He lifted a hand and fingered the white lock of hair on her forehead. “And maybe we can have one or two more bairns. Girls if ya want, with cute little locks of white hair and six toes on each foot.”
She slapped her hand over his and gave him a horrified look. “My children will be normal,” she sputtered.
He tugged on her white curl. “But what’s the fun in that? Anyone can be normal.”
She had to think about that, and from the look on her face, it was difficult for her to embrace such a concept. So Michael figured he’d help her along by kissing her cute, pouting lips.
“Marry me, Libby,” he whispered into her mouth.
“Tomorrow at noon, make me the happiest man in the world.”
She pulled back with a gasp. “Robbie knows!” she squeaked. “He said those same words this morning.” She poked him in the shoulder. “He knew before I did!”
Michael quickly captured her hands and nodded. “So does Kate. And Grace. And John.
We’ve been planning the ceremony for almost a week.”
He’d have gotten poked again if she could have freed her hands. “And just when were you going to tell me?”
“I had originally thought to wait until morning,” he admitted, feeling heat creep into his face. This was one time he was certainly glad that Grace had interfered. “I have your ring wrapped in a small box, hidden in our Christmas tree. I—er—I was going to surprise you.”
“With a ring,” she repeated softly, her eyes searching his. She suddenly sighed, all the fight draining out of her. She shook her head. “Every woman dreams of that kind of surprise.” She glared at him. “But she usually has a few months before the ceremony to get used to the idea.”
“Why wait?”
“Why not wait?”
Michael cupped her face with his hands and rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Because I want you in my bed at night, lass. When two people decide to spend the rest of their lives together, a long engagement is wasted.”
She went back to thinking, and Michael decided that Libby’s thinking too long and too hard might very well be a dangerous thing. So he went back to kissing her.
She was hesitant at first, more distracted than responsive, until he was able to wiggle his hand under her coat and find her firm little breast. He also found that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
How nice. And how convenient.
Her skin was toasty warm under several layers of clothes and the down jacket. His much cooler hand sent shivers coursing through her body and beaded her soft, silky nipple into a pebble. He ran his thumb over it, captured her gasp in his mouth, and rolled them both over until he had nestled himself comfortably between her legs.
Finally, Libby joined in the love play and darted her sweet little tongue into his mouth as she arched her breast into his hand.
He thought about the blanket and the condoms in her pack and decided they were no longer needed. They were lying on a soft bed of dried, sun-warmed grass, and it was okay now to start making Robbie a brother or sister.
With tenderness and a newly declared love, they undressed each other in a wonderfully erotic dance that slowly stripped away all the barriers that had stood between them.
Finally, with both hearts fully engaged, Michael slowly entered Libby. Passion flared in her eyes as she lifted her hips to take him deeper, and her smile, which outshone the sun, hit him smack in the center of his heart—in exactly the same spot her well-aimed snowball had hit him just five short weeks ago.
Chapter Twenty-four
Libby sat on the top stepof her porch, bundled up to her nose in wool, enjoying the serenity of the night. Huge snowflakes were falling with quiet intensity, steadily building a pristine blanket over the slumbering land. The silence was absolute, broken only by the muted sounds of conversation coming from inside the house.
Kate was in there, sitting in front of a roaring fire, cuddling four-day-old Winter MacKeage. Grace was sitting beside her, sipping tea. Greylen had deposited his wife and new baby about an hour ago but had left to get his six other daughters before Libby could ask him why he hadn’t brought them in the first place.
Which was why she was out there now, waiting to see what Greylen had said would be a wonderful surprise.
It seemed all these Scots were big on surprises.
While she waited, embraced by the peace of the night, Libby thought about Michael’s secret. And Greylen’s. And Ian’s and Morgan’s and Callum’s. They were all men born in another time, Michael had told her. Once enemies, they were now united by their determination to make new lives.
How was it possible they had traveled through time?
What had Daar said that morning when he’d zapped her flowers awake? Time, he had told her, existed only for clockmakers.
And, apparently, it could be manipulated by wizards.
How unsettling. And frightening. Could Daar send Michael back to his natural time?
No, the old man must never get hold of his powerful staff. She was glad Michael had taken it, and she hoped he’d had the presence of mind to destroy it.
With no sound of warning, Mary quietly glided out of the darkness and landed on the porch rail above Libby.
“Well, hello there,” Libby said to the owl. “I see you got my invitation to our party.”
Mary blinked, then turned her head toward the living-room window.
“Have you seen your newest niece yet?” Libby asked.
“She’s quite an adorable little bundle of joy.”
The silent snowy sidestepped along the porch rail until she was even with the window.
She sat in silence and watched her sister and her niece.
Another sound gently echoed through the night, a soft jingling that slowly drew closer, interlaced with faint voices.
Libby stood, suddenly excited beyond words. Those were sleigh bells. And carolers, their song keeping rhythm with the beautiful bells. Heavily plodding hoofbeats added to the chorus, the symphony resounding through the air.
Libby ran down the length of her driveway to the road and watched as the huge sled slowly came into view. Two giant horses were pulling it, their bells jingling loudly and the lights hanging from poles at the corners illuminating more than a dozen people.
Libby continued to run down the road. The sled was full of MacKeages, some singing, some laughing, the children bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls. Ian was driving, the slash of his grin showing through his beard peppered with snowflakes. He pulled the horses to a stop, and Libby took his offered hand and climbed up beside him.
“Oh, my God. This is wonderful,” she said, turning to smile at the others. “What a perfect way to go to a party on Christmas Eve. Where’s Michael? And Robbie?”
“We thought they were here already,” Ian said, slapping the reins to move the horses forward. “No telling what Michael’s up to,” he said with a snicker, giving Libby a wink.
“They’ll be along soon, I reckon.”
Libby grabbed the side of the seat as the sled jerked forward and couldn’t quit grinning as they turned into her driveway, the horses breaking into a trot to power them up the steep incline.
They stopped in front of the porch, and Kate came out, her hands on her cheeks as she stared mutely in awe. The men jumped off first and started handing down children before helping their wives.
Libby refused to budge from her seat. “Go inside, everyone. Ian’s going to take me for a short ride,” she said, weaving her arm through his, giving him a sweet, pleading look.
“Only if yar mama can come,” he said gruffly, crowding against her and patting the seat beside him. “Come on, Kate. Get yar cute little behind up here.”
“I need to get my coat.”
“Nay. I’ll keep ya warm, lass,” Ian countered, patting the seat again. “We’ll just go for a short jog around the field.”