“You may kill him,” Fiona said calmly, “but only after you kill me.”
“Dammit, ye lied to me yesterday afternoon. Ye told me not to come get you because you were staying the night to watch Henry.”
“I had too much on my mind yesterday afternoon to also have to deal with your antiquated proprieties. But if you wish to discuss them now, I’m willing to hear what you have to say—that is, if you are willing to listen to me.”
“You’ll not live with a man who’s not your husband,” the highlander snapped, apparently in no mood to discuss anything. “Can ye not see yourself? Ye look as if ye … that you’ve been …”
“Well loved?” Fiona finished for him. “Aye, I have. And if you think I look the worse for wear, you should see my boyfriend.”
Was she serious? Trace rubbed a shaky hand over his sweating face as he wondered if Kenzie had brought his sword.
Although come to think of it, the highlander’s fists could be lethal weapons.
Assuming the soul warrior didn’t decide to turn into a panther instead.
“Where is the cowardly bastard?” Kenzie snarled.
“I’ve got him tied up to the bedposts,” she drawled.
Was she friggin’ serious?
“And I would appreciate that you not refer to the father of my future children as a coward or a bastard,” she continued. “And from now on, I prefer that you call ahead first, rather than come to our home unannounced. Sunday morning is the only time Trace and I will have to relax together, as he works daylight to dark six grueling days a week, and he drives to Bangor for supper with his mother on Sunday afternoons.”
They would be driving to his mother’s on Sunday afternoons, not he. What, did she honestly think he was going to let her out of that one?
“This isn’t right,” Kenzie ground out, although Trace heard more desperation than anger in his voice now. “Ye may have had no choice in the matter before, Fiona,” the highlander said more gently, “but ye … you’re still acting … dammit, sister, you dishonor yourself by willingly sleeping with a man you’re not married to.”
Trace silently stepped into the kitchen just far enough for Kenzie to see him.
“So, you’re saying Eve was no better than a whore when she slept with you before she married you?” Fiona asked evenly.
“Nay!” Kenzie shouted, taking a step back. “She’s my wife!”
“I don’t remember seeing a ring on her finger that week the two of you camped out on the bluff while your home was being rebuilt, and you made love to her every night, all night long.”
Trace leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest, smiling at Kenzie’s shock.
“How in hell do ye know about that?”
Trace saw Fiona shrug, and he’d bet his boat she was grinning like a kitten with a belly full of cow’s milk. Man, did the lady fight dirty, or what?
“Contrary to belief, hawks have fairly good night vision, dear brother. And my favorite roost just happened to be an old oak tree out on that same bluff.”
Kenzie was the one now wiping the sweat off his face. “Sweet Christ,” he whispered. “Ye watched us?”
Trace straightened away from the wall at the sound of a truck speeding into the dooryard and skidding to a halt, its door slamming shut a second after its engine died.
Kenzie turned to look out, then suddenly stiffened and turned back and pointed at Fiona. “Ye don’t say one word to her about seeing us,” he growled. “She’d be horrified, and I don’t want her getting upset this close to her birthing day.”
Eve came running—or, rather, waddling—into the house, already looking upset. She stopped just inside the door, her eyes widening as she took in Fiona’s disheveled appearance, and then turned to her husband. “You’d better be here congratulating your sister on her falling in love.” She poked him when Kenzie opened his mouth to say something. “You say anything, it better be an apology to your sister and to Trace for disturbing their Sunday morning.”
Apparently Kenzie wasn’t apologizing quickly enough, so Eve spun around and did it for him. “I’m sorry we both stopped by unannounced this morning,” she said. She shot Trace an apologetic smile, then looked back at her sister-in-law. “And I promise it won’t happen again,” she said, shooting a quick nonapologetic glare over her shoulder at her husband before looking at Fiona again. “Maybe one evening this week, we’ll have you and Trace over to dinner.”
Another vehicle drove into the dooryard and slid to a halt, although this one sounded more like a snowbank stopped it rather than its brakes. The three people standing by the door all looked out. “You called William for backup?” Eve cried.
But Trace heard another vehicle come barreling down the driveway just as the Irishman came barging through the door—holding his goddamned sword.
Both Maddy and Gabriella came charging in behind him, and Maddy grabbed her husband’s arm and spun him around. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ignoring his wife, William pointed at the door. “Ye get back in the truck, Gabriella. Ye have no business seeing what’s going on here.”
“Oh, get real!” Maddy said with a snort. “She sees people wearing a hell of a lot less doing a hell of a lot worse on television.” She shot Fiona a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry for barging in unannounced and so early like this, but I did try to call and warn you, only your phone kept going to voice mail.”
“I shut if off … yesterday afternoon,” Fiona said softly.
And Trace would bet his boat her cheeks were bright pink.
God love her, the woman had orchestrated an attack on him yesterday that rivaled the D-day invasion, yet had somehow managed to make him feel as if he should be claiming victory.
Which, come to think of it, was a very scary thing.
His belly rumbled loudly enough that everyone stopped glaring at each other and all turned in unison to glare at him.
Well, except for Peeps, who was smiling way too smugly.
Fiona walked over, wrapped her arms around his waist, and melted into him with a sigh. “You don’t listen very well, do you?” she said, though she was smiling up at him as she said it. “At least you put clothes on this time.”
Holding her possessively against him, Trace had to brush her hair out of his way when some of it caught on his unshaven jaw so he could grin at all the people crowding his kitchen. “Not that I don’t appreciate the impromptu housewarming party, but I think it’s time you ladies took your husbands home and fed them breakfast, so my girlfriend can feed me mine.”
“Or we could all go to the Port of Call for breakfast,” Peeps suggested.
“Sorry,” Trace said, shaking his head. He looked at the clock on the stove, then back at everyone. “Because in about three hours, my mom and Jack will be here. I invited them to come spend the afternoon and have Sunday supper with me and my new girlfriend in my nice clean house.”
“You what?” Fiona cried—which was echoed by Maddy and Eve. Fiona stepped away, her eyes wide with horror. “Your mother’s coming here? Today? For dinner? In three hours? With her husband?” She grabbed her hair, only instead of pulling it out like her expression suggested, she started trying to tame it into submission as she spun toward the women. “His mother’s coming here! Today! For dinner! In three hours! And she’s bringing Jack!” She suddenly spun back toward him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “When did you have time to call her?”
“Last night … um, after you fell asleep,” he said, darting a worried glance at Kenzie and William, who, he noticed, both appeared as horrified as the women. He smiled down at Fiona. “Mom’s been bugging me to let her and Jack make the drive down here at least every other Sunday since I bought the place. She even offered to bring dinner, but I kept refusing because …” He waved around the kitchen. “Well, because I didn’t want her to see that I lived like … that I had all I could do to …” He took hold of her shoulders and gave her an encouraging smile. “That I lived like a
pig,” he finally admitted. “But you’ve got the place looking so beautiful, and you’re so beautiful, and I wanted her to see how happy you’ve made me so she’ll quit worrying that I’m going to turn into some old hermit, and so I … I thought that …”
Christ, this wasn’t going at all well.
And for the life of him, he didn’t know why.
“Goddamn it, what’s the problem?” he finally just asked. “I thought you were looking forward to meeting my mother. You both have a lot in common, not the least of which is that you both love me,” he thought to remind her.
“But not today!” she cried, stepping away to grab her hair again. “The house is a mess. I’m a mess. And I don’t have anything prepared for dinner.” She spun toward the women. “His mother is coming here in three hours!”
“You are such a stupid ass,” Maddy hissed, walking over to wrap an arm around Fiona and leading her into the hallway, Eve and Gabriella following, both of them giving Trace a vicious glare. “Don’t you worry about anything,” Maddy continued to his now-sobbing girlfriend. “The three of us will help you get everything together in time. Not that you need to worry about trying to make a good first impression, anyway. The minute Auntie Pam finds out you love her son enough to actually live with him, she’s going to be so overjoyed she’ll probably cry.”
Maddy’s encouragement, every word seconded by the entourage following, ended with Trace’s bedroom door shutting with deafening softness.
“Sweet Christ, Huntsman,” William said, his sword hanging limply in his hand, “do ye truly not know what an idiot you are?”
“Apparently not.” Trace shook his head. “Because I still don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s my mother, for chrissakes, not the queen of England.”
“Ye don’t tell a woman your mother’s coming for dinner in three hours,” Kenzie said, looking equally appalled. “Ye ask her if it wouldn’t be nice to have your mum come visit and when would be a good time. You’re going to pay dearly for this, my friend,” the highlander said, although his smile was anything but friendly. “Which is the only reason I’m not sending you to rot in hell right now.”
“For the record, I asked your sister to marry me, and she outright refused.” Trace headed to the counter and started opening cupboard doors, trying to remember where the coffee filters were. “Hell, I only just barely got her to agree to consider wearing an engagement ring.” He found the filters, grabbed a spoon, and headed into the living room. “And also for the record,” he continued as Kenzie and William followed. He plunged the spoon into the Christmas cactus, just now noticing the damn thing was in full bloom. “Your sister fights dirty, Gregor.” He stopped spooning what he hoped was mostly coffee into the filter and pointed at Kenzie. “And I got to tell you, that woman’s got an arsenal of weapons the Pentagon would envy. And she’s sneaky and quick, and she doesn’t like losing.”
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.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“See, 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 sque
eze. “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.”
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