Highlander for the Holidays (39 page)

He narrowed his eyes right back at her and stepped away to point a threatening finger. “I’ll have you know I married Camry and Luke to each other just two years ago; if ye don’t believe me, then go to the county courthouse and see if you don’t find their marriage certificate duly notarized and recorded.”

“But I’m supposed to have a grand wedding in a beautiful white clapboard church, and be wearing a pretty gown and have bridesmaids and flowers and a live band and dancing.” She gasped. “And Merissa—I can’t get married without Mer!”

“Ye got three hours to get her here, then,” Roger snapped. But then he sighed, shaking his head. “What is it with you women, anyway? They ain’t built a finer church than a mountain, and you’ll have an entire forest of trees for flowers and a sky full of stars for decorations. And the only music you’d be need’n is the joyful sound of family wishing ye well.” He looked at Ian and sighed again. “I’m sorry, big fella,” he said with a shrug. “I thought she was perfect for you.”

Ian scrambled to his feet and pulled Jessie to a stop when she started toward Roger with her hands balled into fists. “She’s close enough to perfect,” he said with a laugh, hugging her in restraint. “And she’s a quick learner. So I guess she’ll have to do for the next seventy years,” he muttered.

“Well, okay then,” Roger barked, clapping his hands together again as he started for the door. “It looks like I’ll see ye all up at the summit house in two hours and fortyfive minutes.” He stopped and looked back. “And just so ye know, I don’t perform weddings for free, so ye better be bring’n something to barter that I might be needing,” he said as he disappeared, the door closing on his laughter in stark contrast to the stunned silence of the house.

“Ohmigod, where’s the kitten?” Jessie said, clutching her throat as she looked down to find Toby lying next to the tree, only to sigh in relief when he lifted his head to reveal the kitten curled up against his chest, sound asleep. She looked at her mother, clutching her throat again at a new horror. “What am I going to wear?”

Ian placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest again. “If you have a white blouse and maybe some black leggings, I have a MacKeage plaid at my place you can wear. It’s not a fancy wedding dress, but it is . . . traditional.”

Jessie sighed at the amusement in his voice.

“It’s not about the ceremony, Jessica,” Maureen said, walking up to them. “It’s about the man you marry.” She pulled on Ian’s sleeve to make him lean down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for making our daughter so happy. There was a time her father and I thought she might never know real happiness again. And thank you, too, for saving her life.”

“I assure you, it was my pleasure,” Ian said, turning both himself and Jessie when her dad walked up and held out his hand.

“Congratulations, son, for making a wise choice,” Jacob said gruffly as Ian shook his hand. “Because Jessie is more like her mother than either of them cares to admit, so I can assure
you
that at least the next thirty-two years won’t be boring.” He looked over at his wife with a tender smile. “And after that . . . well, I imagine they’ll only get better with age, like a really fine Scotch.”

APPARENTLY THE MACKEAGES AND MACBAINS AND Gregors didn’t find anything strange about suddenly being asked to pack up their Christmas dinners and bring them to the top of TarStone Mountain to celebrate a fellow clansman’s wedding. The actual ceremony took place out on the deck of the summit house in the light of the setting sun, the air surprisingly balmy for a mountaintop on the twentyfifth of December, and Jessie decided she couldn’t have had a grander wedding if she’d spent another twenty-nine years planning it with her mom—who she’d had stand in as her matron of honor.

Toby had been the ring bearer, although his attention had been torn between his role of helping Jessie get married and worrying over the kitten sleeping tucked inside Ian’s plaid. The love-struck dog had refused to leave the house if the kitten wasn’t coming with them.

Besides wearing an ancient plaid instead of a kilt, Ian also had an actual
sword
slung on his back that Jessie had seen his father place there. It looked positively ancient and definitely more functional than ceremonial. Jessie had thought Duncan or Alec or even Morgan would stand up for Ian, but apparently Greylen was also known as
Laird
MacKeage, and he had stood in as best man.

The remains of the birthday party decorations had been brought from Gù Brath to the summit house, and Jessie didn’t at all mind that several of the slightly deflated balloons said Happy Birthday; after all, today was a rebirth for her, wasn’t it?

Jessie sat on a bench out on the deck in the gently crisp air under the moon and stars, taking a breather from the festivities inside—that Ian had been right to warn her made Camp Come-As-You-Are seem like church in comparison—and fingered the warm stone band on her left ring finger. It was made of the same black stone that ran in fissures throughout TarStone, Ian had told her when he’d pulled her into a closet after the ceremony to kiss her senseless, his eyes the deep green of winter spruce. The same stone, he’d said, that also ran through his veins like blood.

Her husband wasn’t telling anyone about his newly realized ability to manipulate the magic, apparently, but Jessie had caught many of his clansmen suspiciously eyeing the tall, perfectly smooth, seemingly innocuous walking stick Ian had held between them and asked Jessie to also grip as they’d said their vows—which had been completely in Gaelic, much to her mom and dad’s delight.

Everyone but her parents had also been eyeing Roger suspiciously—though also reverently. And Roger . . . well, he’d reverted to full crazy-old-hermit mode within seconds of blessing their marriage. Jessie wasn’t sure, but she thought he’d bartered himself a few more wares off his clansmen, intending to in turn barter them off on the next unsuspecting target he thought might
be need’n
a nudge or two.

And speaking of the devil, Roger’s cackling laughter preceded him through the doors when he came strolling out onto the deck with Ian—who was obviously looking for his missing bride, as his scowl turned to a relieved smile when he spotted her.

“You know,” Jessie said, standing up and walking into his embrace, “I hope these late nights on top of your mountain aren’t going to become a habit.” She leaned into him with a yawn. “Have either of you seen Toby?” She shot Roger a glare. “I hope you know you completely ruined a very expensive, highly trained service dog. He’s supposed to be worrying over
me
, not some silly little kitten.”

Ian gave her a squeeze. “I’m your very expensive, highly trained protector now,
gràineag
,” he said with a chuckle.

“Toby will be there for ye when you need him,” Roger assured her. “He’s just smitten with his new pet at the moment.” He suddenly clapped his hands and rubbed them together, then thrust one toward Ian. “Well, I do believe I must be going now, so I’ll take what’s coming to me in exchange for having married you up proper, MacKeage.”

“And that would be?” Ian asked, arching a brow.

Roger waggled the fingers on his outstretched hand. “I believe that would be the keys to that pretty new snowcat you brung up the mountain five nights ago.”

Ian snorted. “Not likely, old man,” he said, even as he reached into a pouch dangling from the belt holding his plaid. He slapped a set of keys into Roger’s hand with a sigh. “But you can have my pickup, which should make it easier to lug home all your new
wares
.”

Roger stared down at his hand, looking as if he’d just been given the keys to a mortuary, his eyes narrowing when he lifted them to Ian. “Ye might want to think about staying on my good side, big fella,” he said softly, curling the keys into his fist so he could point a finger at Jessie even as he continued looking at Ian, “if’n ye don’t want me giving her another, slightly more powerful walking stick.”

Jessie’s eyes widened when Ian reached into the pouch again and pulled something out, and traded it for the keys in Roger’s once again open palm. “You ruined a perfectly good groomer in only two years; I’m not letting you have another one, especially at the height of our season. You take my snowmobile or you
walk
away.”

Jessie frowned. Ian was giving up his snowmobile just so she wouldn’t get a more powerful staff? “Hey, wait,” she said, snatching the funny-looking key out of Roger’s hand before he could close his fingers around it. She shoved the key at Ian. “I want a new walking stick.”

“I told you I would cut you a new one.”

“No, I want one that will do stuff. Powerful stuff.” She smiled at Roger. “I’ll give you the keys to my Volvo if you give me a big gnarly stick like Ian’s.”

The old hermit actually stepped back, shaking his head. “I told ye, that kind of power in the hands of a woman is . . . is . . .” He shot Ian a threatening glare and turned and strode into the summit house, muttering something about women today wanting to wear britches like they were men.

Ian turned Jessie into his embrace with a chuckle. “Well, wife, I do believe that just put the fear of God into him.” He kissed her lips—which were pouting because she still didn’t have a stick. “Hopefully we won’t be seeing him for another year or two.” He smiled. “Are ye ready to go home?”

She arched a brow. “You expect me to spend my wedding night with my parents sleeping upstairs?”

He shook his head, the light of a thousand suns shining in his eyes. “Dad gave them one of the resort cabins for the rest of their visit.”

Jessie’s heart quickened. “Then I guess I’m ready to go home,” she said, stretching to meet his descending mouth, only to feel him suddenly stiffen just as she heard the distinct rumble of a trail groomer engine purr to life. “Looks like you’re still not getting your old groomer back,” she said with a laugh.

“Old, my ass,” Ian growled, breaking away and running to the railing. “That’s our newest groomer!”

Jessie ran to the rail and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into him when his arm came around her with a resigned sigh. “We can text him tomorrow and tell him he forgot his iPad at the house, and when he comes to get it, I’ll keep him busy while you sneak out and disable the groomer.”

Ian looked down at her. “I don’t know why Roger thinks you’re only dangerous if you have a stick,” he muttered, giving her a squeeze, “because I happen to think you’re powerfully scary all on your own.”

Jessie stepped in front of him and reached up, twining her fingers through his loose hair to pull his mouth down to hers. “Damn right. So let’s go home, husband, because I have at least three more little miracles I want to start creating, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need your help.”

APPARENTLY MARK BRIAR WASN’T USED TO ANYONE TELL
ING him no, be it the girlfriend who’d just sent him a Dear John letter or some lonely widow to whom he was magnanimously offering sexual favors. Not only did Mark keep trying to point out what Olivia would be missing if she didn’t come to the bunkhouse tonight; it appeared that her repeatedly gentle but firm refusals were making him angry.

Well, that and the Dear John letter he’d crumpled into a ball and thrown at her feet after reading her the more interesting parts. Added to that, his driving had gone from reckless to downright scary. If she’d taken ten minutes to pull the rear seat out of her van, she’d be in only half the mess she was in now; she might still be dealing with an angry young man but at least the pine trees wouldn’t be speeding by in a blur.

“Look, Mark,” Olivia said calmly. “It’s not that I’m not flattered by your offer, but I have a very firm rule about fraternizing with my employees.”

“Employ
ee
. You only have one right now. So it’s not like anyone can complain the boss is playing favorites or anything.” His eyes narrowed menacingly. “What about the campers?” He snorted. “Or is that how you fill up your single father sessions?”

Olivia counted to ten to keep from smacking the belligerent snot. “Ohmigod!” she shouted, pointing out the windshield. “Quick, pull off the road!”

Mark hit the brakes then veered into a small gravel pit before bringing the truck to a stop and shutting off the engine. “What did you see?”

Olivia immediately undid her seatbelt and got out. “A moose just crossed the road in front of us,” she said, pointing towards the trees when he also got out. “And hitting an animal that size would total your truck.”

“I didn’t see anything. You just made that up,” he said, storming around the front of the truck. “What in hell is it with you women, anyway? You think you can just dump me like yesterday’s trash to go after some rich guy just because he’s got a career and drives a Porsche?”