Mystical Warrior (25 page)

“With frosting?” the boy asked.

“And colored sprinkles,” Fiona promised. She kissed her finger and then touched each child’s cheek. “You be good for your papa, okay?”

“You’re sure you won’t come with us?” John asked when she straightened.

“She’s sure,” Trace said before she could answer, grabbing Fiona’s hand and leading her toward the house. “No need to hurry back, Getze; I’m sure this storm’s going to last several days,” he said, giving a wave over his shoulder. “You can wipe that smirk off your face now,” he softly growled the moment they were out of earshot. “I can’t believe he thought you’d run off to his condo after meeting him only two days ago.” He snorted. “The bastard still thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

She actually laughed. “I haven’t seen that much posturing since a couple of male peacocks showed up in our camp one day when we were laying siege to a castle.”

He stopped and turned to her. “I hope you know your safety was the last thing on his mind, because the only thing Getze has ever been concerned about is nailing anything with boobs.”

“By nailing, I assume you mean having sex?” She actually had the nerve to arch her brow. “Maybe you should have asked John if
he
had any condoms he could give you, so you can be prepared when another woman undresses you.”

Trace leaned down until his nose was nearly touching hers. “I already replaced the one you stole,” he said ever so softly, his heart kicking into overdrive when instead of leaning away, she simply smiled again. “In fact, I put three in my wallet.”

“I can see you and John have a lot in common. Maybe one evening I can watch his children and the two of you can go to your bar in Oak Harbor and
both
get lucky.”

Unable to believe she’d just called his bluff, Trace pivoted away with a growl, still refusing to let go of her hand when she tried veering toward her apartment stairs. “I need you to come show me where you hid all my stuff.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’d rather you did.”

He hauled her up onto his porch, but the moment he dragged her inside, she gasped as she glanced around, her glare finally coming to rest on him. “How can two people make such a mess in less than three days?” She jerked free, but instead of bolting for the door, she walked over and started closing cupboards, only to gasp again when she slipped and nearly fell on an exploded potato.

“Mac made the mess. Or at least most of it,” he said, picking up the cans he’d dropped by the window. He straightened and pointed over her shoulder. “And the cupboards are open because I was trying to find stuff to take down to the safe room. Will you please tell me why you stacked all of the canned goods in the mudroom?”

“Because it’s cooler in there.”

“And the microwave—does it need to stay cool, too?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “I simply didn’t see why that confounding machine should be cluttering your counter,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to his chest. “It’s unnatural to cook without heat, and when I tried using it to fix your eggs the other day, they blew up.” She thrust her chin out. “I attempted to use a microwave when I lived with Matt and Winter, but the potato I was trying to cook also exploded, even though I had pushed the potato button.”

When Trace only stood there staring at her, watching her cheeks slowly turn a deep red, she spun away and started stacking things back in the cupboards.

And still he continued to stare, utterly speechless.

Christ, he was an ass. He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as this woman. And he sure as hell didn’t have any business being angry at her for messing with his stuff, driving him crazy with lust, and for not knowing that lovemaking was supposed to be something two people did
together
.

Even after all she’d been through, from being treated no better than a piece of property a thousand years ago to being thrust into a new and confounding world, she never stopped
trying
. Who in hell was he to judge her, when he doubted he’d be half as courageous in her shoes?

Not only didn’t Fiona Gregor need anyone to save her, she had been, in her own upside-down way, trying to save him from his own miserable self.

Trace quietly walked over and turned her around, and, ignoring her stiffening in defense, he pulled her into his arms and cupped her head to his chest with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry for being a jerk,” he whispered against her hair. “I should be shot with my own gun for running away from you the other day, and as soon as I find where you put that revolver, I’m going to show you how to load it so you can use it on me. Just promise me you’ll shoot Mac next, for messing up my kitchen that you worked so hard to make beautiful.”

Still holding her against him, afraid that if he lifted her chin to see her face, he might lose it altogether, he used his thumb to caress her cheek gently. “And I’m pretty sure I forgot to thank you for cleaning the barn and organizing my tools, cooking me the best meals I’ve eaten in ten years, and for chasing every damned last dust bunny out of my house.”

He felt her stiffen again and realized that pointing out her little cleaning compulsion probably wasn’t a good idea. So he finally lifted her chin so she could see the truth in his eyes. “But mostly,” he continued, “I want to thank you for having the courage to leave that safe room to dig me out of the tunnel and save my life. Can you forgive me, Fiona, and maybe find it in your heart to give me a second chance?”

She dropped her gaze, held herself perfectly still, and said nothing.

He let her chin go and wrapped his arms around her with another sigh. “I understand I’m asking for more than I deserve, but I … well, I’m sorry.”

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 chrissakes, 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.”