Mystical Warrior

by Janet Chapman

  Trace had expected to get a good rise out of him, but Mac merely went back to rubbing his beer label. “You may have just foolishly bargained away your fate, my friend.” He looked up, his eyes dark with … hell, the guy looked like he’d just swallowed a whale. “I’ll be lucky if Henry is alive a year from now. My father wasn’t criticizing when he said I know nothing about raising a child but stating a fact.” He looked toward the bedroom hallway, then back at Trace, and leaned closer. “I’ll admit to you, Huntsman, I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

  Trace snorted. “All this time you’ve been telling me not to be afraid of having a kid of my own, and here you are shaking in your shoes.” He leaned on the table. “He’s nothing more than a miniature you, Mac. Whatever worked for your dad will work on Henry.” He frowned. “But the first thing you need to do is find out if he’s got any magical powers and take them away from him ASAP.” He sat back with a shudder. “Can you image a six-year-old with even a tenth of your powers?”

  “He won’t really have full use of them until he reaches puberty.”

  Trace shuddered again, deciding that a teenager with that kind of power was even scarier. “As for raising Henry, I happen to know a lady who might be able to help you.”

  Mac glanced toward the hallway again, his face awash with relief when he looked back at Trace. “You’re right. Fiona can take care of him.”

  “No, she can’t, because she’s going to be too busy taking care of me. I’m talking about a woman who runs a year-round camp for parents and their kids. She’s the widow of a buddy of mine who was killed in Iraq four years ago.” He gestured at the bedrooms. “In fact, I think her daughter is just a little bit older than Henry.”

  “Where does she live?” Mac asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “If I’m stuck in this century, then I prefer to stay near people I … know.”

  “She lives right here in Maine, up in the mountains, in …” Trace chuckled, just now realizing that fate had one hell of a sense of humor. “Oh, you’re going to love this, Oceanus. The town’s called Spellbound Falls.”

  Mac didn’t even crack a smile. “How far is it from here?”

  “About a three-hour drive, but her camp, called Inglenook, is another ten miles outside of town.”

  Mac shook his head. “I don’t wish to be that far from the ocean.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I’ll just find a place here in Midnight Bay, and Fiona and Eve and Madeline can help me with Henry.”

  “You got any marketable skills that will help you get a job?”

  “Why would I need a job if I already have more money than I can possibly spend in a hundred years?”

  Trace sat up again. “You’re rich?”

  Mac shot him a smug grin. “Energy’s not the only thing I tucked away for a rainy day.” He leaned on the table. “I could probably pay off your nation’s debt and still have enough left over to buy you an entire fleet of boats.”

  “Where is all this money?”

  Mac waved toward the window. “My big blue friend is keeping it safe for me.”

  “Are you saying there’s a whale swimming around out there full of money?”

  Mac chuckled. “No, he’s merely guarding my luggage. What, do you think I travel with all of my belongings tied up in a hobo sack?” He looked toward the hallway again. “Maybe I should ask Fiona to show me how to organize everything so I can do away with a couple of the chests.” He suddenly shook his head. “No, I’ll need to keep them for Henry’s belongings now.”

  Trace ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the image of several treasure chests full of loot sitting out on the ocean floor—being guarded by a whale. When that didn’t work, he downed the rest of the beer in his bottle. But just as he was about to unmute the television, Fiona quietly walked into the living room from the hallway.

  “He went to sleep, finally,” she told Mac, smiling warmly, “once I agreed to let Misneach stay the night with him. You need to sneak in and see them, Mac. Henry insisted that Misneach get under the covers and share his pillow. He’s a beautiful little boy, and rather smart and well-spoken, as well as quite brave. Even after all he’s been through, from losing his mother only three months ago to meeting his father for the first time in the middle of a war, he’s amazingly calm. You must be excited to discover that you have such a remarkable son.”

  Trace snorted when Mac remained as mute as the television. “Oh yeah, our boy here is trembling all over with excitement.”

  “Well, I believe I’ll go upstairs now,” she said, heading toward the kitchen.

  “Wait!” Mac yelped, suddenly finding his voice. He closed the footrest on his chair and sprang to his feet. “You can’t just leave.”

  “I’ve had a rather trying day, Mac, and I need to lie down before I fall down.”

  “But what about Henry?” he said, this time in a whisper, glancing toward the hall. “What if he wakes up and can’t find you?”

  “You’ll be here, won’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but what if he wakes up and gets scared? It would be better if you slept down here so I won’t have to come up and get you.”

  Trace saw Fiona smile at the panicked wizard. “If he wakes up, he only needs to see that his father is here.”

  “But I’m a stranger to him!” Mac cried in a whisper. “What if I do or say something wrong and he starts crying or something? What am I supposed to do then?”

  “You do exactly what you’d want someone to do for you if you were in Henry’s place,” she told him calmly. She touched his arm. “You simply follow your heart, Mac, and lie down and gather Henry in your arms and tell him there’s no need to be afraid because you’re here for him. And if your heart tells you to hold him out here in the recliner while he has a glass of milk and a cookie, then you try that.” She cupped Mac’s pale cheek. “All Henry needs is to know you’re here for him, and that you’ll love him forever and ever, and never let him down.”

  “But I can’t make promises I might be unable to keep,” he whispered desperately, pulling her hand down to clutch it in his. “You heard my father’s dictate today; I’m completely powerless now. I can’t even make a glass of milk or cookies appear.”

  “Daddies are the most powerful entity in the world, Mac, in the eyes of their children. You need only to look at your own father to realize how Henry feels about you.” She patted his hand still clutching hers. “And your son already knows a great deal about you, thanks to his mother having told him what a good, kind, strong man you are every day of his young life. So really, all your son needs is for you to be yourself.”

  She tried to pull away then, but when Mac refused to let her go, Trace quietly closed the footrest on his recliner and stood up.

  “Anything you want,” Mac growled. “Name your price, and it’s yours. Just don’t leave me alone with him.”

  “You will survive this, Mac,” Trace said, freeing Fiona from his grip. “And in about ten years, I promise that instead of being afraid of him, you’re going to want to strangle the belligerent little punk.”

  “Dammit, Huntsman, where are you going?” Mac hissed as Trace led Fiona away. “You can’t leave me, too!”

  “I’m just walking the lady home,” he said over his shoulder. He helped Fiona into her coat and stepped onto the porch behind her, only then letting loose his laughter. “I think the poor bastard would rather face screaming demons than a six-year-old kid.”

  “I’m afraid Mac is far more traumatized than Henry is,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she slipped her hand into his. Only instead of heading along the side porch toward the front of the house, she pulled him down the steps and out into the dooryard. “He’ll eventually get the hang of fatherhood.” She sucked in a deep breath as she looked up at the sky, then blew it out slowly. “Such a beautiful night it’s turned out to be, with the stars shining and the air so calm after such a turbulent day.” Turning to face him, she shoved her hands into her pockets. “I want to thank
you for stopping Mr. Oceanus from marrying me off to Mac today.” She smiled up at him. “I might be able to tell my brothers to go to hell, but I didn’t quite have the nerve to tell the king of the drùidhs that he isn’t the boss of me, either.”

  “Don’t you ever be afraid to tell anyone that you are the boss of yourself.”

  “Can I also tell them I’m your girlfriend, like Mac claimed today on the ship?”

  He shoved his own hands in his pockets. “Do you want to be?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, stepping closer to toy with a button on his shirt. “Do girlfriends have sex with their boyfriends in this century, or do they only hold hands and steal kisses when no one is watching?”

  “Oh, they do way more than hold hands and make out. In fact, the boyfriend will usually drive his girlfriend to a secluded spot, sweet-talk her out of her clothes, and make love to her under the moonlight.” He pulled a hand out of his pocket to tilt her chin up. “And sometimes, if the girl decides she likes him a lot, and she trusts that he’ll always treat her as an equal, she might even move in with him.”

  She gasped softly, stepping away. “Without their being married?”

  He nodded.

  “But what would everyone think of her? Would the townspeople shun her?”

  He nodded again. “Some would—usually the fuddy-duddy old women, and then only because they’re just jealous.” He closed the small gap between them. “But I happen to believe that thumbing noses at fuddy-duddies is the best part of two people openly living together. Women in this century—especially strong, resilient, independent women—like causing a bit of a scandal … just because they can.”

  She leaned into him and started toying with his button again. “So, at what point in their relationship do two people start living together?”

  “Usually when the boyfriend realizes he’d be the luckiest guy in the world to wake up every morning with his arms wrapped around a beautiful, sexy woman he never dreamed he’d stand a chance of getting,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

  She looked up. “So, the boyfriend simply asks his girlfriend to move in with him?”

  “Sometimes. But if he’s shy or scared or just downright dumb, sometimes the girlfriend has to drop a few hints that it’s time for their relationship to move on to the next level.”

  She ducked her head to toy with his button again, but not quickly enough to hide her frown. “Have you ever lived with a woman before?”

  “As in sharing a closet, deciding who does what chores, and having our mail delivered to the same address?”

  She nodded, still not looking up.

  “No, I can’t say that I have. The nearest I’ve been to that sort of arrangement is when my mother moved in with Jack about a year before she married him.”

  That brought her head up. “Your mother lived with a man who wasn’t her husband?”

  Unable to resist, Trace gave her a quick kiss on her shocked lips, then smiled at her. “Mom finally discovered she’s actually a bad girl at heart—much to her surprise and everyone else’s.”

  “Including you?”

  “Nope. I suspected it was there all along, only I didn’t know how to get her to see it. It’s easy to forget who you are if someone’s been telling you for seventeen years that you’re nobody.”

  She went back to toying with his button. “So your mother wouldn’t think any less of a girlfriend who moved in with you?”

  “Are you kidding? She’d be so happy I managed to find a woman willing to put up with me, she’d probably go out and buy monogrammed towels.”

  He gently tugged on her braid to tilt her head back, and was just leaning down to devour her sweet, beautiful lips when a set of headlights landed on them as a rattling pickup pulled into the driveway. Fiona scrambled out of his arms before he could stop her, the headlights revealing bright red cheeks in danger of bursting into flame.

  He sighed, figuring they were a long way from living together if she got this embarrassed when someone caught them only kissing.

  The truck pulled up right beside them, the engine shut off, and the door opened. “I’ve been calling your cell phone all evening,” Rick said as he climbed out. “What’s the use of owning a phone if you never answer it?”

  “Sorry. I guess it got wet. Rick, have you met Fiona Gregor?” Trace asked, having to grab her hand when he noticed her inching away.

  Rick shot her a grin. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you from Gabriella,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Rick, Maddy’s brother.” He nodded toward Trace. “As well as this slacker’s fishing partner.”

  Fiona wiggled free to shake Rick’s hand, then tucked her hands behind her back. “Gabriella has told me a lot about you, too,” she said, taking a step away. “Like how sweet you are to make her hot cocoa and sit up with her after she’s had a bad dream.”

  Rick shrugged off her compliment and looked at Trace. “The Coast Guard called and told me they found our boat drifting about six miles out.” He shook his head. “They said they had a hard time getting hold of it, though, because a bunch of whales kept getting in their way. It seems every time they tried to hook a line on the bow to tow it in, the whales would bump it out of reach.” He grinned. “The midshipman said he’d swear those whales thought it was a new toy or something and were playing keep-away with them. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”

  “Not lately,” Trace muttered, wondering if he was going to have to carry a harpoon when he went out fishing now.

  “So, you coming to work tomorrow, or are you still recovering?”

  “I’ll be there,” Trace said, watching Fiona inching away.

  She lifted a hand to cover a yawn even as she took another step. “If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll turn in for the night. It was nice meeting you, Rick.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Rick said as she turned to leave. “Gabriella said to tell you she’ll bring some boxes with her when she comes over tomorrow and help you pack.”

  Fiona darted a frantic glance at Trace, then back at Rick. “Thank you for giving me her message,” she said as she continued walking backward, just before she spun around and ran for her stairs.

  Trace beat her to the steps and blocked her way. “What’s he talking about?”

  “I’ve decided to give Mac my apartment so he and Henry can get acquainted with each other in a more intimate setting. If they continue living with you, Henry won’t know which one of you is his father, because Mac will rely on you to do everything.”

  “And just where do you intend to live?”

  She had to crane her neck to look up at him, and there was enough moonlight for him to see her mutinous glare. “I haven’t decided yet.” She suddenly sighed. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I do, so you can forward my mail.”

  “Who in hell sends you mail?” he asked. Instead of asking her if she was out of her friggin’ mind!

  “Winter writes to me all the time.” She stepped closer. “Would you happen to have any suggestions as to where I could live?”

  Trace felt beads of perspiration break out on his forehead despite the freezing night air. “Not right this very minute, I don’t.”

  She dropped her gaze, and he saw her shoulders slump. She yawned again, quite loudly. “Well,” she said brightly, smiling up at him, “I’d better get to bed.”

  Dammit to hell, he didn’t want her moving out!

  Then say something, you ass. Tell her she can move in with you.

  But she wants to be independent, you idiot.

  Promise you won’t step on her toes. Not once. Never.

  Are you forgetting she doesn’t even like men? If she believes husbands are more trouble than they’re worth, why would she think a boyfriend was any better?

  Give her your word you won’t ever complain about her messing with your stuff. Not once. Never. And tell her you won’t leave your dirty clothes on the floor, you’ll get a haircut and shave every damn
ed day, and she can babysit twenty kids if she wants. Just beg her to give you a chance to prove you really are a nice guy.

  Are you forgetting that I ran out on her that day down in the safe room?

  Then you swear to God you’ll never, ever run out on her again, no matter how scared you are.

  I’m not scared; I’m just … I don’t want to … goddamn it, I don’t know what to do!

  For chrissakes, you ass, just tell her you love her!

  “Fiona, I—” Trace looked down and then spun one way and then the other. “Fiona? Goddamn it,” he growled, glaring up at the light shining out her kitchen window. How in hell had she managed to sneak past him?

  “So, you’re talking to yourself now?” Rick asked, walking over to him.

  “I thought I was talking to Fiona,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and then rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

  “She went upstairs two minutes ago, cousin. So, you coming down to the harbor with me or what? The Coast Guard should be arriving with our boat just about now.”

  Trace gave one last glance up the stairs, then strode to Rick’s truck. “Yeah, I’m coming. And I don’t care if I have two broken legs; the next time I tell you I’m taking the day off work, you drive over here and drag me down to the docks at gunpoint if you have to.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Gabriella said, pulling some of Fiona’s clothes out of her closet. “I think Mac is really nice and handsome and everything, but I don’t know if I could ever marry someone like him.” She tossed the clothes onto the bed. “I’d be afraid when the priest asked me to say ‘I do’ that I’d faint dead away. Weren’t you scared? I mean, really, you came that close,” she said, holding her thumb and finger apart, “to marrying a magic maker.”

  Fiona carefully folded a sweater, set it in the box, and picked up another one. “I was scared out of my mind.” She smiled over at her friend. “Until Trace showed up and told Mac’s father that it wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Trace Huntsman, your hero,” Gabriella said dramatically, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. She laughed and headed to the bureau. “Did he sweep you into his arms and vow his undying love, so Mac’s father would believe your hearts belonged to each other?”