“Why don’t you go take a shower?” he suggested, waving her away from the coffee maker. “I’ll cook breakfast this morning.”
Catherine headed to her bedroom but stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Be careful, Gunter,” she whispered. “You just might turn into one of the good guys.”
“Where’s the boss man this morning?”
“He’ll be along shortly. He had to go to Gu Bràth first.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Catherine wanted to smack herself.
Gunter’s dark eyes suddenly lit with the knowledge that he’d been right yesterday afternoon.
Catherine sighed and walked into her bedroom, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing over.
She stripped off her dirty clothes, which were still damp from having spent the night lying on the summit of TarStone, and turned on the shower, stepped under the hot spray, and moaned at the joy of hot indoor plumbing.
She thought about her fantastical journey and how impossible it was. She lifted her left hand, blinked through the spray of water at her wedding ring, rubbed her finger with soap, and tried to take it off.
It still wouldn’t budge.
She’d been gone for less than sixteen hours but had spent three days in thirteenth-century Scotland. She’d eaten some indescribable food, been nearly stolen five times, and caught in the middle of a war. She’d stood before a priest and gotten herself married to Robbie, she’d watched her new husband start fires at will, and her right thumb still had teeth marks from a panther cub bite.
So, if it hadn’t been a dream, what had it been?
Magic, Robbie had told her.
Okay, maybe it was magic, but what did that really mean?
It meant that Robbie could not only kiss her socks off, but he really could talk to owls, travel through time whenever he wanted, and start fires without matches. It meant… it meant that she was in really big trouble.
She was in love with Robbie MacBain, either despite the magic or because of it, and how it had happened or why it had happened didn’t matter—it was as real as the ring on her finger.
But face Ron Daniels? Now, that was a nightmare. Why would Robbie think she’d want to ruin the peace she’d found here with him by leading her ex-husband straight to them?
Because as long as she feared Ron Daniels, she could never be Robbie MacBain’s wife.
Darn it, she hated it when guardian angels were right.
Gu Bràth really was a castle, though only the outside bore any resemblance to the MacKeage keep from eight hundred years ago. Inside, the craftsmanship and attention to detail not only were stunning and opulent but somehow still managed to be cozy.
And this modern version had indoor plumbing, bulbs blazing in every nook and cranny, and central heating.
Catherine sat in the corner of the huge dinning room, her hands clasped on her lap, feeling like an interloper among the four Scotsmen, their wives, and Winter MacKeage sitting at the table—that is, until Robbie pulled her to stand beside him at the head of the table and introduced her as Catherine MacBain.
Greylen MacKeage, the rather imposing man sitting at the foot of the table, was the only one who stood up and welcomed her to the family.
Everyone else just gaped in shock.
Michael MacBain slowly stood and stared at his son.
“Catherine came with me when I took Ian home,” Robbie told him, wrapping his arm around her trembling shoulders. “And now she knows everything.”
Michael moved his gaze to Catherine, still not saying anything, still not smiling or frowning or showing any emotion that she could see.
“And she accepts it. And me,” Robbie added, squeezing her shoulders, apparently expecting her to dispute his bold claim.
But Catherine couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. Not with Robbie’s father staring at her.
He was Angus MacBain’s son? There wasn’t an ounce of resemblance between them.
Angus hadn’t been over five-foot-eight, compared with Michael’s six-foot-three or -four frame. And the old warrior’s eyes had been hazel green, not gray like Michael’s. And Angus’s hair had been bright red, not deep auburn. Heck, they even carried themselves differently. Michael had a quiet but lethal awareness about him—just like his son.
And just like Greylen MacKeage, come to think of it.
“It’s done, Papa,” Robbie whispered, drawing his father’s attention.
Michael finally spoke, but he spoke in Gaelic.
Catherine stiffened, but Robbie only squeezed her shoulders again and answered his father in English.
“Daniels will be dealt with,” he said. “When my wife is ready to do it herself.”
Hiswife wanted to crawl into a crack. Why was he bringing up her ex-husband in front of all these people?
Libby MacBain stood up, gave her husband a pointed glare, walked to the head of the table, and pulled Catherine out of Robbie’s embrace and into her own arms. “Welcome to the family, daughter,” she whispered. “Michael and I are both overjoyed that Robbie has found such a special woman to love.”
Catherine was suddenly pulled from Libby’s arms and all but smothered in a fierce but surprisingly gentle embrace. “Aye, my son chose well,” Michael told her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m thinking you’ll be able to handle him. I welcome ya to my family, Catherine.”
And with that resounding endorsement, Catherine found herself being passed from hug to hug, getting well-wishes and welcomes from Morgan and Sadie MacKeage, Callum and Charlotte MacKeage, Greylen and Grace, and finally Winter, who seemed to be the only one of Robbie’s cousins at the meeting.
“Robbie told me you suggested I call him Snowball,” Winter said, peeling back the front of her vest to expose her passenger. “But he doesn’t seem to like it. I’m going to get to know him better before I name him. Thank you for bringing him to me.”
Catherine scratched the cub under his chin. “It was just a thought, because he came from Snow Mountain.”
“Aye,” Winter said as she tucked him away, her eyes suddenly turning sad. “I wish I could have gone with you.” She looked up at Robbie with accusing, tear-filled eyes. “Or at least known, so I could have said good-bye to Ian.”
“But Ian did say good-bye,” Robbie told her as he turned to face the others. “He visited with all of you this past week, did he not? But he couldn’t say anything because I swore him to silence.”
“But why?” Callum asked.
That was when the conversation moved from Catherine to Ian and then on to Daar.
Relieved, Catherine returned to her chair in the corner and listened while Robbie explained why he had traveled back in time and why he hadn’t told them he was doing so and why it was important for the old priest to have his powers restored.
But it was when she heard Robbie promise that as long as he lived they would all be safe from the magic, no matter how strong thedrùidh became, that Catherine finally realized what she’d gotten herself into.
She truly had fallen in love—not with a guardian angel but with a trueGuardian ordained by providence. And from what she was hearing, she was going to be so busy watching his back she wouldn’t have time to worry about looking over her own shoulder.
Yes, it was time to face Ron Daniels.
Chapter Twenty-three
The only problemwith inviting Ron to come for a visit was that nobody knew where he was. Catherine had called the parole officer assigned to him, several of his old acquaintances, and even his old precinct sergeant, only to run into dead ends.
She had finally told Robbie about her decision but that she couldn’t find Ron, and after he’d kissed her until her toes had curled, he explained that he had his own connections and quickly put out the word that Daniels’s ex-wife wanted to see him.
That had been four weeks ago, and there was still no ex-husband darkening her doorstep.