Mystical Warrior (38 page)

William snorted. “Have ye ever met a woman who did?”

“Yeah, well I think—” Trace stopped spooning again when he heard laughter coming through the wall from the bedroom, and the knot in his gut finally started to relax at the realization that the women had calmed Fiona down.

That is, until he heard Maddy shout out the word
condom,
which was quickly followed by more laughter. He sighed, heading back into the kitchen, wondering if he was going to find his bedroom decorated with condom balloons tonight.

No, they’d probably stuff them in the closet so his mother wouldn’t see them, and he’d get ambushed by them when he went to bed. He set the filter in the coffeemaker, filled the machine with water, and hit the on button just as the kitchen door opened. Henry and Misneach came racing inside, Mac right behind them. The kid and his four-legged sidekick ran through the kitchen and straight into the living room, and Trace saw them both jump into one of the recliners, the pup settling beside Henry as the boy grabbed the remote control and turned on the television.

Children and technology, apparently, was a timeless combination.

Which reminded him: he’d better start learning how to block out channels.

“Is there a reason you’re having a breakfast party and Henry and I weren’t invited?” Mac asked, strolling over to
the fridge and looking inside. When he didn’t find anything to his liking, he turned and grinned at Trace. “What are we celebrating, the fact that Kenzie hasn’t killed you yet?”

“He’s decided my having to live with his sister is punishment enough,” Trace drawled, taking four mugs out of the cupboard. “You know what I just realized, Oceanus? You’re the only one of us who’s still single.”

“A state of being that, Providence willing, will remain so,” Mac said, suspiciously eyeing the coffeemaker when Trace handed him a mug. “Did you buy new coffee?”

“Yeah, on my way home from work yesterday.” Trace gave William and Kenzie a warning glare as he handed them each a mug. “So, Mac, have you given any more thought to you and Henry attending my friend’s camp up in the mountains?”

“I told Madeline about it, and she thought it was a wonderful idea,” Mac said, rolling his eyes. “But she also believes I should wait a few months before going, so I can get used to living in this century without my powers.” He looked toward the living room, then back at Trace, and sighed. “I have a whole new appreciation for mothers,” he said quietly. “I woke up in a cold sweat no fewer than six times last night, and had to sneak into Henry’s room and make sure he hadn’t suddenly … vanished.” He looked at Kenzie and William and grinned. “I can see now why Mother Nature designed it so that we’re given nine months to get used to the idea of being parents.”

Trace grabbed the coffee carafe before it was fully done brewing and went around and filled everyone’s mug, then quickly shoved it back onto the sizzling burner. “I thought you said you couldn’t waste your reserves doing menial
tricks,” he said, turning his arm toward Mac and lifting his sleeve. “So, how come you changed my eagle to a hawk last night?”

The wizard gave Trace a small salute with his mug. “Because I believe all men should wear a token of their true love.” He then used his mug to salute William. “Be it a medallion or a tattoo.”

Trace recalled that Maddy had given William a medallion to wear, but Mac had changed the knight on a horse she’d originally picked out to a heart with the ancient symbol of a strong arm on it. “So what did you give Kenzie to wear as a token of Eve?” Trace asked.

Mac’s face darkened. “I couldn’t give him anything, because I can’t get past de Gairn’s magic.” He suddenly grinned. “But it’s obvious the highlander wears his heart on his sleeve for his wife.”

“Drink up, Mac,” Trace urged, lifting his own mug in salute. “If you’re stuck in this century, then you need to get used to drinking a strong cup of coffee with your friends every morning if you want to get your day off to a good start.”

“S
ee, that wasn’t so bad, was it, sweetheart?” Trace said, resting his chin on her head so she couldn’t look up and see his smile. “You went into a panic for nothing this morning. Mom fell in love the moment she laid her eyes on you, just like I did.”

Trace was sitting in his recliner with Fiona on his lap, his belly stuffed so full it was a wonder he could breathe, watching his
fiancée
eyeing the delicate stone on her left ring finger and listening to her sigh every couple of minutes.

“I feel like a nobleman’s hawk, wearing hunting traces,” she muttered, fingering the ring. She leaned back against his arm to look at him. “That was a dirty trick, asking your mother to bring your grandmother’s ring with her today and then proposing to me right in front of her. You set me up, knowing I wouldn’t refuse with your mother being so excited she could barely contain herself.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. He took hold of her left hand so she’d stop fidgeting with the ring and brought it up to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Let’s just call it payback for moving in with me and
then
asking if it was okay.” He gave her a squeeze. “And an engagement ring isn’t a means of restraint. It’s merely a symbol telling the world that your heart is already spoken for.”

She rested her head on his bicep—or, more specifically, on his tattoo—and smiled up at him. “A symbol I can always take off, whereas you will still be wearing your hawk into the afterlife.”

“My grandmother never took off that ring for fifty-four years, and I expect you to still be wearing it in your afterlife,” he growled. “And the second you know you’re pregnant, the matching wedding band is going to be sitting right next to it.”

“Ooh,” she said, her eyes widening as she leaned away in mock terror. “So decisive you’ve become all of a sudden.” She started toying with the buttons on his shirt, and he felt the first button open and her hand move to the next one. “But it will be a moot point if we don’t make a baby,” she whispered, her fingers moving to the next one.

He reached up and stilled her hand. “The door’s not locked.”

“Yes, it is. And Mac took enough leftovers upstairs to last until morning, the woodstove is set for the night, my cell phone is shut off—and hidden—and Misneach is with Henry.” She reached over and shut off the lamp on the table beside them. “There, that’s better. I learned on my first night here that the landlord doesn’t like a lot of lights left on,
because, he informed me, electricity doesn’t grow on trees,” she said huskily, shifting so that she was straddling him, her hands going to his belt buckle. “Come, my big, bold, mystical warrior. Take me soaring to new heights on
your
powerful wings of love.”