Charmed by His Love (4 page)

Mac’s father plucked Jacob out of her arms and settled him against his chest, giving the boy a warm smile as he smoothed down his hair. “That was quite a battle you waged, young Mr. Thompson,” Titus Oceanus said jovially, shooting Peg a wink as he took over herding her children away when Mac pulled her to a stop. “I’ll have to remember to call on you young people if I ever find myself in a scary situation,” Titus continued, his voice trailing off as he redirected them toward the main lodge.

Damn. Why couldn’t Mac let her slink away like the humiliated idiot she was?

“It will be easier to face him now rather than later,” Mac said, giving her trembling hand a squeeze as he led her back to the scene of her crime. “Duncan’s a good man, Peg, and you’re going to be seeing a lot of him in the next couple of years.”

Wonderful. How pleasant for the
both
of them.

“Duncan,” Mac said as he stopped in front of the battered and bleeding giant. “This beautiful, protective mama bear is Peg Thompson.”

God, she wished he’d quit calling her that.

“She’s not only Olivia’s good friend, but Peg is in charge of keeping the chaos to a minimum here at Inglenook.” He chuckled. “That is, when she’s not creating it. Peg, this is Duncan MacKeage. First thing Monday morning, he and his crew are going to start building a road up the mountain to the site of our new resort.”

MacKeage. MacKeage. Why did that name sound familiar to her?

All Peg could do was stare at the hand her victim was holding out to her, feeling her cheeks fill with heat when she saw the blood on it. Which he obviously only just noticed, since he suddenly wiped his hand on his pants, then held it out again.

Peg finally found the nerve to reach out, saw his blood on
her
hand, and immediately tucked both her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to lift her gaze above the second button on his shirt—which she noticed was missing. “We … I thought you were the man who scared Jacob yesterday. He had nightmares all night and I barely got him back here today.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “I’m the one who needs to apologize, Mrs. Thompson, as I believe you’re correct that I shouldn’t have touched your son.” She saw him shift his weight to one leg and noticed the dirt on his pants and small tear on one knee. “I assumed he was the boy I’d just told to get off the excavator. And having a large family of young cousins, I thought nothing of lugging him off in search of his mother or father.” He held out his hand again. “So I guess I deserved that thrashing.”

Damn. She was going to have to touch him or risk looking petty. Mac nudged her with his elbow. After wiping her fingers on her pants, Peg finally reached out, and then watched her hand disappear when Duncan MacKeage gently folded his long, calloused fingers around it.

Oh yeah; she had been a raving lunatic to attack this giant of a man. Not that she wouldn’t do it again if she thought her kids were being threatened.

Okay, maybe she
was
a protective mama bear.

It seemed he had no intention of giving back her hand until she said something. But what?
Nice to meet you? I look forward to bumping into you again?
Have we met before? Because I’m sure I know someone named MacKeage.

Damn. She should at least look him in the eye when she apologized—again.

But Peg figured the first three times hadn’t counted, since she’d mostly been sorry that she’d made a complete fool of herself trying to gouge out his eyes with her
bear
hands. But looking any higher than that missing shirt button was beyond her. “I’m sorry!” she cried, jerking her hand from his and bolting for the main lodge, her face blistering with shame when she heard Mac’s heavy sigh.

Duncan stood leaning against the wall of Inglenook’s crowded dining hall, shifting his weight off his wrenched knee as he took another sip of the foulest kick-in-the-ass ale he’d ever had the misfortune to taste, even as he wondered if Mac was trying to impress his guests by serving the rotgut or was making sure they never darkened his doorstep again. He did have to admit the ancient mead certainly took some of the sting out of the claw marks on his neck, although it did nothing to soothe his dented pride at being blindsided by a mere slip of a woman and her kids.

Hell, if Mac and Titus hadn’t intervened, he’d probably still be getting pummeled.

Duncan slid his gaze to the bridesmaid sitting at one of the side tables with her four perfectly behaved children, and watched another poor chump looking for a dance walk away empty-handed. Peg Thompson appeared to be a study of innate
grace, quiet poise, and an understated beauty of wavy blond hair framing a delicate face and dark blue eyes—which was one hell of a disguise, he’d discovered this morning. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had left her mark on him, much less taken him by surprise, which perversely made him wonder what the hellcat was like in bed.

She was a local woman and a widow, raising her four children single-handedly for the last three years, Mac had told Duncan just before leaving him standing in the parking lot bleeding all over his good shirt. After, that is, Mac had subtly explained that he also felt quite protective of his wife’s friend. A warning Duncan didn’t take lightly, considering Maximilian Oceanus had the power to move mountains, create inland seas, and alter the very fabric of life for anyone foolish enough to piss him off.

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 all, 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, Callum, 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.

Hell, 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 actually travel through time at will. In fact, all his MacKeage and MacBain and Gregor cousins, whose numbers were increasing exponentially 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 hell wasn’t complaining, since he was benefiting financially. 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.

Spellbound Falls 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 follow 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 small 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 Spellbound, 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 actually allergic 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 really 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 usually enough to keep even good-natured ribbing to a minimum.

“If you’re needing a lesson on defending yourself,” William Killkenny 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 willing 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, Killkenny?” Trace slapped Duncan on the shoulder even as he eyed William, 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.”

William 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 shell-shocked than I was this morning.”

“Sweet Christ,” William muttered. “The woman just refused to dance with a fourteenth-century king of Prussia.”

“Who in hell are all these people?” Duncan asked, looking around Inglenook’s crowded dining hall.

“Friends of Titus, mostly,” William 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 really needed another good kick-in-the-ass. His knee was throbbing, the scratches on his neck were burning under his collar, and social gatherings weren’t exactly his idea of a good time. But like most everyone else here today—the small 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 the next two years.

“Uh-oh, your target is on the move,” William said, his gaze following Peg Thompson and her ambushing children as they headed for the buffet table. He nudged Duncan. “Now’s your chance to show us how it’s done, MacKeage. Go strike up a conversation with the lass.”

“Maybe you could offer to let her children sit in your earth-moving machine,” Kenzie suggested. “That would show her ye don’t have any hard feelings.”

“Kids and heavy equipment are a dangerous mix,” Duncan growled, glaring at the three of them. “Don’t you gentlemen have wives and a girlfriend you should be pestering?” He elbowed William. “Isn’t that Maddy dancing with the king of Prussia?”

“Oh, Christ,” William muttered, striding off to go reclaim his woman.

Kenzie also rushed off with a muttered curse when he saw his wife, Eve, start to breastfeed their young infant son under a blanket thrown over her shoulder.

Trace Huntsman, however, didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. “If it’s any consolation,” Trace said, “Peg Thompson was more rattled by this morning’s attack than you were. Maddy and Eve and my girlfriend, Fiona, were there when Peg came to Olivia’s cottage. Fiona told me it took the four of them over twenty minutes to calm her down.” He shot Duncan a grin. “The women all promised Peg they would have done the exact same thing if they’d caught a stranger manhandling their child. Can I ask what you were thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Duncan said. “I manhandle dozens of children every time my family gets together. Everyone looks out for everyone’s kids, making sure the little heathens don’t kill themselves or each other. Hell, that’s the definition of
clan
.”