Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior

by Lindsay McKenna

  “What is it?” Inca gasped, as she reached out for the bright red foil wrapped gift topped with a yellow ribbon.

  “Open it,” Mike said with a laugh. “You’ll see….”

  Like a child, she eagerly pulled the paper from around it. “Oh! Smoked salmon!”

  Pleased, Mike winked at Roan. “In case you don’t know, she’s a real jaguar when it comes to fish.”

  Roan grinned. “Jaguars eat fish. At least, that’s what she told me.”

  “Humph,” Maya growled, sinking her teeth into the warm, buttered bread, “they’ll eat anything that isn’t moving.”

  “And even if it is moving, we’ll freeze it, jump it and make it our own,” Mike added, grinning broadly. Jaguars killed their quarry by freezing its movement. What few knew outside of those in metaphysics was that the jaguar pulled the spirit out of the body of its victim. Without the spirit, the victim cannot move.

  Again, laughter filled the air. Roan watched as Inca quickly opened up the package and placed the salmon on the table so that everyone could partake. A fierce appreciation of her natural generosity rolled through him. He saw Inca trying to release her fear about Maya’s coming mission. As always, she was putting others ahead of herself.

  Rising, Alaria bestowed a warm smile upon them all. “Enjoy your lunch together, my children. I’ve already eaten and I’m being called to a counsel meeting. Blessings upon you…” And she turned and slowly walked away.

  Mike dug into his bag again. “Hey, I brought something else for us, too.” He grinned and lifted a bottle of champagne up for all to see.

  Maya clapped her hands. “Yes! Perfect! What else have you got in that bag of tricks of yours, Houston?”

  “Oh,” he crowed coyly, “some other things.” And he shifted the bag to the other side of his stool, out of Maya’s reach—just in case.

  Laughing, Inca quickly set wooden plates on the table and passed around the large platter of fresh fruit. Roan got up and handed everyone a mug so that the champagne could be uncorked and passed around. He then went to work on slicing the cheese.

  Maya took the dark green bottle and, with her thumbs, popped the cork. It made a loud sound. The cork went sailing past Roan, struck the wall of the hut and bounced harmlessly to the ground. “One of the few times I’ve missed my intended target!” she exclaimed.

  “You have to do better than that,” Roan told her dryly. “I duck fast.”

  Laughing deeply, Maya stood and poured champagne into each cup. As Inca placed the sliced cheese on a large plate, she passed the first cup to her.

  “Here, little sister, taste this stuff. You’re gonna like it. You’re a greenhorn when it comes to modern society, and this is one of the nice things about it. Go on, try it.”

  Sniffing the champagne cautiously, Inca sat down next to Roan. As the others began to reach for the sliced bread, fruit and cheese, she pulled her cup away and rubbed her nose. “It tickles!”

  “You’ve been out in the bush too long,” Maya said with a giggle. “That’s champagne. It’s supposed to bubble and fizz. Here, lift your mug in a toast with us.” Maya raised her mug over the center of the small, circular table. “Here’s to my sister, Inca, who I’m proud as hell of. For her guts, her moxie and never giving up—this toast is to her!”

  Everyone shouted and raised their mugs. Inca hesitantly lifted hers. “This is a strange custom, Sister.”

  Roaring with laughter, Maya said, “Just wait. You’ve been sequestered in a rain forest all your life. I wasn’t. So, each time I visit you, from now on, I’m gonna share a little of my partying lifestyle with you.”

  Inca watched as everyone grinned and took a drink of the champagne. Unsure, she sniffed it again. Lifting the mug to her lips, she tasted it. “Ugh!”

  Roan smiled when Inca’s upper lip curled in distaste. Brushing her cheek with a finger, he said, “Champagne is an acquired taste. The more you drink it, the more you like it over time.”

  “I do not think so.” Inca frowned and set the mug on the table.

  Giggling, Maya said, “Jungle girl! You’ve been too long out in the boonies, Inca. Come on, take another little sip. It will taste better the second time around. Go ahead….”

  Giving Maya a dark, distrustful look, Inca did as she was bid. To her surprise, Maya was right. Staring down at the mug, Inca muttered, “It tastes sweeter this time….”

  “Yep. After a couple more sips, you’ll see why we like it so much.” Maya reached for the champagne bottle, which sat in the middle of the table. “Come on, Houston, drink up. I’m not polishing this bottle off by myself.” She wiggled her eyebrows comically. “Of course, I have been known to do that—but not this time.”

  Inca sat back and laughed, the mug between her hands. She couldn’t believe that Maya could drink a whole bottle by herself! Her sister was so funny, so playful and joking compared to her. Inca looked forward to Maya’s visits so she could absorb every tiny detail of her sister’s life. Compared to her, Inca felt as though she had been raised in a bubble.

  Inca shared a loving look with Roan. Warming beneath his tender gaze, she felt a lot of her worry dissolving. Maya was a woman of the world. She knew and understood life outside the rain forest and how it worked, while Inca did not. Perhaps Maya would be safe. Inca prayed that would be true. With Michael working with her sister, Inca felt some assurance of that. However, she also knew that no Jaguar Clan member was impervious to death. They died just as quickly and easily as any other human being if the circumstances were right. She knew that from her own dire experience.

  Epilogue

  Inca sighed, nestling deeply into Roan’s arms. They had just settled down for the night in their own hut, which to her delight was situated near the bubbling creek. Inhaling Roan’s scent, she gloried in it as she moved her fingers languidly across his chest. Feeling his arms clasp her in a tender embrace, she closed her eyes.

  “Each day, I become more happy,” she confessed.

  Smiling in the darkness, his eyes shut, Roan savored Inca’s warm naked body pressed against his. He lay on his back, the pallet soft and comfortable beneath them. A cool breeze moved through the windows and brought down the temperature to a pleasant range for sleeping.

  “I never thought I would have the kind of happiness I have now,” he murmured near her ear. Sliding a strand of her soft, recently washed hair through his fingers, he pressed a kiss to the silky mass.

  Snuggling more deeply into his arms, Inca lay there a long time, her eyes partly open, just staring into the darkness.

  “What is it?” Roan asked as he trailed his hand across her shoulder. “You’re worrying. About Maya? Her mission?”

  “I cannot keep my thoughts from you, can I?”

  Chuckling indulgently, Roan said, “No.”

  “I am glad you allowed me to give her the necklace you gifted me with. Did you see Maya’s eyes light up when she saw that blue stone?”

  “Mmm, yes I did. She seemed to know a lot about that rock. One day, when the time’s right, maybe she’ll tell us about it. At least we know it comes from one seam in a copper mine north of Lima.”

  “And she held it as if it were precious beyond life.”

  Nodding, Roan continued to move his fingers down the supple curve of Inca’s spine. Gradually, he felt the fine tension in her body dissolving beneath his touch. Love could do that. And he loved her with a fierceness and passion he’d never known before. “That stone has been passed down through my family for untold generations. My mother gave it to me after my vision quest at age fourteen—at the ceremony when I turned into a man. She told me then that it came from the south. I thought she might have meant the southwest—perhaps Arizona or New Mexico. Now I realize she meant South America, and specifically, Peru. It’s had an amazing journey, and now it seems like it’s come home to where it started so long ago.”

  Sliding her hand across his massive chest, Inca absorbed his warmth and strength. How wonderful it felt to be able to touch him
whenever she pleased. It was a heady gift. “Maya said there is only one mine in the world that has a seam of this stone. It is so rare. She said men kill to steal it from miners who look for it.”

  “Yes, and that it possesses certain powers.” He smiled a little. “I’d sure like to know more about what they are.”

  “I think Maya knows, but sometimes, because we are in the clan, information is given only when it is appropriate. Otherwise, we are not told.”

  Roan nodded and quirked the corner of his mouth. “Still, I’m curious. I’m beginning to think that maybe one of my ancestors was South American, but I have no way to prove it. Our people pass on traditions verbally, so nothing’s written on paper to verify it one way or another.”

  Pressing a kiss against the thick column of his neck, Inca murmured, “I believe you are right. Why else would you have come back? Our spiritual path always makes a circle of completion. Perhaps one of your ancestors walked north and met and fell in love with one of your Lakota relatives, and remained and lived there. That would explain your twin path between the two Americas, yes?”

  It made a lot of sense to Roan. “I like the idea of living in the Amazon basin with you and helping the Indian people to keep their land as the hordes flee the cities of Brazil. I’m looking forward to making a life for us there.”

  “I am content that our people are safe without us being there.”

  Roan knew Inca had worried about that. She was driven and responsible in the care and protection of the Indians in Amazonia. Maya’s reassurances that they had reduced the number of cocaine-producing factories and, therefore, the ability of drug lords to enslave the Indians, lessened her anxiety about it.

  “I want to use this next nine months here in the village as a well-deserved rest for you,” Roan said, turning onto his side and pressing her gently against him. He felt Inca make that deep-throated purr that moved through him like promising, provocative fingers of heat. “See this as a vacation.”

  Laughing throatily, Inca eased back and looked up into his dark, carved features. She melted beneath his smoldering blue eyes, which regarded her through dark, spiky lashes. Mouth drawing upward, she whispered, “We are here for training. And the elders are pleased with your progress.”

  “I think they’re pleased with both of us,” he said, tracing the outline of her broad, smooth forehead with his fingertips. “And I also think they’re very glad you’re back home here, with them. You’re a powerful person, Inca. They need warriors with hearts like yours. People like you don’t grow on trees, and they know that. Best of all, Grandfather Adaire has made amends to you. He’s no longer the enemy you thought he was, and I’m glad to see that rift between you healed.”

  She nodded, her eyes softening. “He has always been the father I did not have, and now he is that again for me.” Inca caught Roan’s hand and placed a soft, searching kiss into his palm. She felt him tense. Lifting her head, she said, “In our business, there are not always happy endings, Roan. I was glad to hear of Julian, and his father, Colonel Marcellino, from Michael.”

  “Yes,” Roan murmured, “the colonel embraced Julian and finally came to realize that his second son is just as worthy of all the praise and attention his first son had received. I’m sure it’s made a difference in their family dynamic.”

  “So perhaps getting bitten by the bushmaster was a good thing.” Inca sighed. “So often I see bad things happen to good people. At the time, I know they think they are being cursed, but it is often a blessing. They just do not realize it yet.”

  “No argument there,” Roan said as he leaned down and nibbled on her bare shoulder. She tasted clean, of mango soap with a glycerin base that someone in the village had made days earlier. “I had a lot of bad things happen to me, and look now. Look who is in my arms and who loves me, warts and all.” And he chuckled.

  Laughter filled the hut, then Inca said petulantly, “You are not a frog! You have no warts, my husband.”

  “It’s slang,” he assured her, grinning at her impertinence. “In time, I’ll have you talking just like Maya does.”

  “Humph. Maya was educated in North America. She picked up all those funny words and sayings there. Many times, I do not understand what she talks about.”

  “Slang is a language of its own,” he agreed, absorbing Inca’s pensive features. Her eyes were half closed, shining with love—for him. “But next time Maya visits us, you’ll be able to understand her better. I’ll teach you American slang.”

  “Good, because half of what she says, I do not grasp.”

  “Like?”

  “Well,” Inca said, frustrated, “words such as fire bird.”

  “That’s slang for an Apache helicopter gunship. They’re called fire birds because of all the firepower they pack on board. They’ve got rockets, machine guns and look-down, shoot-down capabilities. A fire bird is one awesome piece of machinery. And in the right hands, it’s a deadly adversary.”

  “Oh. I thought she meant a bird that had caught its tail on fire.”

  Roan swallowed a chuckle. “What other slang?”

  Rolling her eyes toward the darkened ceiling, she thought. The chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs was a musical chorus against the gurgling creek. “Herks.”

  “That’s a C-130 Hercules—a cargo plane. I think she’s referring to the Herks that provide her helicopters with fuel in midair. The Apache can be refueled in flight to extend its range of operation. The Herk carries aviation fuel in special bladders within the cargo bay.” He lifted his hand above her to illustrate his point. “The Herk plays out a long fuel line from its fuselage, like a rope, and the helicopter has a long, extended pipe on its nose. There’s a cone at the end of the fuel line, and when the helo connects with that, gas is pumped on board, so the helo can continue to fly and do surveillance to find the bad guys.”

  “I see….” Inca sighed. “Her world is so different from mine. She was adopted and taken north and educated there. She is a pilot. She flies like a bird.” Inca shook her head. “I am on the ground, like a four-legged, and she is the winged one.”

  “Both of you carry very heavy responsibilities in the jobs you’ve agreed to take on,” Roan reminded her. “Maya’s role might appear more glamorous to outsiders, but the ground pounder—the person in the trenches, doing what you do every day—is of equal importance. Winning sky battles is only part of it. If people such as yourself were not on the ground doing the rest of the work, the air war would be futile.”

  “She has told me of the sky fights she’s had with drug lords. She said they have helicopters that can shoot her out of the air.” Inca frowned up at him. “Is this so?”

  Groaning, Roan gathered her up and held her tightly to him. “My little worrywart,” he murmured, pressing small kisses against her wrinkled brow. “Over the next few months, I’ll try to outline what Maya does for a living. Mike Houston told me a lot about her background and education. I think once you know and understand more about her, you’ll stop worrying so much. Maya is considered the best Apache helicopter pilot in this hemisphere. That’s why the army is sending their best instructor pilots here. The army’s hoping to map out a long-term strategy to eradicate drug lords from the highland villages, destroy all the little, hidden airports so that they can’t ship their drugs out so easily. Maya’s been trained for this, Inca. She’s just as good at what she does as you are.”

  Satisfied, Inca sighed and surrendered to the warmth and strength of his arms. Lifting her hand, she looked at the two rings glittering on her finger. One of the gifts Michael had brought with him in that sack of his was a plain gold wedding band. Unknown to her, Roan had asked the major to furnish him with one to compliment her peridot engagement ring. Roan had given her the second ring when they were alone in their hut that very evening. Its beauty and symbolism touched her heart and soul deeply.

  “I love you, man of my heart….” she said softly near his ear.

  Roan smiled tenderly and stroked her hair.
“And I’ll love you forever, Inca. Forever…”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3724-1

  MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: HEART OF THE WARRIOR

  Copyright © 2000 by Lindsay McKenna

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