Mystical Warrior

by Janet Chapman

  “She called herself a whore,” Kenzie whispered, apparently unable to get past that. He looked at Trace. “You’re attracted to her, Huntsman, and she seems to trust you. Ye must help us show Fiona that she isn’t a whore.”

  “You’re not getting it, Gregor,” Mac growled. “It’s you who needs help, because you obviously can’t let go of your guilt for leaving home to go find your destiny.”

  “I didn’t leave to find anything but freedom,” Kenzie hotly countered. “And I abandoned my family even though I suspected our father was starting to lose his mind.” He waved angrily toward the ceiling. “Fiona was twelve! You heard her; she grew up the day I walked away and left them without protection. I was the worst kind of coward, running from my responsibilities.” He spun away from them, his hands clenched at his sides. “I sold my soul for the dream of becoming a warrior, wanting to be some village’s hero.”

  Trace snorted. “Welcome to the club.”

  “You were fifteen,” Mac said. “What did you know, other than your dreams?”

  Kenzie threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I must go apologize to her,” he said. “And ask her forgiveness and beg her to let me make this right.”

  When he started toward the kitchen, all three of them moved to block his path. “The only thing you’re going to do,” Trace said, nudging him down onto the stool beside the woodstove, “is call your wife and tell her you’re going to be late getting home from work tonight.” He limped over and grabbed the bottle of Scotch off the table beside his chair. “And like those two smart women upstairs, the four of us are going to toast our good fortune that we all survived to fight another day.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Fiona said, smiling when Gabriella took another sip of tea and started gasping for breath again. “I’m worried that having freedom and knowing what to do with it are two very different things.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” the girl choked out with a violent shudder. “Freedom means we can do anything we wish now,” she said before lifting her cup and taking a noisy slurp.

  Waiting for her friend to catch her breath again, Fiona sipped her own tea, relishing the warmth spreading through her slowly relaxing muscles. “But what is it we want?” She shot Gabriella a grin. “Other than to have children, that is.”

  “I told Maddy that I might like to be a nurse, like she is,” Gabriella said. “Only Maddy said there wasn’t any reason I couldn’t be a doctor.” She snorted and then immediately covered her face when tea shot out of her nose. “Omigod, that burns,” she muttered, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “Only William walked in just as I asked Maddy how I could go to school to be a doctor and raise children at the same time, and he said that it wouldn’t be a problem because I wasn’t allowed to talk to boys.”

  “You’re going to have to talk to at least one if you want to conceive a child.” Fiona drained what tea was left in her cup. They were each on their third cup of the Scotch-laced tea—and they’d each taken a good swallow directly from the bottle while they waited for the woodstove to get hot enough to boil the water. That one swig had gone a long way toward calming Fiona’s nerves, but hadn’t done much to lessen her embarrassment.

  She couldn’t believe she had spoken so crudely downstairs, much less that she’d actually told Kenzie some of what she’d gone through a thousand years ago.

  What must he think of her? What must they all think of her, knowing she’d spent months serving every need a man had? She wondered if modern wars had women who traveled from battle to battle, cooking and washing and tending the wounds of the warriors by day and warming their beds by night.

  And if so, had Trace had ever sought them out?

  Fiona reached for the simmering kettle on the stove. If he truly had changed his mind about her continuing to live here, he certainly must have changed it back again now that he knew why his kiss hadn’t shocked her.

  “What do you want to be?” Gabriella asked.

  “Be?” Fiona repeated, at a complete loss as to what they’d been talking about.

  The candle cast enough light for her to see the girl’s frown as she held her cup out for a refill. “Other than to have another child, what do you want to do with your life?” Gabriella asked. “You have to earn a living if you don’t intend to get married.”

  Fiona picked up the Scotch and added some to each of their cups. “I have no idea.” She set the bottle back on the table and suddenly grinned. “But I like children; maybe I can take care of other women’s children while they go out and earn their livings. Surely there’s a need for such a service. In fact, there’s an interesting television show every weekday in the afternoon that I’ve been following, and on it, a woman is trying to find someone to watch her two-year-old child so she can go to work.”

  But then Fiona frowned again. “Only the child’s father—she isn’t married to the man and he just found out he is the father—is trying to take the little girl away from her, claiming she’s an unfit mother. It seems the person she had been leaving the child with drank too much, and the little girl wandered off and got lost for an entire day.”

  Wide-eyed and utterly intrigued, Gabriella leaned forward in her chair, not even noticing that she spilled tea on her bosom. “There’s a television show that follows people around, letting us see what’s going on in their lives?”

  “I started watching it when I lived with Matt and Winter, and Winter explained that it’s only pretend. You know, like a play. Didn’t you have minstrels come to your village and act out stories of great battles or what was happening at court?” Fiona leaned back in her chair with a smile. “I saw one once, when Matt and Kenzie and I snuck down to a nearby village. That was the only time Papa ever took a switch to me, but it was worth it. I don’t think I’d ever laughed that hard in my life.”

  “Then you should write to that woman and tell her that you will take care of her child,” Gabriella said, waving her cup and spilling the tea on her lap this time. “And that way, the father won’t take the little girl away from her.”

  “I can’t write to her; it’s only pretend.” Fiona leaned forward again, warming up to her idea even as she formed a plan. “But I could put a notice in Eve’s store that says I’m willing to take in children who live here in Midnight Bay. Why, there’s no reason I couldn’t watch three or four babes. Damn,” she said, plopping back into her chair again. “I would need to ask Trace first, wouldn’t I? He might tolerate having animals around, but men feel differently about children.”

  Gabriella waved her concern away. “He won’t even be here during the day when they are. Hey!” she cried, standing up and spilling her tea all over the floor. “If I move in with you like he suggested, together we could probably watch ten children. And we could even make enough money to buy a vehicle of our own.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I’m certain we need to ask Trace first.”

  Noticing that all of her tea was gone, Gabriella grabbed the bottle of Scotch and poured some into her cup, then sat down. “We can still live together, though, can’t we, and take care of each other’s children while we become working women?”

  “I doubt a modern husband would let an unwed mother live with you, Gabriella.”

  Gabriella grinned. “Just as soon as you figure out how to have a babe without a man, you can tell me, and I’ll do the same.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t need a husband to live happily ever after any more than you do.”

  “Oh, Gabriella,” Fiona said on a soft sigh. “There’s more to marriage than just cooking and cleaning and having sex. Remember that powerful yearning your mama spoke of? Well, it’s all tied up with love. You’ll always feel like something’s missing if you have no one to be … intimate with. Unlike lions in Africa, women need someone to hold us in the middle of the night when we’re frightened and to share our joys and sorrows.” She leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Gabriella nodded vigorously.

  “I came close once. I stayed w
ith one particular warrior for almost a month, and we grew quite comfortable together. I even talked myself into believing he would take me home with him,” she said softly.

  “And did he?”

  “Nay; he was killed in battle.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “And I moved to another man’s tent that very night.”

  “What was it like being a wh—a camp follower?” Gabriella whispered, her cheeks turning pink. “I remember when William escorted Mama and me to her sister’s wedding when I was eleven. I snuck out of our tent one night to see what all the noise was down in the woods, as William had pitched our tent well away from his warriors. The camp appeared quite festive, with the women laughing and the men teasing them.” She frowned. “But I remember thinking, where are the children? If those women were having sex every night, how come they didn’t get pregnant?”

  “They did,” Fiona told her. “But once a woman became too heavy with child to keep up with the demands of constantly moving, she was abandoned and left to find her own way home—if she dared go home at all.”

  “But that would mean the men abandoned their children, too.”

  Fiona snorted. “There was little way to know who had fathered the babes.”

  “But why didn’t they let the women stay? As soon as they gave birth, they would have been able to keep up again.”

  “Children were strictly forbidden in camp, as young ones are unpredictable and might get in the way. And sound carries on clear, windless nights; a crying infant could give away a battalion’s position to the enemy.”

  “And when you became heavy with your babe, you were abandoned?”

  Fiona nodded. “It took me three weeks to make my way back home, but I managed to get back just in time to have Kyle.” She dropped her gaze to her empty cup. “Only I had no strength left to get out of bed, and I wouldn’t stop bleeding,” she whispered. She looked at Gabriella. “I tried to explain to Papa how to take care of my son, but he had become so mad by then that he couldn’t remember from one feeding to the next that he had to give Kyle only goat’s milk.” She shrugged. “And then one night I went to sleep and Mama came to me in my dreams, and I simply didn’t wake up. And two weeks later Kyle died, and I held him in my arms again before he returned to earth as someone else’s child—because, he told me, he still had earthly lessons to teach.”

  “And that’s when you became a hawk?”

  Fiona poured more Scotch into her cup without bothering to add any tea. “Aye, within days of Kyle leaving me.” She smiled sadly. “I went in search of Matt and found him lying on a battlefield, bleeding to death. All the people in the village where he had been living had been slaughtered.”

  “And you saved his life,” Gabriella pronounced. “And then you came to this century as a hawk with him, and Kenzie came here as a panther.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nay, I didn’t travel to this time with them, because I didn’t approve of why Matt was coming here. He was seeking out Winter MacKeage—another powerful drùidh, although she didn’t know it at the time—to help him keep his promise to make Kenzie human again.” She waved her cup in the air. “I didn’t come to this century until William did, and then only to show him how to get here.” Fiona stood up when Gabriella gave a loud yawn. “Come on, my new roommate, it’s been a long day, and it’s time we got some sleep.”

  Gabriella drained the last of the Scotch in her cup and stood up, only to giggle when she staggered and bumped into a table. “Oh, these old floors are really slanted. We’ll need to have Trace fix them before we bring children here.”

  Fiona wrapped an arm around her unsteady friend and guided her to the couch. “I’m sure he’ll put that right at the top of his list of things he must do.” She turned Gabriella around and let her fall back onto the couch. “Just after he repairs his hidey-hole, digs his tunnel out again, gets his truck running, shovels the snow out of the driveway, and catches the skunks and puts them in the back of Madeline’s truck.”

  Gabriella grabbed a throw cushion and hugged it to her face, then plopped sideways with a sigh. “If we ask him nicely, maybe Mr.—I mean, maybe Mac can use his magic to remove all the snow from the dooryard,” she murmured. She smiled up at Fiona. “Don’t you think he’s handsome? I know you don’t like men,” she rushed to say, “but if you did, wouldn’t it be exciting to fall in love with a drùidh?”

  Fiona snorted. “About as exciting as childbirth.”

  “You know who else is handsome?” Gabriella asked.

  Fiona took the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it around her. “No, who else is handsome?”

  “Maddy’s brother, Rick. Have you met him?” Gabriella grabbed Fiona’s hand to keep her from straightening away. “He’s Trace’s fishing partner, you know, and he lives with all of us at Maddy’s mother’s house. I slept in Sarah’s room at first, but when I started having bad dreams and would wake up screaming … well, Rick suggested I take his room over their garage.” She smiled crookedly. “Wasn’t that nice of him? And sometimes, when I’ve had a bad dream and can’t get back to sleep, he brings me downstairs and makes me hot cocoa.”

  She pulled Fiona closer. “And a couple of times, he’s even given me a bottle of something he calls beer, saying it will relax me.” She fell back against her pillow with another sigh. “It tasted similar to the mead I used to sneak out of my papa’s cup when he wasn’t looking, only I think the Scotch we put in our tea works better. I feel as if even my bones have melted, I’m so relaxed.”

  Fiona patted her shoulder, deciding that the Scotch had certainly relaxed the girl’s tongue. “Your dreams will all be pleasant tonight, I promise,” she whispered. “And in the morning, we shall put our minds together and come up with a plan we can present to Trace before we implement it.”

  “Mama told me that when she wanted Papa to let her do something, the less she told him, the better,” Gabriella said without bothering to open her eyes. She sighed again, snuggling into her pillow. “And that she always made him think it was his idea.”

  “I believe I like your mama,” Fiona said, walking out of the room.

  She went to her cupboard under the attic stairs, pulled out the mattress of sea grass she’d made, and dragged it to the front room next to the woodstove. Fiona finally lay down with a tired groan and stared up at the ceiling. She touched her fingers to her lips as she remembered Trace’s kiss down in the safe room.

  And how very much alive and very womanly it had made her feel.

  Or, rather, how womanly he had made her feel.

  She slowly rubbed her finger back and forth over her lower lip and smiled at the realization that Trace Huntsman desired her. And to her surprise, Fiona found herself wondering if that wonderful, exciting sensation she’d felt in the pit of her stomach when he’d kissed her—which had spread through her like warm, soothing Scotch—might in fact have been her own desire for him.

  Lord, she hoped so. Because if what she felt toward Trace really was desire, her prospects of becoming a truly modern woman, one who could choose to be intimate with a man, meant that her new life had just gone from a curse to a blessing.

  And this time, by God, she intended to have some say in the matter.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trace couldn’t imagine what sort of crime he might have committed—at least not recently—that would have compelled the universe to send his life to hell in such a crowded handbasket. Honest to God, he was thinking about burning his house down again, only this time to get Mac the Menace to leave. How in hell could anyone sit sprawled on a couch watching television for three friggin’ days and not go insane?

  Unless Mac’s real intention was to drive everyone insane with him.

  It was no wonder Fiona and Misneach kept disappearing. The woman might claim that she was spending time in the barn to help her animals get over the trauma of the storm, but Trace suspected she was secretly sneaking down to clean his safe room, as well as to escape the woe-is-me antics of their uninvited … g
uest.

  Only Gabriella seemed blissfully unaware of the building tension.

  Trace decided he was going to have to take the girl aside and point out that her little hero-worship thing was starting to border on the ridiculous. Nobody needed their pillows fluffed every ten minutes, and the next time she lugged another tray of food in to Mac, Trace was tempted to trip her.

  Three endless days of waiting for his knee to mend was taking its toll. He’d swear his muscles were atrophying from not being used, his butt had gone numb from sitting in his lumpy old recliner, and his teeth ached from grinding them every time Mac rang the little bell Gabriella had given him to call her whenever he needed something.

  About the only bright spot Trace could find was that his taste buds had recovered enough for him to discover that Fiona was one hell of a cook. Well, and that the goat had stopped giving milk.

  And he did have to admit that being laid up had afforded him the time to catch up on his paperwork, which in turn only added more fuel to his growing frustration. Even with Rick pulling double duty, they’d be lucky to break even this year, and Trace couldn’t for the life of him figure out where they would find the money to get their second boat up and running and in the water.

  “Could you please keep your sighing to a minimum, Huntsman?” Mac asked from somewhere inside his throne of fluffy pillows. “The batteries in the television remote are wearing down because I have to keep adjusting the volume.”

  Trace was tempted to tell him exactly what he could do with that remote, but he merely let out a sigh loud enough to override the blaring … oh, for chrissakes, the man was watching Sesame Street!

  Mac hit the mute button and pivoted on the couch to look at him. “What is it that has you so depressed, anyway?”

  Before he realized what he was doing, Trace held up his checkbook. “I’m trying to figure out where Rick and I are going to get the money to put our new boat in the water.” He sighed again. “Because according to our bank balance, we might as well sink the damn thing and use it as a mooring.”