“I’m ready,” she said, coming to a halt just outside the machine shed. She took the helmet from him, turning it upside down and ducking her head inside. She straightened and smiled tightly and fastened the strap under her chin. “Can I drive?”

“No,” Michael said, turning to hide his smile. She might be suspicious of his motives, but that didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm for the ride itself.

He climbed onto the sled and revved the engine, inching it out of the shed. He grabbed his own helmet off the handlebars, put it on, and patted the seat behind him. As soon as she hopped on, he tucked both of her feet securely on the foot rails and guided her hands to the handles by her side.

“Just lean against the backrest, and try to relax,” he instructed. “Ya needn’t worry about keeping your balance. It rides more like a car than a motorcycle. And I’ll take it slow.”

“Not too slow,” she chided, peering at him through the open face of her helmet.

He flipped down her visor and started up through the rows of Christmas trees in the direction of TarStone Mountain. But he turned at the trail that led to her house and pulled to a halt in her yard a few minutes later.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked, lifting her visor.

“I thought we could pick up some lunch to take with us.”

“A picnic? In the middle of the winter?”

Michael shrugged and climbed off the snowmobile.

“Why not? We’ll find a sunny spot out of the wind.”

She was running to the house before he could finish and disappeared through the door.

Michael turned and looked toward TarStone, thinking about what he intended to do just as soon as he got Libby far enough away from civilization that she couldn’t run screaming for help.

For a woman who’d just given birth to her seventh daughter four days ago, Grace MacKeage had still had enough energy last evening to give him a scathing lecture on a woman’s need to know she was about to get married.

Michael had visited Gu Bràth last night, on the excuse that he and Robbie had wanted to see the newest MacKeage bairn. But the moment Robbie had left the room to go play with Heather and the girls and Greylen had left with his brand-new baby in his arms, Michael had sat down in front of the fire next to Grace and told her of his intention to marry Libby on Christmas Day.

He’d expected Grace’s surprise but not her anger. She’d stood up, leaned over him, and poked him quite sharply in the chest. And with that same finger waving in his face, she had proceeded to educate him on the finer points of romance, timing, and modern women’s minds.

Which was why he was here now with all of Grace’s words rattling around in his head, stealing Libby away so that he could propose properly.

Michael snorted, took off his helmet, and rubbed his neck in an attempt to keep the sweat from trickling down his back. Grace also had made him promise that he wouldn’t propose until after he’d explained his journey through time.

Which is why they were going up the mountain. He’d learned his lesson with Mary and was not letting Libby out of his sight until she was calm enough not to run.

He turned at the sound of the storm door slamming shut and saw Libby, her arms hugging an overstuffed pack, running back to the sled. He took the pack and secured it on the backrest, climbed back onto the sled, and waited for her to get settled behind him again.

“Do I have to hold on to the handles?” she asked. “Can’t I just hold on to you?”

“Whatever’s comfortable, lass,” he said, starting the engine. “Ready?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

He saw her take a deep breath, slap down her visor, and nod. The moment her hands came around his waist, Michael set off up the back trail to West Shoulder Ridge. They rode in companionable silence for several miles, until Libby tapped him on the shoulder.

“I want to drive,” she demanded when he stopped to see what she wanted. “It doesn’t seem very difficult.”

He stood up so she could scoot forward and climbed on behind her. “This is the throttle,” he said, placing her thumb over the lever on the right side of the handlebar.

“Push softly, as it’s quick to respond. And this is the brake,” he added, wrapping her fingers over the lever on the left. “Ya must always keep your feet on the rails, Libby, even if it feels as if we’re tipping, or ya might break an ankle. It steers just like a bicycle but without the leaning.”

She used her elbows to nudge his arms away and pushed on the throttle. They shot off like a rocket. And then they came to an abrupt halt when she slammed on the brakes.

Michael braced his feet to keep from crushing her against the handlebars and closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

“It’s touchy,” she complained in a shout through her visor, just as she pushed on the throttle again.

She didn’t brake this time, and Michael was suddenly glad he’d decided not to give Libby her own sled for this trip. For the next two miles, they flew like a drunken jackrabbit up the mountain as she slowly got a feel for the powerful machine. Michael had to intervene only four times to keep them from bouncing off trees.

He finally reached around her and took over the controls, guiding the sled to a small clearing at the base of a south-facing ledge. He shut off the engine and climbed off, pulled off his helmet, and watched as Libby’s head slowly emerged from her own helmet to reveal a beatific smile.

“That was wonderful,” she said, her eyes gleaming with delight as she patted the sled affectionately. “I’m buying one of these babies. I saw a map at the Dolans’ store that showed how you can travel the entire state on a snowmobile.”

Michael took her helmet, tossed it onto the ground, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her beautiful smile.

She tasted sweeter than ever, with just a hint of hot apple cider laced with cinnamon. She felt so precious and tiny, even in her plump down winter jacket, that he couldn’t get enough of her. He lifted her off her feet and groaned in satisfaction when she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth.

He strode up to the ledge and found a place free of snow and covered with dry, fluffy grass. He set her down and followed her, until she was comfortably beneath him—all without breaking their kiss.

Not that she’d let him. She was gripping his hair, wiggling restlessly against him until he thought he would burst into flames, making sweet little mewling sounds of urgency.

Aye, it had been far too long since they’d made love.

With herculean effort, he stopped, pulled Libby’s hands from around his neck, and clasped them between their bodies as he stared into her passion-filled eyes.

“We can’t, Libby.”

“I put three condoms in the backpack. And a blanket.”

Michael shook his head, smiling tightly at her obvious want. “Nay, lass. I brought you up here to talk.”

“We will. After. Please, Michael, make love to me.”

He shook his head again, kissed the tip of her nose, and rolled over until he was sitting upright beside her. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at the distant, frozen waters of Pine Lake tucked in the valley below.

“Have ya not wondered, Libby, why I so easily accept Daar as a wizard?” he asked softly.

She sat up beside him, and Michael could feel her eyes fixed on his face. He did not look at her but continued to stare at Pine Lake.

“I wondered,” she admitted. “But there was so much I was trying to deal with that I… it didn’t seem important.” She set one tiny hand on his arm. “Why do you believe in wizards?”

He finally looked over and met her turbulent, worried, and somewhat frightened gaze.

“He really is adrùidh, lass. I know, because I have personally felt his powers. It was in the yearA .D. 1200, and I was engaged in a battle with Greylen MacKeage.”