Daar continued, gazing off into the forest. “Duncan was in a fine rage, either from guilt or want, I don’t know which. He even threatened to go to Blair’s father and claim her for himself.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
Daar straightened and focused back on Robbie. “If Duncan had kept her, he would have started a war among all three clans. And so I persuaded him to let Blair go.”
Robbie canted his head. “You had another reason for stopping the match. What was it?”
The old priest’s face darkened. “Aye,” he whispered. “I did. Identical twins were not welcome in that time, Robbie, and usually one or both of them was killed out of fear of the black magic. But Judy and Blair’s mother refused to let that happen.”
“Mothers had no say back then,” Robbie pointed out. “Not when a husband thought otherwise.”
“Aye, but even though they truly were identical, there was one tiny difference. Blair MacKinnon had six toes on each foot.”
Robbie went perfectly still.
Daar nodded. “That’s why you and Michael both have twelve toes. They’re a gift from your grandmama and the only reason you were even born. Cara MacKinnon persuaded her husband to spare her daughters by claiming they weren’t truly identical.”
“And our gray eyes?”
Daar shrugged. “The twins had gray eyes.”
“So what are you saying, priest? That my father and Greylen are brothers?”
“Aye. Half brothers, both fathered by Duncan from twin sisters.”
Robbie shifted in his saddle. “So Greylen MacKeage really is my uncle,” he whispered, staring at Daar. “It still doesn’t change anything, though. Who slept with whom eight hundred years ago has nothing to do with Grey and my father now. Where’s the danger in knowing they’re brothers?”
“Cùram,” Daar said succinctly. “If he ever learns Judy MacKinnon had an identical twin sister, he would be here before the thunder could finish shaking the ground.”
“But why?”
“Think, Robbie. Two offspring from identical sisters and fathered by Duncan: Greylen and Michael. Andtheir offspring—your seven cousins and your brother and two sisters.
Winter MacKeage has already been promised as my successor, and only onedrùidh can come from Judy MacKinnon. But that still leaves Michael’s children.”
“But my father didn’t have seven daughters,” Robbie pointed out. “He only had two.”
“Aye. But the seven sequence is my continuum. Cùram’s continuum is not so constrained.”
Robbie ran both his hands over his face, scrubbing hard and thinking even harder. He suddenly stopped and looked up. “You’re saying one of Michael MacBain’s daughters, one of my sisters, could be Cùram’s heir?”
Daar was shaking his head before Robbie could finish. “Not only your sisters,” he said quietly. “It could be your brother. Or you.”
“Then pray it’s me, priest, so I will stop this madness!”
“Nay, Robbie,” Daar whispered. “Pray that Cùram never finds out the truth about your papa. Going up against adrùidh as powerful as Cùram could destroy ya.”
“Better than becoming one!”
“I beg your pardon,” Daar said, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest.
“Being a wizard is a noble profession. Your cousin Winter is blessed, not cursed.”
“I want nothing from the magic, priest. I only want to protect my family.”
“Aye, I know that, Robbie. And the best way you can do that is to keep our secret and get me the root of Cùram’s oak tree.”
“I couldn’t find it,” Robbie repeated. “Nor Cùram. None of the MacKeage clan I spoke with had any knowledge of either a special tree or thedrùidh.”
“Ya didn’t actuallyask them, did ya?”
“Of course not!”
Daar nodded. “Good, then.” He scratched his beard again, his gaze focused off in the distance. “Maybe Mary can find out something,” he speculated. He looked at Robbie.
“Maybe that’s why she stayed behind. Meet me back on the summit at sunset in three days, and ya can give it another try. Oh, and one more thing,” Daar said when Robbie started to turn his horse to leave. “Ya stay away from your stepmama. If Libby so much as touches ya, she’ll know exactly how ya got hurt.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Robbie told him. “And now I have a warning for you. We have a new housekeeper. So mind yourself around her, and don’t scare her off.”
Daar perked up. “The woman from West Shoulder Ridge?”
“Aye,” Robbie said with a nod. “But for her I’d be dead now, and you’d be telling your sorry tale to the Highlanders.”
“I will be most gracious when I come visit,” Daar assured him. “Can she cook?”
“I imagine Cat can do anything she puts her mind to.”
“Cat?” Daar repeated. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s my name for her,” Robbie said, turning his horse away.
“MacBain!” Daar snapped, stopping him yet again.
“What?”
“Ya cannot be tempted by this woman,” he warned. “I don’t care if she did save your life,our problem comes first.”
“I have my priorities straight,” Robbie said. “Just make sure yours are.” He walked his horse back up to the porch, causing the wizard to step back. “Because if I find out you’re playing me in order to get your book of spells, or if I ever learn that you’ve lied about any of this, there won’t be a place, or a time, where you’ll be safe.”
Daar gasped and took another step back until he was pressed up against the cabin wall.
“When did ya find out?” he whispered. He shook his head. “It was the storm, wasn’t it?
Ya became aware of all your guardian powers while in the storm.”
“Aye,” Robbie growled, nodding. “Fully aware.”
That said, Robbie pointed his horse down the mountain and decided to turn his thoughts to more pleasant things.
He wondered what Cat was cooking for supper.
The first thing Robbie did upon returning to the house was stop and take off his boots on the rug by the door. The second thing he did was tiptoe through the spotless kitchen to the downstairs bedroom and see his new housekeeper sound asleep, her arms thrown protectively over her children. The third thing he did was open the oven door and spend a full minute breathing in the smell of the pair of stuffed roasting chickens.
Then he ladled himself a steaming mug of the hot cocoa he found on the stove and went into the spotless living room.
And then he got mad.
The lady and her kidsshould be sleeping the sleep of the dead. They’d cleaned the downstairs of his house, every last nook and cranny of it, not a speck of dirt left unrouted. The damned woman must have worked herself and her kids to death. And that made him mad.
So Robbie sat in the living room, quietly simmering with anger, and listened to truck doors slam and four pair of boots bang onto the porch.
“Oh, shit, man! Hey, don’t push.”
“Then get out of the way. What are you doing standing in the door? Move!”
“It’s blue.”
“You’re face is gonna be black and blue if you don’t get out of the way.”
“Don’t go in there! Can’t you see, you moron? The kitchen floor’s clean. Take off your boots.”
“Oh, shit! Itis blue.”
There was a sudden silence. Despite his anger, Robbie had to smile. He could almost picture the unbelieving faces standing in the kitchen door. Hell, even he had forgotten the damned floor was blue.
“Wow, look at this place. What’s that smell?”
“Oh, God. It’s roasted chicken. I know it is.”
“It’s awfully quiet in here. Do you suppose the little girl still takes a nap?”
“She’s little and a girl, ain’t she? So everybody keep quiet. Little girls need their sleep.”
Somebody snorted. Four pair of boots dropped onto the rug.