He harrumphed and headed to the table of food.

Libby scanned the room, her gaze landing on Greylen MacKeage, who was wearing a pack that sat on his shoulders and draped over his chest. Grace was tucking Winter into it.

Libby watched as Greylen cuddled the newborn’s bottom with one of his large hands and turned and used his free hand to start eating again.

Grace looked at the grandfather clock standing in the corner, then back at Libby. “I would have thought Michael and Robbie and John would be here by now. This party is the only thing Robbie’s been able to talk about all week.”

“And I wonder what’s keeping Dwayne and Harry,” Sadie MacKeage said, joining the conversation. “The house looks wonderful, Libby. You have stars on the ceiling in your bathroom,” she added, tilting her head in question. “When I went in, the whole ceiling sparkled just before I turned on the light. So I ran back out, got Jennifer, and showed her.

You should have seen her face when she noticed. Where can I get some? I’d love to put them on the ceiling over her bed.”

“There’s a neat little what-not shop in downtown Bangor,” Libby told her, waving the two women toward her bedroom. “Come on. You have to see my bedroom ceiling.”

The stars were a hit, but not nearly as much as her moose bed. Sadie couldn’t stop running her hands over it. But Grace… Grace couldn’t stop smiling like a woman who knew a secret.

“You know who made this bed, don’t you?” Libby said, looking her directly in the eye.

Grace’s smile turned impish as she tapped her chin with her finger. “Let me see. I remember seeing it in someone’s workshop… now, where was that?” She shook her head and shrugged in unremorseful apology. “Nope. I just can’t seem to remember whose shop it was.”

Libby sighed. She almost didn’t care anymore, as long as Santa brought her a matching bureau tomorrow morning. The three of them left to rejoin the party and were just walking into the kitchen when the porch door slammed open and Michael came rushing inside.

His face was drawn taut over protruding cheekbones, his skin paled gray, and his eyes filled with a sharp anguish that bordered on terror.

“I need help,” he said with palpable urgency to the crowded room. “There’s been an accident two miles east of Pine Creek. Leysa Dolan’s truck left the road. She’s being taken to Dover-Foxcroft by ambulance.”

The collective silence lasted mere seconds before the men in the room moved almost as one. They handed off children to their women and rushed to find their jackets, no questions, no comments, only concern darkening their features.

Libby ran up to Michael. “Robbie?” she asked, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Is he okay?”

The men stilled. The silence returned.

Michael took hold of her shoulders. “I donna know,” he thickly told her. “When Dwayne found the accident, there was no sign of him. Robbie and Rose were not in the truck.”

Libby tightened her grip on his jacket as his words started her heart racing. “Then where are they?” she cried. “They were with Leysa.”

Michael gently pulled free, turned, and took her coat from the peg. With steady, rock-solid movements, he slipped it on her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her tightly against him as he turned his attention to the men.

“I’m thinking he’s on foot, trying to make it home by way of the woods. I was able to find faint tracks leading northwest, but the snowfall quickly covered his footprints.”

“Why wouldn’t he have stayed on the road?” Libby asked, frantic now. “Why go into the woods?”

“He’s not even nine years old,” Kate said, coming to stand beside Libby, gripping her arm in support. “He’s confused.”

“Nay,” Michael contradicted. “He’s acting on instinct. It was a shortcut Leysa had taken.

A back road that’s traveled only through the week to haul logs. He knew the quickest way to find help was over the ridge.”

“Then how did they find Leysa?” Libby asked, drawing Michael’s attention again.

“Dwayne went looking for her when she was late getting home.” He ran his finger over her cheek, brushing away a tear. “Libby, there was blood on the backseat,” he said softly. “Either Robbie or Rose is hurt. I’m guessing that when he couldn’t wake Leysa, he decided to take Rose and go for help.”

He looked at Greylen. “I need you to start from Gu Bràth and head over the ridge to the logging road. If we spread out, we should be able to find him.”

Grey nodded. “We’ll turn on all the ski-slope lights before we go. There’s a chance he’ll see them,” he finished, heading out onto the porch. He stopped and let Ian and Callum and Morgan move past. He looked back at Daar. “Come on, old man. You will help us.”

Daar was already putting his coat on and quickly moved to join the other men. He came to a halt in front of Libby, his crystal-blue eyes deeply piercing hers.

“I’m guessing you’ll have yar answer tonight, girl. And I will pray it’s the one ya was hoping to get,” he said cryptically before turning and walking out to the waiting men.

Michael stopped Libby from following and looked at the women. “John is home, waiting by the phone. One of you should go stay with him. Harry and Irisa are on their way to be with Leysa, and Dwayne is already searching for his daughter with the state police. Make phone calls to those who can help. Have them concentrate on the area between TarStone and Pine Lake.”

With those quiet orders given, Michael finally guided Libby outside. He opened the driver’s side door of his truck, all but tossed her inside, and climbed in after her.

He didn’t immediately start the truck but sat staring out the windshield, his features drawn and his whole body as still as the night. “There was a lot of blood, lass,” he said quietly, still looking forward. “And palm prints the size of Robbie’s.” He finally turned to her. “He wrote something on the window, in blood, that I can’t make sense of.”

“Wh-what?” she whispered, covering his clenched hand on the steering wheel with a trembling hand of her own.

“Three words, in Gaelic. One was spelled wrong, but I’m thinking he was trying to tell me what to do.”

“What were the words?”

“The first one is simple.Pet. He was saying his owl could find him.”

Libby shot her gaze to the porch rail. “Yes. Mary!” she cried, looking back at Michael.

“She was here. Earlier. But she’s gone now.”

“She might be with Robbie,” he speculated, finally starting the truck and backing it up, turning it around, and heading it down the driveway.

“And the other words?” Libby asked. “What did they say?”

Michael watched the road, deep in thought. ‘‘Feargleidhidh.It’s Gaelic for ‘guardian.’ I think he was telling me his duty to Rose. Andfiodh, which could mean ‘a piece of wood.’

Or it could mean ‘forest,’ like the path he intended to take. Hell,” he growled in frustration, looking over at her. “It could damned well mean anything, for all I know. It was spelled wrong.”

“But why would he write in Gaelic?” she asked, quickly fastening her seat belt as they sped down the snow-covered road, traveling faster than the headlights could shine.

“Robbie might be born of this time,” Michael said roughly, downshifting as he turned, skidding onto an unplowed logging road. “But he has the soul of an ancient. He’s in crisis, Libby, guided by an instinct as old as his ancestors.” He shot her a desperate look and then quickly returned his attention to his driving. “The boy knows Gaelic, but he’s not been taught to write it.”

He stepped on the accelerator, pushing the truck dangerously fast over the narrow tote road. “Dammit,” he growled, slapping the steering wheel. “He’s been out there for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Aye. When Dwayne found their truck, the engine was cold, and there was nearly four inches of snow covering it. Leysa was hypothermic as well as seriously injured. Which means the accident happened at least three hours ago.” He looked at Libby, his eyes dark with anguish. “How long can he survive in these temperatures, if he’s losing blood?” he asked thickly.