The front door opened, and Catherine eyed the stairs at the end of the porch, wondering if she could reach them before Robbie reached her. The priest stepped through the door, alone, and folded his hands over the top of his beautiful wood cane.
He had wild, long white hair that was a disturbing contrast to his perfectly trimmed beard, shoulders stooped by gravity and time, and age-bent fingers covering the head of a cane that was only slightly more crooked than he was. He looked positively ancient—
except for his eyes, which were a sharp, crystal blue.
“I am sincerely contrite, Miss Daniels, for making such a terrible assumption,” he said gruffly. “Robbie explained that ya was tending his wound, and I apologize for thinking different.” He held out a gnarled hand to her. “I’m Father Daar. I live up on TarStone.”
Even though she wanted to run the other way, Catherine’s manners compelled her to step forward and shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Father,” she whispered.
“Ah… would you like a cup of coffee and some shortbread?”
His eyes sparked with interest. “Shortbread, ya say?” he asked, using her captured hand to lead her inside. “I haven’t had shortbread in ages. Did ya flavor it with lemon?”
Catherine tried to get her hand back, but he was using it to lead her through the living room into the kitchen. “With just a few drops of lemon juice,” she told him, finally escaping when he sat at the table.
Robbie was nowhere in sight.
She found a clean mug, poured the priest his coffee, then got down on her knees and reached far into the back of a bottom cupboard. Father Daar’s laughter and Robbie’s snort drew her attention when she straightened.
“So that’s where you hide the dessert,” Robbie said from the bathroom doorway. He buttoned up his shirt, tucked it inside his belt, and walked over and set her scissors on the table. “I finished taking out the stitches,” he told her, lifting one brow. “And managed to do it without once poking myself.”
“Then you should probably remove the stitches in your hand when the time comes,” she suggested sweetly, getting two plates from the cupboard. She cut the shortbread, set it on the table in front of the men, gave them forks and napkins, refilled Robbie’s coffee, and headed to her bedroom.
But she stopped at the door when she heard Father Daar urgently whisper to Robbie,
“Ya have to go backtonight. We’re running out of time.”
Go back? Tonight? And do what, get beat up again?
Catherine turned to them, crossed her fingers behind her back, and hoped she didn’t fry in hell for fibbing to a priest. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Robbie. Your father and Libby are coming for supper tonight. I told them we eat at six.”
Robbie looked from her to the priest, then back at her, one eyebrow raised speculatively.
He finally shook his head at Father Daar. “My family obligations come first.”
Father Daar eyed Catherine suspiciously. “Ya’re making commitments for yar boss without checking with him first?”
Crossing a second set of fingers, Catherine nodded. “It seemed important to his father, and I didn’t dare refuse.”
The priest looked back at Robbie but nodded toward her. “I warned ya a woman would only complicate yar life. They just love interfering in a man’s work.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Robbie drawled, leaning back in his chair and smiling at Catherine.
“They come in handy sometimes. I think they add a certain… excitement.”
Catherine uncrossed her fingers and closed her hands into fists, smiling back at him. “I’
m sorry I won’t be able to drive you to work this morning, but I have torun into town.”
That wiped the smirk off his face.
Catherine spun around, walked into her bedroom and softly closed the door, and leaned against it and closed her eyes with a sigh.
Excitement, huh?
Oh, she’d show the man some excitement, all right—and a good deal of leg!
“Your plan isn’t working, priest,” Robbie growled, knowing it wasn’t Daar putting the bite in his voice but Catherine.
She was intending to run all over the countryside again, dressed inshort shorts and leaving a trail of ditched logging trucks in her wake. He was going to have to do something about that.
“Then come up with a better plan!” Daar snapped, glaring at him. “Just as long as ya make it happen soon. I still need to nurture that root into a sapling.”
Robbie took a calming breath and looked away from the bedroom door and tried to focus his attention on Daar. “How long has that oak been growing on MacKeage land?
Would it have existed when the Highlanders lived there? Would they know about it?”
“Nay,” Daar said, shaking his head. “Cùram’s only been living there six years now.”
“But you’re saying itis there, that I just can’t see it?”
“Aye. He’s hidden it from ya.”
“And you still won’t come back with me to unmask his spell? What would happen if he discovered you there?”
Daar hunched over his plate of shortbread, curled his hands around his cup of coffee, and spoke down to it. “Twenty years ago, I might have stood a chance against him,”
Daar whispered. He looked up at Robbie. “But only a chance. A hundred years ago, I might have beaten him.” He straightened his shoulders. “Hell, I did beat him, when I matched Judy MacKinnon to Duncan MacKeage.” The olddrùidh narrowed his eyes.
“But if ya take me back there now, Robbie, ya may as well run me through with yar sword,” he whispered. “Cùram would finish me.”
The door to Catherine’s bedroom opened, and she came striding out, dressed in shorts, a sweatshirt, and running shoes. A person could have heard a mouse sneeze as she silently walked across the kitchen, her chin held high and her fists clenched at her sides.
She didn’t even look at them. She merely opened the porch door, stepped out, and softly closed it behind her.
Robbie slowly bent the fork in his hand until the tines touched the handle, and turned to Daar. “Just tell me how to find the tree. Give me something to work with.”
Daar shook his head. “I have nothing. As it is, ya’re going to have to use yar own powers to travel back and forth from now on. My staff has grown too weak,” he said, fingering the nearly smooth cherry cane lying on the table beside his plate.
“My own powers,” Robbie softly repeated.
“Aye. Ya can no longer deny them, MacBain. Ya’ve learned the full extent of your gift, and ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
“I don’t want that kind of power!”
“Do ya think Iasked to be adrùidh? It’s not exactly something ya wish for. Providence decides our destinies. Yar own mother understood this, and it didn’t stop her from having you. It’s not a curse, boy,” Daar snapped, leaning forward. “It’s a gift. Yar mama not only gave ya life but the gift of yar calling. Embrace it. Use it! Explore the full extent of yar abilities, and thank God that ya have the means to protect those ya love.”
Robbie carefully set the destroyed fork by his plate and stared down at the tiny bandage covering the dagger cut on his right hand. Aye, he had seen his calling in the midst of the violent storm, and it had scared the holy hell out of him. He’d come face to face with his mother, as the beautiful mortal woman she’d once been, and she had shown him his destiny.
“It was Mary who revealed my powers to me,” he whispered, still staring down at his hand. “She showed me everything.”
“Aye,” Daar said softly. “And ya saw that guardians even have power overdrùidhs, didn’t ya? Mary showed ya how she saved her sister’s life by using my own staff to protect Grace from the freezing waters of the high mountain pond.”
“Aye,” Robbie said, still not looking up.
“It’s what keeps everything balanced,” Daar continued. “For as powerful asdrùidhs are, providence has given the world an army of knights to protect it as well.”