“I’ve been thinking, Catherine, that it’s probably time you invite Daniels to come visit his children.”

“What?” she cried, turning in her saddle to look at him. “Invite Ron to—are you crazy?”

He shook his head. “You and Nathan and Nora need to face your demon,” he softly told her. “Because until you do, the three of you will never be free.”

“So, you’re suggesting I just call Ron up and invite him to come see us.”

“Aye. Think about it, Catherine,” he said, moving his horse beside hers when the path widened. “To you and your children, Daniels is still the terrifying monster he was three years ago. But all of you have grown quite a bit in those three years, and maybe now you can see him for the pathetic creature he is.”

“There is nothing pathetic about Ron. Heis a monster. And you want me to expose my children to him? My God, I nearly got killed trying to get us away from him.”

“That won’t happen again,” Robbie softly promised. “Because instead of having two well-meaning friends watching your back, this time you have me.”

“No.”

“And you have the boys.” He leaned over and touched her shoulder. “I’m just asking you to think about it, Cat. For your children as much as for yourself. Let Nathan and Nora see their father again and finally realize they have nothing to fear from him. Give them the gift of courage, Catherine.”

“You make it sound as if it’s all in my head.”

“Nay. Only a fool would be unafraid of something or someone trying to destroy them.

But Catherine,” he whispered, grabbing Sprocket’s rope and stopping them both. “You have five guardian angels this time. Face your demon with us standing behind you, and show Daniels that he no longer holds any power over you or Nathan and Nora.” He reached up and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “Your children can’t be free until they do. And neither can you.”

“I—I’ll think about it,” she whispered, urging Sprocket along the path ahead of him.

Robbie looked down and scratched his passenger’s chin. “What do you think, my little friend? Did I just blow it?”

The cub clamped his sharp little teeth over Robbie’s thumb and growled.

“Aye,” he whispered. “She’s mine.”

The first thing Catherine did when she got home was run into the living room and hug and kiss her children. And then she hugged and kissed them some more, until Nathan finally wiggled free, told her he was too big for that kind of stuff, and went back to watching cartoons. Nora just wrinkled her nose at Catherine and told her she smelled funny.

Neither child mentioned missing her last evening or this morning, apparently quite content to have the boys babysit them. Nora did mention that she ate too much ice cream but that Gunter had stopped the truck on the side of the road so she could throw up, that Rick had held her shoulders, and that Cody had washed her face with water from a brook. Nathan piped up, apparently listening to them as much as the cartoons, and said it had been ditch water, not brook water.

Gunter came tiptoeing downstairs just then, stopped on the bottom step, and smiled at Catherine. “Did you have a good vacation?” he asked. “What book did you read?”

“A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court,”she said, standing up and heading into the kitchen. “You should read it sometime,” she continued over her shoulder as he followed her. “It’s quite an adventure.”

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” he suggested, waving her away from the coffee maker. “I’ll cook breakfast this morning.”

Catherine headed to her bedroom but stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Be careful, Gunter,” she whispered. “You just might turn into one of the good guys.”

“Where’s the boss man this morning?”

“He’ll be along shortly. He had to go to Gu Bràth first.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Catherine wanted to smack herself.

Gunter’s dark eyes suddenly lit with the knowledge that he’d been right yesterday afternoon.

Catherine sighed and walked into her bedroom, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing over.

She stripped off her dirty clothes, which were still damp from having spent the night lying on the summit of TarStone, and turned on the shower, stepped under the hot spray, and moaned at the joy of hot indoor plumbing.

She thought about her fantastical journey and how impossible it was. She lifted her left hand, blinked through the spray of water at her wedding ring, rubbed her finger with soap, and tried to take it off.

It still wouldn’t budge.

She’d been gone for less than sixteen hours but had spent three days in thirteenth-century Scotland. She’d eaten some indescribable food, been nearly stolen five times, and caught in the middle of a war. She’d stood before a priest and gotten herself married to Robbie, she’d watched her new husband start fires at will, and her right thumb still had teeth marks from a panther cub bite.

So, if it hadn’t been a dream, what had it been?

Magic, Robbie had told her.

Okay, maybe it was magic, but what did that really mean?

It meant that Robbie could not only kiss her socks off, but he really could talk to owls, travel through time whenever he wanted, and start fires without matches. It meant… it meant that she was in really big trouble.

She was in love with Robbie MacBain, either despite the magic or because of it, and how it had happened or why it had happened didn’t matter—it was as real as the ring on her finger.

But face Ron Daniels? Now, that was a nightmare. Why would Robbie think she’d want to ruin the peace she’d found here with him by leading her ex-husband straight to them?

Because as long as she feared Ron Daniels, she could never be Robbie MacBain’s wife.

Darn it, she hated it when guardian angels were right.

Gu Bràth really was a castle, though only the outside bore any resemblance to the MacKeage keep from eight hundred years ago. Inside, the craftsmanship and attention to detail not only were stunning and opulent but somehow still managed to be cozy.

And this modern version had indoor plumbing, bulbs blazing in every nook and cranny, and central heating.

Catherine sat in the corner of the huge dinning room, her hands clasped on her lap, feeling like an interloper among the four Scotsmen, their wives, and Winter MacKeage sitting at the table—that is, until Robbie pulled her to stand beside him at the head of the table and introduced her as Catherine MacBain.

Greylen MacKeage, the rather imposing man sitting at the foot of the table, was the only one who stood up and welcomed her to the family.

Everyone else just gaped in shock.

Michael MacBain slowly stood and stared at his son.

“Catherine came with me when I took Ian home,” Robbie told him, wrapping his arm around her trembling shoulders. “And now she knows everything.”

Michael moved his gaze to Catherine, still not saying anything, still not smiling or frowning or showing any emotion that she could see.

“And she accepts it. And me,” Robbie added, squeezing her shoulders, apparently expecting her to dispute his bold claim.

But Catherine couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. Not with Robbie’s father staring at her.

He was Angus MacBain’s son? There wasn’t an ounce of resemblance between them.

Angus hadn’t been over five-foot-eight, compared with Michael’s six-foot-three or -four frame. And the old warrior’s eyes had been hazel green, not gray like Michael’s. And Angus’s hair had been bright red, not deep auburn. Heck, they even carried themselves differently. Michael had a quiet but lethal awareness about him—just like his son.

And just like Greylen MacKeage, come to think of it.

“It’s done, Papa,” Robbie whispered, drawing his father’s attention.

Michael finally spoke, but he spoke in Gaelic.