"Someone told me there was a hero in here," she said. "I wanted to thank him, you see, because he saved my life."

MacLeod's fingers tightened. "Not a hero." His voice was rough. "I wasn't fast enough. You almost died tonight, mo run. I should have known. I should have felt it the first moment you were in danger from Kipworth."

Hope felt tears burn at her eyes. Maybe this was what loving someone meant. Maybe love made you want to give and give, and somehow you always wanted to give more.

"Stop it, MacLeod. You kept me from dying tonight. Kipworth-or whatever his real name is- would have made certain there were no witnesses when he was done. I'm alive because of you, and don't you forget it," she said fiercely. "That makes twice now, in case you've forgotten."

His eyes burned over her face. There was the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth. "Are you...

keeping score now, mo run?"

Hope smiled tremulously. "Keeping track. Just like someone else I know. Someone who's arrogant and stubborn and who I-I couldn't possibly live without."

Her voice fell away as their hands locked tightly and Ronan slowly drew her down against his good shoulder. Hope felt some of her terror fade, though she knew it would be months before she could forget the sight of Kipworth's face and the sound of his wild laughter.

The door opened a crack and the doctor peered in, frowning. "I am sorry to interrupt, but I have three men out here demanding to give blood to my patient. I keep telling them that he doesn't need blood, but they refuse to go away."

The door opened wider, revealing Jeffrey and Nicholas Draycott. Behind them stood Kacey Draycott and Ian and Jamee McCall, all looking very anxious. "Are you satisfied now?" the doctor asked crisply, hiding a smile. "As I told you, the man will be fine. All he needs is IV liquids and some rest."

"If you're quite certain," Nicholas said slowly.

He was convinced by the sight of Hope's blinding smile just before the doctor eased the door shut.

The viscount turned and saw Ian and Jamee McCall staring at him. "It's a long story," he said.

"Let's go find some of Gabrielle's cappuccino and I'll start at the beginning. It all began with the book which Wyndgate stole, probably about eight years ago."

Jamee hung back, staring at the closed door and worrying about her friend. "She's happy with him?

Really happy, Nicholas? She's had so much pain in her life and so many losses..."

Her husband, the twelfth laird of Glenlyle, slid an arm around her shoulders. Together they waited for Nicholas's answer.

"I think," the viscount said slowly, "that if those two people hadn't been born in the same century, they still would have managed to find a way to be together. They were meant for each other, if you ask me. Ronan MacLeod seems to know every corner and shadow in this old house. In fact, if it weren't impossible, I'd almost say he had to have seen it built." He turned away, his eyes narrowing. "I'll tell you more after I check on Kipworth and that bastard he was working for."

"Wyndgate, you mean?"

"That's the one. I found him going through Hope's desk when I got back." Nicholas Draycott smiled coldly. "I decided they both deserved a nice long stay out in the fishing shed, where I gather Kipworth had locked Hope and Ronan in several weeks ago. No heat out there, of course. Before I threw the bolt, I confiscated their coats just to keep them in a properly penitent state of mind. Given this snow, they might have quite a wait until they're taken into official custody." Draycott's smile grew. "I'm determined to find out the rest of the story of this Macbeth folio and exactly how Wyndgate arranged its theft. Possibly we can...persuade him to give us all the details before the police arrive."

Ian's hands closed to fists. "Why don't we both go have a look at them?" He stared outside at the gleaming snow. "But there's one thing I still don't understand. I could swear I saw a cat when we drove up. There were prints leading over the snow, but they simply vanished beside the Christmas tree."

"Maybe you can explain that to me, too," Nicholas's wife said as she slid an arm around her husband's waist.

But before Nicholas could answer, they heard the sound of husky laughter beyond the door, then a muffled protest and the creak of the bed.

Nicholas cleared his throat, hiding a smile.

As he did, there was a scuffling noise in the front hallway. A short man with wild gray hair and snow dusting his jacket burst inside and glared up the stairs. "Where is that bounder Wyndgate? By God, when I get my hands on the man-"

He went very still as sunlight struck the group of people starting down the stairway. He seemed to struggle for control, his jaw working hard as he looked down the line. His gaze stopped on Jeffrey.

"It was truly the Macbeth, wasn't it? The lost folio stolen eight years ago from the British Library?"

For a moment no one answered. All watched in embarrassed shock as he sank slowly onto the lowest step, his face in his hands. "I should have known he couldn't be trusted. I should have stopped him as soon as I suspected he was offering stolen property."

"Father?" Jeffrey's voice was high and tight as he moved forward. "You were Wyndgate's buyer?"

He made a sharp movement with his hand. "You've done some low things before, but never that low."

Nicholas Draycott cleared his throat uneasily at the sight of what appeared to be a private family altercation. "You're Jeffrey Balford? Son of Lord Balford?"

"I don't choose to use that name. My father and I haven't seen eye to eye on my choice of a career, you see. Or on anything else." Jeffrey scowled. "We went our separate ways a long time ago."

Lord Balford sat up stiffly. "I only wanted what was best for you, Jeffrey. What your mother would have wanted."

"Rubbish. You wanted what was best for you. What would make you look powerful and important among your friends. I don't care a whit about finances and banking. You know that and have always known it."

His father passed a hand over his eyes. "Maybe I did want it for me. And I'm sorry, Jeffrey. It seems I've made a great many mistakes where you're concerned. But...I've missed you."

Jeffrey stood stiff and still, looking angry and confused, yet at the same time intensely vulnerable.

"Maybe it's too late for apologies."

"I hope not. When Wyndgate came to me about this folio, I never knew what he was dabbling in.

But it's brought me to you." He stood slowly, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not going away until we talk. Really talk, the way we should have done long ago." His voice broke. "After your mother..."

The silence drew out. Jeffrey stared hard at the corner of his shoe, then looked at his father. "I suppose we could try. But first, meet Gabrielle." He caught Gabrielle's hand and tugged her forward. "She's the woman I love and we're to be married. Don't even think of trying to argue with me about it," he added fiercely.

Lord Balford looked at the two of them and smiled ruefully. "So I'm to gain a daughter-in-law." He took Gabrielle's hand. "I always knew that Christmas was a lucky time of year. Now I have not one but two people to welcome into my life."

"You don't oppose us?" Gabrielle asked softly.

He gave an unsteady laugh. "Jeffrey has finally stood on his feet and made a commitment to a career-and to the person he loves. How can I disapprove of that?" He took their hands in his.

"Besides, my friend Archibald gave me a slice of your rum mocha velvet cake, and my first taste convinced me I had died and gone to paradise. You are a true artist, young woman, and it would be my very great pleasure to see that you receive all the recognition and support that you deserve."

Jeffrey grinned.

Gabrielle blushed.

Nicholas Draycott chuckled. "All in all, a fitting finale. It seems that MacLeod is healing rapidly, and another old wound is to be healed. It's not precisely from Macbeth, but still, all's well that ends well." Grinning broadly, he took his wife's arm and headed for the kitchen. "Actually, I think we should let Wyndgate and his friend suffer out in the fishing shed a bit longer. Cappuccino and scones, anyone? Or perhaps you'd prefer some exceptional Chinese cuisine." He grinned at his wife. "Since Gabrielle is going to be busy getting acquainted with her new father-in-law, I might as well take over in the kitchen."

EPILOGUE.

Draycott Abbey Southeastern England Late spring THREE WHITE-HAIRED ladies stood in the spring sunlight, studying the high gray walls covered with climbing roses.

"It looks just the same," Morwenna whispered. "A house full of secrets. A house that will last forever."

"Not forever," Perpetua said. "But near enough."

They walked in silence over the grassy slopes. "We'll need a car. Someone's bound to ask how we got here," Honoria reminded her sisters.

Perpetua gave an absent wave and a trim Mini appeared behind them on the gravel drive.

"We should come and visit more often," Morwenna said, watching a pair of swans cut through the silver moat. "There's a rare beauty here, an old magic."

"And you are quite welcome to come," a voice said gravely from the ridge behind them. Adrian Draycott shimmered into view, looking elegant and imperious. "It was your choice to stay away, not mine."

"Perhaps we'll change our minds," Perpetua said stiffly. "After a tour, that is. Let us see what you've done with those roses we brought you from Provence."

Adrian laughed and bowed deeply. "After you, my dearest ladies. I believe we still have time before the others arrive."

A CAR GROWLED along the drive, its radio spilling forth an exuberant Celtic tune. Hope tapped her hand in time, delighting in the feel of the wind in her hair and the faint smell of roses. "There it is," she said, awe filling her voice at the sight of high granite walls and thousands of tiny leaded windows. "Draycott Abbey. It's just as beautiful as I've heard."

No sound came from the seat beside her. MacLeod was trying hard not to clutch at the door handle while his blood raced. She was a fearless driver, and riding in a fast automobile was still not an experience he took lightly.

But he swallowed, forcing his fists to uncurl and his body to relax as the car came to a stop. She was a wonderful driver, he told himself. And perhaps there were some advantages to a car over a horse after all.

"Ronan?" Hope turned, a frown in her eyes. "Did I drive too fast again? Are you-"

"I'm fine, lass. Just taken aback by the abbey. There is so much color, so much light." He slid out, then moved around to open her door. "Let's have a look. I want to see how much things are changed here."

Hope blinked at him. "You've been here before? In your...own time?"

He nodded, taking her arm. "You look very beautiful in that dress, did you know that?"

She brushed at the soft, draping silk. "You spent far too much for it in London."

"We can afford it. And you, my love, deserve it."

She flushed. "I can't believe that all the bills are paid. The Investment Club has been unbelievably lucky this year. Strange, I always seem to earn back exactly what I put my heart on."

Ronan pulled her forward, staring around him at the high oaks. "Too bad. You leave me no dragons to slay or duels to fight in your honor."

"You've saved my life twice, MacLeod. Isn't that enough?"

He touched her hair. "Keeping score, are you?"

"Keeping track. Because you steal my breath away, so you do."

Beneath the green leaves of a whispering oak he caught her hands and pulled her close. "Then marry me, lass. Stop delaying and arguing. We'll announce our news here before all your friends."

"Our friends," Hope corrected. But as before, a shadow haunted her eyes at his words. "And I can't give you what you need."

"And what, sweet lass, is that?" Ronan toyed with her earring, a long dangle of silver.

"A child. A family," she said tightly.

"Is that so? Perhaps you've already done that, mo run. What do you think these people are inside?

Gabrielle, Jeffrey, Nicholas and Kacey. Even that great stubborn laird of Glenlyle and his wife?

They are family in all the ways that count. The bonds need not be limited by blood, lass. I've learned that well. You taught it to me."

"Are you sure, Ronan? Because there are other women. You could-"

"Dinna fire my blood with such nonsense," he growled, his hands closing hard over her wrists.

"But-"

demand. He held her, overwhelmed her, only pulling away so both could draw sharp, ragged breaths. "You yield in this?" His face was stern. "No more talk of loss and all the things you canna give me."

Her fingers traced his jaw with aching tenderness. "Bully," she whispered.

"I'll not be made to change my mind. It's you I'll have and none other. You and those people within the abbey are all the family a man could wish for, and far more than the King's Wolf ever hoped to find."

"Brave wolf. But what of your time, your glen? It will be different here-you've seen just how different. Maybe there is yet a way for you to..." Hope swallowed. "For you to go back," she finished, in a rush that took every bit of her will to finish.

MacLeod caught a wayward strand of chestnut hair at her cheek. Only one secret had he kept from Hope, and that was the Wishwells' secret to give or withhold. Their skills were not the sort to be chattered about lightly. He had discovered that there was blindness in this modern age and a fear of seeing magic and miracle even when they lay clear as day before one's eyes. "You've no reason to worry about that."

"But what about the portrait?"

MacLeod thought back to the cold emptiness he had experienced between times and had to fight back a shudder. "Closed, my love. Sealed tight."

"I don't understand, Ronan. You mean..."

"I can't go back. Even if I wished it, and I do not."

She laid a trembling hand against his chest. "You're certain? You've tried?"

"Three times, and each time I failed."

"You never told me."

He smiled crookedly. "In case I failed. But I had to be sure, mo run."

Her head sank against his shoulder. "Such a risk you took. If you had gone, had been lost-" Her hands tightened.

"But I was not lost, lass. And now you have no hope of escaping me. I'll harry you and vex you and make you wish I'd been truly gone into that cold wall."