He let her go when she pulled away and returned to packing his box as she mutely walked to the counter and started putting things back in the cupboards again.
“There’s still time to change your mind and go ride out the storm at An Téarmann with Eve and Maddy and Gabriella,” he said into the deepening silence.
“I believe I made it clear to you and Kenzie that I prefer to stay here,” she said, keeping her back to him.
“Can I ask why?”
She bent down to put a pot in one of the bottom cupboards. “Because I can.”
He wanted to tell her the real reason she was still here was because he’d nearly gotten into a fistfight with her brother earlier when the highlander had threatened to drag her to An Téarmann kicking and screaming if he had to, but Trace decided it was better that she believe Kenzie respected her enough to let her make her own decisions. He tucked his box of supplies under his arm, walked over and took hold of her hand, and led her to the mudroom.
“We don’t need to go below yet,” she said, trying to wiggle free. “The wind isn’t even blowing, and the sun’s shining; there’s still plenty of time. And I still have things to do upstairs,” she whispered when he opened the closet door with his foot.
“There’s something I want you to see while there’s still time for you to change your mind,” he said, nudging her ahead of him into the closet.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her golden eyes a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What?”
Trace tripped the latch on the back wall. “You’ll see.”
“You’ve added light,” she said as she walked down the stairs. “Only it’s not coming from bulbs. It seems to be everywhere.”
“Go to the right instead of left,” he said, standing on the step above her when she reached the corridor. “The tunnel opens into a small chamber just around the corner.”
After only a quick glance over her shoulder, she headed down the tunnel, and Trace decided that she might not be ready to forgive him, but at least she still trusted him.
He hoped she would feel the same way a minute from now.
The light emanating from the very walls of the tunnel grew more intense the closer they got to the chamber, until it was nearly blinding. She stopped, and Trace bumped into her. “It’s okay, keep going. The chamber’s lit with only a lantern.”
“But what’s making the walls glow like that?”
“Your brother’s magic,” he said, giving her a gentle push.
“Matt?” She stepped into the small chamber and turned to look at him, blinking against the change in lighting. “Matt’s come here to help us?”
“No. It’s his magic, but I got it from that fancy pen he gave Kenzie.”
She beamed him a smile. “That was very wise of you. Now we’ll be just as protected here as at An Téarmann.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s one advantage,” he said, setting down the supplies. He took hold of her shoulders and slowly turned her around. “But more than just keeping the demons out, your brother’s magic is keeping Mac in.”
“Oh, my God, what have you done?”
Trace held her back when she tried to step forward. “I can’t let you near him, Fiona. I don’t know how … sedated he is or what he’s still capable of doing.”
“But what’s wrong with him? He looks sick.”
“Mac isn’t really a drùidh, I’m afraid. He’s more or less in charge of them, like some sort of prince of the drùidhs. Only thing is, he’s allergic to their magic.” He waved toward Mac. “And as near as I can tell, when he gets too close, it puts him in a stupor, and hopefully keeps him too weak to do anything … magical.”
“But why?” she asked, craning to look at Trace. “If you know my brother’s magic makes him sick, then why expose him to it?”
He finished turning her around to face him. “Titus Oceanus is coming here after whoever’s trying to kill his son, and I’m just making sure he still has a son when this is over.”
“But if Mac is even more powerful than the drùidhs, then … wait. How do you know he’s allergic to their magic?”
Trace grinned. “He told me.” He shook his head. “Rule number one: Never tell anyone your weakness, because first chance they get, they’ll use it against you.”
“He thought you were his friend,” she snapped, spinning away to go to Mac.
Trace caught her by the shoulders and hauled her backward against him. “I am his friend. And right now, I’m all that’s stopping him from committing suicide in the name of courage and dignity. The idiot intended to go out there and meet those demons head-on, all by himself.” He flexed his fingers on her arms. “So choose, Fiona; stay and help me keep him safe, or go to Kenzie’s where I know you’ll be safe.”
He felt her go perfectly still. “I’m staying.”
“Goddamn it, why?”
“Becau—”
He gave her a small shake. “Don’t you dare say because you can.”
“I was going to say,” she said quietly, “because it’s obvious someone needs to stay here and keep you from committing suicide.” She turned to face him when his hands slackened in surprise. “Because,” she continued a tad more forcefully, “there’s no way I will ever be able to stuff all your precious belongings into your casket!”
She bolted then and was halfway up the mudroom stairs before Trace could even shake her again. He heard chuckling coming from the other side of the chamber and saw Mac, half propped up against the dirt wall, grinning like a sailor on shore leave.
“You think that’s funny, you drunken idiot?” Trace took a step toward him. “If you care for her at all, you’ll help me talk her into going to An Téarmann.”
Mac tried to gesture but only managed to slap himself in the thigh. “You can’t handle a mere slip of a woman long enough to carry her to Kenzie’s if you have to?” He shot Trace an unfocused glare. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble blindsiding me.”
Trace folded his arms over his chest and relaxed back on his hips. “She’s had her fill of men either telling her what to do or forcing her to do something.”
Up went that brow—sort of.
“Whereas you,” Trace continued, “have obviously needed a good punch in the face since you were twenty.”
Mac heaved himself forward with a grunt and quickly rested his elbows on his knees in order to hold his head in his hands. “For the love of Zeus, Huntsman, you’re killing me. At least move de Gairn’s magic farther down the tunnel.”
“Not a chance. If you’re strong enough to laugh at me, I think you’ll live.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
Mac looked up. “This is my fight, not yours. I don’t need your and Fiona’s deaths on my soul.”
“Sorry, but I guess that’s what you get for protecting people’s free will.”
Mac dropped his head back in his hands with a groan.
Trace started to leave but hesitated. “While you’re sitting here with nothing to do but figure out ways to get even with me, why don’t you try being useful and think back to all Fiona went through in the eleventh century and come up with something to persuade her to give me a second chance?”
“I don’t have to think back; I already know,” Mac said as Trace started to turn away. The wizard looked up again, his bloodshot eyes heavy with … Christ, the man actually looked smug. “And you dare call me an idiot, when the answer is as plain as the nose on your face. What is the most important thing that was stolen from Fiona in the eleventh century?”
“I sure as hell can’t give her back her virginity.” He stiffened. “Or another child.”
Mac dropped his head to his hands again. “Those bastards stole her value as a woman, Huntsman.” He looked up. “Fiona is determined to do everything completely on her own now, from supporting herself to having children. And you know why? Because she feels she will never have value to anyone other than herself.”
“For chri
ssakes, that’s crazy!”
“It isn’t if you’re an eleventh-century woman,” Mac said quietly. “You want Fiona to give you a second chance, you only need ask her to do you the honor of becoming your wife. And then don’t bed her until after the wedding.”
Trace stumbled back, groping for a wall to support him. “Are you serious?” He straightened, his hands balling into fists. “No, you’re out of your friggin’ mind!”
“I may be half dead, but I assure you, I still have enough of my faculties to know that you can’t keep toying with her. If you truly care for Fiona, then either walk away and let her get on with her life, or find the courage to make her an equal and cherished partner in your life.”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with men, so how in hell would asking her to marry me be anything but an insult?”
“You of all people should know that Fiona’s not liking men is merely a defense. Do you think she offered you her body the other day because she’s not attracted to you?”
“She was just … experimenting.”
“Yes; likely to prove to herself that she has the power to initiate sex rather than it being forced on her. And she honestly believes that men do desire her, only as a means to slake their lust but never as their wife. In Fiona’s eleventh-century mind, a woman’s value is in being cherished by her husband.”
“Goddamn it, I don’t ever intend to get married.”
Mac leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Then walk away, Huntsman. Go crawl back into that dark, miserable place you’ve been hiding in most of your life, and stop trying to pull Fiona down there with you. Because I assure you, she intends to live the rest of her life in the light—be it with you or despite you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Fiona sat on the top rail of the paddock fence, watching the dark, churning clouds building along the horizon out over the bay, and wondered if she was ever going to get the hang of living in this century. It seemed like everything about this time was so much more complicated, from all the different foods being sold in huge stores and all the technology that was supposed to help do chores but only created more work to a society that had as many rules as it did people.
Even the men were more complicated. A thousand years ago, all they had required was a full belly, occasional sex, and a good war to take out their aggressions on. But today, men apparently still wanted their basic needs met, only now they also wanted to stick their noses into women’s affairs.
It was obvious Trace didn’t know the first thing about preparing a decent meal, much less how to organize a kitchen, yet he got all prickly over a few moved items—and then apologized for being upset with her for moving them. And one minute he was pulling her into his arms and kissing her, making her believe he desired her, and the next he was turning all prickly again and running off. But then he shows up on her doorstep falling down drunk, and accuses her of trying to trick him into making a baby.
And then he apologizes yet again, and asks her not only to forgive him for being an ass but to give him a second chance.
She was getting friggin’ tired of all his pulling and pushing.
How could she ever have thought she might be attracted to him? The man didn’t even shave regularly, and she was fairly sure his hair hadn’t seen scissors in almost a year. And he obviously didn’t understand the difference between a dishwasher and a clothes washer, because, honest to God, she had found a pair of socks lying in the top rack next to the dirty cups and bowls. There was also the fact that he drank quite a bit of Scotch, which meant that he didn’t even know a drunken warrior could easily be a dead one if his enemy caught him in such a state. And really, what could she possibly find attractive about someone who smelled of fish much of the time?
Just because he spent twelve grueling hours a day on a boat and didn’t have anyone to wash his clothes for him didn’t mean he had to be a walking bait bucket. And even when he was cleaned up and dressed in nice clothes, he was a little too tall and broad-shouldered and strong-looking, and a bit too handsome for her liking.
Because, really, what woman wanted anything to do with a handsome man who walked around with condoms in his wallet, hoping he’d get lucky?
No, she was better off having nothing to do with Trace Huntsman, even if she did find herself drawn to him. And now that she had a paying job, just as soon as this storm was over, she had to move to a new apartment before she not only forgave him but undressed for him again.
Fiona sighed. She’d just have to find a much less attractive man, she supposed, to see a condom actually being used.
Misneach suddenly stopped running through the tall marsh grass below and looked up, only Fiona realized the pup was actually watching Trace when she saw him come from behind the barn, looking as if he was searching for them.
She sighed again. It had been so much easier when he was working twelve-hour days, as it seemed she couldn’t get away from him now.
He spotted Misneach first, and after scanning the marsh, he turned and finally saw her sitting on the fence. He walked over and hopped up onto the rail beside her. “It looks like the storm could reach us sometime after midnight,” he said, staring out at the horizon. “Unless Mac’s father manages to keep the battle out on the bay.”
“I’ve seen at least two dozen whales in the half hour I’ve been sitting here.” She pointed to their right. “There’s another one. They seem to be swimming back and forth just offshore, like sentries.”
“They probably are, sent by Titus to protect his son.”
Fiona looked around the barnyard. “I miss the animals. I’m glad they’re safe at An Téarmann, but without them here, the place feels rather empty.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotten used to having them around, too.” He looked over at her. “I guess we never know how much we’ll miss something until it’s gone.”
“I think I’ll go fix something for Mac to eat,” she said, setting her hands on the rail to jump down. “Maybe a full belly will make him feel less sick.”
Trace stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Wait. I’d like to talk to you first.”
He let her go when she settled back on the rail. “About Mac?”
“No,” he said, looking out at the ocean. “About us.”
“There is no us, Trace,” she said, folding her hands on her lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling. “You need to leave me alone.”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “So I’ve been told.”
“By who?” she asked in surprise.
“By Mac,” he said, still staring out at the ocean. “But the more I try to stay away from you, the more I find I can’t.”
Fiona felt her heart start to pound—in dread, she decided, because she really didn’t want it to be pounding in hope. “But why?”
The faintest grin tugged at the edge of his mouth when he looked over at her. “Because I happen to like women.” His grin broadened, actually reaching his eyes. “And you in particular.”
“But why?”
“I think partly because you’re smarter than I am.”
She leaned away. “I am not.”
“Sure you are,” he said, looking back out at the ocean. “Not only do you seem to know what you want but you go after it with hell-bent determination and courage. Whereas I’ve spent my entire life focused on avoiding what I don’t want. I’ve only recently realized that I’ve always been afraid to have dreams, probably because I’ve always figured why get all excited about something just to have it taken away from me.”
He shifted on the rail toward her and took her hand in his. “But then you showed up, and I watched you change from a frightened, confused, almost childlike mouse into a woman every damned last red-blooded twenty-first-century man would give his right arm just to date. I swear you grew more and more beautiful with each passing day.”
Fiona’s heart started pounding so hard she was afraid he would hear it.
He looked down at her hand clasped in his. “And I remember thinking,�
� he continued quietly, “that if I could just get close enough to you, then maybe some of your courage would rub off on me.” His hand tightened around hers. “Only every time I caught myself believing it might actually work, I’d get scared and turn into an ass.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “Because I kept feeling things for you that I had no business feeling.”
He dropped his gaze again and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I swear, you have more courage in your little finger than I have in my entire body. How do you do it?” he asked, looking up. “How do you go after what you want so courageously? Tell me,” he said, squeezing her hand again when she didn’t immediately answer.
“I’m not brave,” she softly admitted. “I’m really afraid that if I ever stop dreaming, I won’t even get out of bed.” She leaned toward him. “You want to know a secret? I discovered that a person can’t will herself to go to sleep and never wake up. I tried for nearly two whole months, but I couldn’t make it happen. And then I realized I was with child, and I started praying to God to please let me wake up every morning.”
“But why?” he whispered. “If you and your son had lived, weren’t you afraid the two of you would have known nothing but hardship?”
“No, Kyle was my salvation. Each new generation is another chance to get it right, Trace, and that’s why we always have to keep trying. Just because my dreams weren’t coming true exactly the way I’d imagined they would, it didn’t mean my son’s dreams wouldn’t. I intended to give Kyle the best chance at a good life that I could, and in doing so, I would have been living my own dream.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I died, remember? And that’s when I discovered that life isn’t about reaching our goals; it’s about having them to begin with and then going after them every day. And now Mac has given me another chance to make some of my dreams come true.”
“Just some of them?”
She looked down at their clasped hands. “I’m willing to settle for the ones most important to me. In fact, I’ve already achieved several of them. I’m living in a village now and have women friends, and I’ve found a way to earn a living by doing something I love. And someday I will have children of my own.”
Mystical Warrior Page 19
