Was it this long?” he asked, holding his hands two feet apart. “And thick, ya say? Did it have burls all through it?”
Libby jumped down from the hearth. “Yes. It was riddled with knots. But I don’t know where it is, Father. The last time I saw it, it was sitting on the mantel.”
“And MacBain knew it was there?” he asked harshly, coming to stand in front of her.
“He saw it when Mary brought it to ya?”
“Y-yes. He’s the one who put it on the mantel.”
Libby followed Daar’s gaze as he stared into the kitchen. Michael was stirring the eggs in the fryimg pan, not paying them the least bit of attention.
“Why are you so frantic about that stick, Father? It’s only an old piece of cherrywood.”
“It’s my staff,” he said softly, his eyes misting and his expression pained. “I lost it more than eight years ago and only realized it still existed five years ago. I’ve been searching for it since then.”
“Your staff?” Libby whispered in awe. “Can it do what your cane can? Like when I held it?”
He shook his head. “Nay, it’s far more powerful than that,” he said in a reverent whisper. “It’s more than fifteen hundred years old. And MacBain knows where it is,” he said, darting a glare toward Michael, then looking back at her, shaking his head. “He’s hidden it from me. He knows the power it holds.”
Libby was growing more intrigued by the minute.
And a mite scared.
“Michael knows you’re a wizard?”
“Of course he does,” Daar said. “Why do ya think he’s hidden my staff?”
“Why?”
“Because, like the MacKeage, he doesn’t want me to have the power.”
“What power?” Libby asked, getting more annoyed and even more confused. “What is he afraid of? And what MacKeage? Do you mean Greylen? What’s he got to do with this?”
Daar snapped his mouth shut and stomped into the kitchen. He picked up his thin cherrywood cane and strode over to the coat pegs. He put on his coat, walked to the door, but stopped and pointed his cane at Michael.
“Ya destroy that piece of wood, MacBain, and I won’t rest until ya’re burning in hell.
Robbie won’t stay a child forever, and then I’ll be free to plague ya.”
He turned and pointed at Libby.
Michael silently stepped between them.
But Daar spoke anyway. “Ya talk him into giving me back my staff, girl, or ya just might be joining him.”
That said, Daar turned and walked out the door, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the windows.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
“W-were we just cursed?” Libby whispered, rubbing her arms as she hugged herself against the sudden chill of the room.
Michael turned to her. “Nay. He’s a priest. He’s unable to condemn anyone. People can only do that to themselves.”
“Why won’t you give him his staff back?”
“Because it’s better for all of us if he doesn’t ever get his hands on it. His power is only as good as his staff, and as long as Daar has only that thin cane, we are safe.”
“Safe? Michael, what are you talking about? What are you afraid of?”
He said nothing, only stared at her with deep, unreadable gray eyes. Libby hugged herself tighter, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. Michael stepped forward, and Libby stepped back. But he reached out and pulled her into his arms, held her tightly against him, and rested his chin on her head.
“I’ll make a deal with ya, lass. When ya’re ready to tell me what happened to that woman and boy back in California, I’ll tell ya why Daar must never get back his power.”
“That’s blackmail,” she muttered into his chest.
“Nay,” he said with a sigh, nearly crushing her. “That’s just how things are. Secrets have no place between us, Libby. As long as they exist, they have the power to hurt us.”
“I can’t… I have to think about it, Michael.”
His arms tightened around her. “Shhh. It’s okay, lass. I can be patient.” He pulled back and smiled down at her.
“But can you?”
“Maybe I won’t wait for you to tell me your secrets,” she said sassily, trying to lighten the mood. “I intend to find out who made my bed, and then I’m going to find out what you and Greylen MacKeage are hiding. I’m a surgeon, remember? We’re very good at putting puzzles together.”
“Then make sure ya put one more piece into your puzzle,” he told her softly, tapping the end of her nose.
“Why would Mary bring the staff to you instead of to me or Greylen?”
And with those cryptic words, Michael kissed her soundly on the mouth, grabbed his jacket off the peg, and headed out the door—closing it softly behind him.
Libby stared at the curtain floating back into place and wondered if their date was still on for tonight. She looked up with a sigh and sighed again when she saw all the stars.
They did go on their date, and over the next two weeks, they spent quite a bit of time together. Libby and Michael and Robbie and John quietly slipped into the comfortable routine of having dinner together every night. Sometimes they ate at Libby’s house, and sometimes Libby went to theirs and cooked.
And every night after dinner, Michael would either stay and help her do the dishes and make love to her, or he’d walk her back to her house and make love to her.
Libby had discovered two things about the man; he really was romantic, and he could keep a secret better than the Pentagon.
It was Thanksgiving morning, and she was no closer to finding out who’d made her bed and even more stymied by whatever else it was that Michael was hiding.
And as much as she hated to admit it, Daar was right. Secrets took energy, both to keep and to uncover. Libby had been going nuts for the last two weeks. The only time she hadn’t been dwelling on what Michael was keeping from her was when they were both naked, in bed, making love.
But, as nice as that was, it wasn’t enough.
And therein lay her dilemma. Michael had the patience of Job. He hadn’t asked her again what had happened in California, and it was confounding to Libby how he seemed to be able to set the problem aside and get on with the business of life.
She’d hunted everywhere for that blasted cherrywood staff and worried that Michael might have destroyed it already. She even caught herself walking into the woods and calling Mary’s name, crazily thinking she actually could talk to the bird. But Mary was keeping to herself lately; only Robbie mentioned seeing her, and even then only on rare occasions.
When she wasn’t trying to uncover Michael’s secret, Libby was dwelling on her own. He might know about staffs and wizards and magical powers—which was mind-boggling in itself—but how would he react if he learned that the woman he’d been messing up the sheets with was a freak?
Fear came to mind. Would Michael fear her? He didn’t seem to be afraid of Daar. But then, he knew Daar was somewhat powerless at the moment and was making damn sure the old priest stayed that way.
Daar hadn’t been back since the morning he’d stormed out in anger. That was fine with Libby; she was a little mad at him herself.
“I hope these taste better than they look,” Kate said, carrying a tray of doughnuts into the Christmas shop. “Their holes closed up, and the glaze soaked right into them.”
“I think we were supposed to let them cool before we dipped them,” Libby said, taking the tray and setting it on the counter.
Her mom had arrived home yesterday. Ian had driven to Bangor to pick up Kate and had joined them for dinner last night at Libby’s. The Scot had “taken a shine” to Kate, according to her mother, who also had admitted to Libby that the feeling was mutual.
Now, there was a match that proved opposites attract.
“Wasn’t it nice of Michael to let you sell your jewelry in his shop?” Kate said, fussing with the necklaces on the bare branch Robbie had cut for them. “And after Christmas, we can see about finally getting your studio opened.”