew why the nightmares had suddenly vanished, as well as exactly when. Matt had returned in the wee hours, wrapped himself around Winter until only her nose was exposed, and held her in his protective embrace for the rest of the night. In fact, he was still holding her, spooned against her back with his arm and leg thrown across her body, clinging in a way that told Winter just how desperately he needed her.
Because more than needing her help to keep his promise to Kenzie, Winter understood just how desperately Matt needed her to wrestle Cùram de Gairn’s soul away from Providence and give Matheson Gregor back the gift of hope. The chill wind of hopelessness she’d felt when she’d hugged the pine tree—that’s what was really upsetting the continuum, not Matt’s manipulating the magic for his own benefit. Oh, she didn’t deny it had been a selfish act when he had made his pact with Providence to keep his brother alive, but wasn’t Providence just as culpable?
Winter had come to that blasphemous conclusion during her beautiful dream, in which she’d been walking through the woods on Bear Mountain and had come upon a large crow sitting on a stump.
She’d had quite an interesting conversation with the crow; Winter asking questions about her calling and the wise black bird providing her with answers beyond anything she could have imagined. In her dream, the crow had taken on the voice of Tom, but Winter dismissed that assimilation because Tom was always carving crows, so of course the one in her dream reminded her of him. Nevertheless, their conversation had eventually led the crow to tell Winter about a shift in the continuum that had occurred nearly a thousand years ago.
Still keeping her eyes closed, Winter frowned at nothing, wondering if it truly was possible for a person to learn stuff in dreams. Because if she could believe what the crow had told her, then she may have figured out how to solve all of her and Matt’s problems—and save mankind while she was at it.
The crow had told Winter that the moment Cùram de Gairn had made his pact with Providence, the continuum had immediately realized its mistake and started to alter its ways. Winter had also been surprised to learn that up until her birth, every drùidhto have ever lived had been male. And guardians, oddly enough, were usually female, although that was not a strict policy. Feminine energy was nurturing by nature, the crow had explained, as well as quite practical when compared to male energy, which had a penchant for getting a bit forceful when dealing with problems.
And hadn’t Daar proven that theory more than once!
So had Cùram, the bird had told Winter. Matheson Gregor had trained to be a warrior and brought those skills to his calling as Cùram de Gairn. In order to get himself to this century and into her bed, and still hold onto his power, Cùram had used cunning, trickery, and often brute force—all tools of a successful warrior. Hell, her dream crow had said Matt had gone so far as to blow up Snow Mountain eight hundred years ago, getting his tree of life destroyed in the process, to come to this century.