But having been raised with the magic, Duncan wasn’t

inclined to let the powerful wizard intimidate him overly

much. He was a MacKeage, after al , born into a clan of

twelfth-century highland warriors brought to modern-day

Maine by a bumbling and now—thank God—powerless old

drùidh.

And since his father, Cal um, was one of the original five

displaced warriors, not only had Duncan been raised to

respect the magic, he’d been taught from birth not to fear it,

either. In fact, the sons and daughters and now the

grandchildren of the original MacKeage and MacBain time-

travelers had learned to use the magic to their advantage

even while discovering many of them had some rather

unique gifts of their own.

Hel , his cousin, Winter, was an actual drùidh married to

Matt Gregor, also known as Cùram de Gairn, who was one

of the most powerful magic-makers ever to exist. And

Robbie MacBain, another cousin whose father had also

come from twelfth-century Scotland, was Guardian of their

clans and could actual y travel through time at wil . In fact, al

his MacKeage and MacBain and Gregor cousins, whose

numbers were increasing exponential y with each passing

year, had varying degrees of magical powers. For some it

might only be the ability to light a candle with their finger,

whereas others could heal, control the power of mountains,

and even shape-shift.

Duncan had spent the last thirty-five years wondering

what his particular gift was. Not that he was in any hurry to

find out, having several childhood scars from when more

than one cousin’s attempts to work the magic had

backfired.

That’s why what had happened here last week wasn’t the

least bit of a mystery to the clans, just an unpleasant shock

to realize that Maximilian Oceanus had decided to make

his home in Maine when the wizard had started rearranging

the mountains and lakes to satisfy his desire to be near salt

water and the woman he loved.

Duncan sure as hel wasn’t complaining, since he was

benefiting financial y. Mac was building his bride a fancy

resort up on one of the mountains he’d moved and had

hired MacKeage Construction to do a little earth-moving of

its own by building the road and prepping the resort site.

Duncan figured the project would keep his fifteen-man crew

and machinery working for at least two years.

And in this economy, that was true magic.

Spel bound Fal s and Turtleback Station would certainly

reap the rewards of Mac’s epic stunt, since there wasn’t

much else around to bolster people’s standard of living. Not

only would the resort keep the locals employed, but stores

and restaurants and artisan shops would soon fol ow the

influx of tourists.

It would be much like what the MacKeage family

business, TarStone Mountain Ski Resort, had done for

Pine Creek, which was another smal town about a hundred

miles south as the crow flies. Only it was too bad Mac

hadn’t parted a few more mountains to make a direct route

from Pine Creek to Spel bound, so Duncan wouldn’t have

to build a temporary camp for his crew to stay at through

the week. As it was now, they had to drive halfway to

Bangor before turning north and west again, making it a

three-hour trip.

Then again, maybe Mac didn’t want a direct route, since

the clans had recently learned the wizard was actual y

al ergic to the energy the drùidhs he commanded gave off.

And that had everyone wondering why Mac had decided to

live so close to Matt and Winter Gregor, who were two of

the most powerful drùidhs on earth.

Apparently the wizard’s love for Olivia was greater than

his desire to breathe.

Not that Duncan real y cared why Mac was here; only that

the money in his reputed bottomless satchel was green.

“Have ye recovered from your trouncing this morning,

MacKeage?” Kenzie Gregor asked. He looked toward the

Thompson family sitting quietly at their table and chuckled.

“I can see why ye were so soundly defeated, as together

the five of them must outweigh you by at least two stone.”

Wonderful; help a man rebuild his home after it was

nearly destroyed by a demonic coastal storm, and the guy

felt the need to get in a shot of his own. But then, Kenzie

was an eleventh-century highlander who’d only arrived in

this time a few years ago, so Duncan figured the warrior

didn’t know better than to poke fun at a MacKeage. Kenzie

might have his drùidh brother Matt to back him up, but the

sheer number of MacKeages was usual y enough to keep

even good-natured ribbing to a minimum.

“If you’re needing a lesson on defending yourself,”

Wil iam Kil kenny said as he walked up, a large tankard of

mead in the ninth-century Irishman’s fist, “we could go find a

clearing in the woods. I have my sword in the truck, and I’m

more than wil ing to show another one of you moderns the

art of proper fighting.” He looked toward the Thompson

table, then back at Duncan and shook his head. “It pains

me to see a man defeated by a wee slip of a woman and a

few bairns.”

“I think Duncan is probably more in need of dance

lessons,” Trace Huntsman said, joining the group. “Have I

taught you nothing of modern warfare, Kil kenny?” Trace

slapped Duncan on the shoulder even as he eyed Wil iam,

making Duncan shift his weight back onto his wrenched

knee. “Our friend here knows the only way he’s going to

defeat the Thompson army is to lure their leader over to his

side. And women today prefer a little wooing to feeling the

flat of a sword on their backsides.”

Wil iam arched a brow. “Then someone should have

explained that to his cousin, don’t ye think? Hamish

kidnapped Susan Wakely right out of Kenzie’s dooryard in

broad daylight, and rumor has it he wouldn’t let the woman

leave the mountain cabin he took her to until she agreed to

marry him.”

Trace gave Duncan a slow grin. “So I guess it’s true that

you first-generation MacKeages inherited many of your

fathers’ bad habits?” He shook his head. “You do know

you’re giving us moderns a bad reputation with women,

don’t you?” He nodded toward the Thompson table. “Maybe

you should go ask her to dance and show these two

throwbacks a better way to win the battle of the sexes.”

“And let her trounce me twice in one day?” Duncan

gestured in Peg’s direction. “I believe that’s bachelor

number five walking away now, looking more shel -shocked

than I was this morning.”

“Sweet Christ,” Wil iam muttered. “The woman just

refused to dance with a fourteenth-century king of Prussia.”

“Who in hel are al these people?” Duncan asked,

looking around Inglenook’s crowded dining hal .

“Friends of Titus, mostly,” Wil iam said, “who aren’t about

to incur old man Oceanus’s wrath by not showing up to his

only son’s wedding.”

“I can’t believe he dared to put time-travelers in the same

room with modern locals,” Trace said, also glancing

around.

“And serve liquor,” Duncan added, just before taking

another sip of mead—because he real y needed another

good kick-in-the-ass. His knee was throbbing, the

scratches on his neck were burning under his col ar, and

social gatherings weren’t exactly his idea of a good time.

But like most everyone else here today—the smal party

from Midnight Bay plaguing him now likely the only

exception—Duncan wasn’t about to insult the younger

Oceanus, either, considering Mac was his meal ticket for