Libby couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to.

“We’re gonna miss Santa, people, if we don’t start making our way back,” Ian interjected, turning up the collar on his coat and shoving his bare hands into his pockets.

“And we still gotta find Dwayne and let him know his daughter is okay.”

Libby followed Michael when he walked to the snowcat and placed Robbie in the backseat. He took Rose out of her arms and handed the child to his son. But before Michael turned back to Libby, he lingered long enough to run a hand over Robbie’s head, cupping his chin and lifting his face to his.

“Ian will drive ya home,” he told him. “And Libby will stay with ya until I get there.

Give John a big hug when ya see him,” he instructed. “He’s been worried sick about ya.”

Michael leaned in closer, and Libby edged forward to hear what he was saying. “Ya did good, son,” he told him roughly, gently running a finger over Rose’s plump cheek. “You were Rose’s guardian angel tonight.”

Robbie blinked up at him. “It was my duty, Papa.”

“Aye,” Michael agreed, patting Robbie on the shoulder.

Michael turned to Libby, and she threw herself into his arms. “Come back with us,” she pleaded, holding him tightly. “I don’t want us to be separated right now.”

“There’s no room, lass,” he whispered into her hair. “Ian will take ya home, and Grey and I will get my truck and go find Dwayne. We’ll be at the house in no time.” He kissed her upturned face and gave her a reassuring smile. “Feed my son and Rose, give them warm baths, and see if ya can’t talk Robbie into getting some sleep.”

His orders given, he lifted her up and settled her in the backseat beside Robbie. He leaned inside, gave her a quick kiss, and then turned to the men. “Where’s Daar?” he asked.

Ian and Greylen looked around in the beam of the headlights, and Libby also craned her neck to find Father Daar.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

Libby gasped and reached out to Michael. “The staff,” she hissed softly. “Where is it?”

He whipped his head around and stared at the spot where Robbie and Rose had been.

After only a quick look back at her, he walked over and started scuffing the snow-covered ground, looking for the staff.

“Now, where in hell did he go?” Ian muttered as he walked to the other side of the snowcat, looking for Daar.

Libby climbed out and started helping Michael look for the staff. Greylen came over and stared at them quizzically.

“What have you lost?” he asked.

Michael stopped and faced Grey. “Daar’s staff.”

“His cane?” Greylen lifted one brow.

“Nay. His old staff. The one ya threw in the high mountain pond nine years ago.”

Libby took a step back when Greylen’s face suddenly changed from inquiry to a look of dangerous anger. The man pulled himself up to his full height and took a step toward Michael.

“Are you saying thatdrùidh’s staff still exists?”

“Aye,” Michael confirmed. “It seems it shot free of the waterfall just before Morgan blew up Fraser Mountain.”

“And how did it end up here?” Greylen asked, waving a hand at the ground where Michael and Libby had been looking.

“Robbie’s pet owl brought it to Libby. But I took it and hid it.”

“And?” Greylen asked gutturally.

“And we needed it tonight to save my son’s life.”

Greylen looked from Michael to Libby, then back at Michael. “And now Daar and the staff are missing,” he said, not as a question but a statement.

Michael nodded, and both men looked off toward TarStone, in the direction of Daar’s cabin, their faces drawn pale and their fists clenched at their sides. Libby also looked, as did Ian, who had come to stand beside her and listen to the conversation.

There was a sudden detonation halfway up the mountain, and the sky over TarStone lit up like the Fourth of July.

Michael reached out and pulled Libby into a protective embrace as they all watched colorful bolts of lightning sizzle over the summit. There was another powerful blast that shook the ground under their feet, trembling the trees with enough force to dislodge the snow from their branches.

Ian started cursing under his breath.

Michael tightened his hold on Libby.

And Greylen MacKeage started laughing.

“There,” he said when they all looked at him in surprise. He pointed halfway up the mountain, at the smoke rising into the still crackling sky. “I’m betting it’s Daar’s cabin that just blew up. The crazy old fool has been so long without the magic, he’s blown his cabin to hell.”

“And himself, I hope,” Ian interjected.

Libby gasped.

Michael tightened his hold on her, cutting off her words of concern before she could voice them. He turned her around and led her back to the snowcat. Robbie was standing on the track, Rose clutched to his chest, gawking at TarStone.

Michael urged him back inside, helped Libby into the passenger seat, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, softly closing the door.

Ian silently climbed in, started the engine, turned the snowcat around, and headed them home.

Daar sat on a half-rotted stump, fingering what was left of his old staff, and stared at the burning remains of his cabin. God’s teeth, he’d done it this time. He’d destroyed not only his home but his ancient book of spells.

It would take him nearly a century to replace it. He’d have to petition the powers that be, stand before them and explain what had happened, then beg their forgiveness. He’d have to bribe and barter and beg yet again for the other wizards to let him copy from their own books.

He looked down at the now shrunken staff in his hand. It was useless without his book of spells.

Daar lifted his head as a sound came to him, whispering up from the ridge below. He cursed when he realized that it was Greylen MacKeage he could hear, laughing his head off.

Well, dammit. He’d see who got the last laugh—for Daar would make sure that young Winter MacKeage would lead her parents on a merry and maddening chase through her childhood.

Chapter Twenty-six

It was nearly three in the morningbefore Michael’s home finally quieted down. A perfectly healthy and happy Rose was with her daddy, both on their way to Dover-Foxcroft to be with Leysa. Libby had called the hospital for an update and was relieved to learn that Leysa would recover fully and that she’d most likely be back with her family by the New Year.

Kate had stayed at Michael’s house waiting with John, and Ian had taken her home in the snowcat. Robbie had gotten his belly filled and had finally fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago.

And now, Libby and Michael were sitting on the floor in the library, in front of a roaring fire. Michael was leaning against his worn leather chair, and Libby was sitting between his thighs, absently staring up at the oak-paneled hearth.

It suddenly dawned on her exactly what she was looking at, and Libby finally knew what she’d been helping Robbie build for his father for Christmas.

“Tàirneanaiche,” she whispered, scrambling to her feet and walking to the hearth. She reached up and ran her finger along the blade of one of the three swords hanging over the mantel.

“Have a care, Libby,” Michael said. “It’s sharp.”

She turned to face him. “This is your sword. From… from before.”

“Aye,” he said, rising to his feet and coming to stand beside her. He took down the sword she’d been touching, grasping it in his right hand, the tip pointed toward the ceiling.

Libby knew she was gawking but couldn’t help it. She was seeing Michael the warrior from eight hundred years ago, holding his sword as he was now, comfortable and confident and ready to meet any challenge.

And she fell in love all over again.

“You’re staring at me as if you’re seeing a ghost,” Michael said, quickly replacing the sword over the mantel.