“I was shooting at the demon behind you,” Mac returned. He lifted his head enough to glance toward Fiona, then back at Trace. “And I wasn’t sure how welcomed I’d be at An Téarmann.” He rolled onto his side. “What’s she doing here?” he asked softly, although Fiona still heard him. “I would have thought she’d be at de Gairn’s.”
“Matt pawned her off on Kenzie,” Trace said, not at all bothering to whisper. “And Kenzie pawned her off on me.”
Mac lowered his head to the floor with a groan.
Trace chuckled. “Don’t you just love it when a good deed comes back and bites you on the ass? Hey, your sister’s not with you, is she?”
Mac snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Carolina was leading the demons.”
“Can you make them go away, Mr. Oceanus?” Gabriella asked.
She bent down to pick up the trident, but Mac snapped open his eyes and moved it out of her reach. “Gabriella,” he said cordially—or at least as cordially as he could, Fiona guessed, considering that he appeared to be half dead. “You’re looking well.” He smiled weakly. “Other than today’s little … event, how’s life been treating you?”
Gabriella straightened and actually curtsied to him. “It’s been treating me very well, Mr. Oceanus. I love everything about this century.”
“Please, I’ve asked you to call me Mac.” He moved his gaze to Fiona. “And Ms. Gregor, life seems to have … I believe you’ve changed a bit since I last saw you.”
“Not really. I’m still being pawned off from one man to another, apparently.”
“O-kay,” Trace injected. “Now that all the niceties are over, can we get back to figuring out plan C?”
“I vote for we resume your original plan,” Mac said, closing his eyes on a sigh, “and not open the door for anything and wait two days before we emerge. Surely Kenzie and William will have turned the storm away by then.”
“How in hell did you know what the knock was?” Trace asked.
“Mr.—Mac is a powerful drùidh,” Gabriella said before he could answer. “And drùidhs know everything.”
“Apparently, not everything,” Mac muttered. “I don’t have a clue who is after me, much less why.”
“Some woman’s enraged father, most likely,” Fiona said. Ignoring Mac’s glare, she crouched in front of Trace and started to take off the sheath strapped to his leg so she could check his knee.
He stopped her by grabbing hold of her hand. “No, I need to leave it on. If you want to help, see if you can find the medicine kit that was on the shelf so I can stop this bleeding,” he said, wiping his face. But when she started to stand up, he held her in place. “You did good today.”
“Does that mean you won’t cut off my hair for opening the door?”
He grinned, and for the first time since she’d met him, it actually reached his eyes. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Mac snorted. “Are you still using that silly threat, Huntsman?”
Trace arched a brow at him. “You got a better one, Oceanus? No, wait, I forgot; you can’t even get close enough to a woman to threaten her. How’d your little trip to the mountains pan out, anyway? Did you find any single MacKeage women in Pine Creek willing to date you?”
When Fiona saw Mac’s hand twitch—the one holding his trident—she pulled free and stood up. “Gabriella, have you seen Misneach?”
“Oh!” Gabriella gasped, looking around. “He was right here before … before …” She looked toward the door, her eyes wide with worry as she looked back at Fiona. “Could he have followed you into the tunnel?” she whispered. “Oh, Fiona, I lost him!”
“Take it easy,” Trace said, rolling onto his stomach toward the bed and pushing some of the fallen supplies out of his way. “The pup’s smarter than that. Misneach, come here, boy. Come on, come to Papa.”
Fiona heard Mac chuckle. “Siring dogs now, are you, Huntsman?”
Trace pulled Misneach from under the bed and sat up to hold the trembling pup in his arms, and glared at Mac. “At least he doesn’t call me pond scum to my face.”
Fiona rolled her eyes and started searching the debris for the medicine kit, wondering if the upcoming week wouldn’t prove to be one of those fates worse than death, if she was expected to nurse two men back to health now.
Chapter Eleven
Not caring that he was getting dirt and blood all over his recliner, Trace clenched his jaw and shifted the ice pack on his knee—the one Fiona had negligently tossed at him on her way by—as he tried to stay focused on what Kenzie and William were saying. He might be keeping his mouth shut, but that didn’t mean he had to like that Fiona was kneeling beside the couch to suture what appeared to be nothing more than a scratch on Mac’s shoulder. It was bad enough that William and Kenzie had carried the drùidh upstairs—while Trace had dragged himself upstairs—but the two warriors hadn’t even bothered to thank him for keeping their sisters safe from the demons.
Which Mac the Menace had brought here, he might point out.
And he sure as hell didn’t like how Gabriella kept fawning over the jerk, dabbing Mac’s brow and constantly asking if he was in pain. Christ, he was tempted to cram a pillow down over the bastard’s face the next time he moaned.
“We still don’t know why they’re after Mac,” Kenzie said, “or who they are. But what really worries me is they don’t seem to be afraid of him. Nor do they seem even to care if they incur his father’s wrath. Titus Oceanus isn’t exactly known for his leniency when it comes to dealing with anyone who threatens his family.”
Trace took another sip of Scotch—which he’d had to find and pour himself—and glared toward the couch. Dammit, Fiona should be tending his injuries.
“There seemed to be more than one entity controlling the demons,” William said, “as there were at least three separate waves of attacks.”
Didn’t either of them see that Gabriella had contracted a horrible case of hero worship? And Mac sure as hell didn’t seem inclined to quell it; in fact, he appeared to be encouraging her, holding the girl’s hand and sucking in a shuddering breath each time the needle pierced his ugly flesh.
Why in hell wasn’t Fiona putting a stop to Gabriella’s foolishness? She certainly was bright enough to know that Maximilian Oceanus was a pompous ass.
The bastard had better not suddenly decide he could fall in love with the new and improved Fiona Gregor. She was his tenant, dammit; he was the one bringing her out of her shell, and he wasn’t about to let some love-starved pond scum of a drùidh reap the benefits of his hard work.
Trace absently rubbed Misneach, sleeping on his lap, pleased that at least the pup knew where to place his loyalty. Probably irrevocably gun-shy now, if not also deaf, the little Chesapeake had been the only one to notice that Trace was injured and had even tried licking the blood off his face back in the safe room. And when he’d set Misneach down when they’d finally heard Kenzie and William shouting for them overhead, the loyal little pup had lifted his leg and whizzed on Mac’s one remaining … flipper.
Only to everyone’s surprise, the flipper had magically turned back into a human hand just as soon as the warm urine had hit it.
Hell, if Trace had known that was all it would take, he would have volunteered.
Seeing that Fiona was finally done, Trace started unbuttoning his shirt so she could rub horse liniment on the bruises on his ribs. A soak in a hot bath was out of the question until the electricity came back on, and he’d have to ask Gabriella to hunt around for some kerosene lamps, so they could conserve the battery in the lantern.
Only Trace suddenly stilled in the middle of trying to pull his shirttail out of his jeans without disturbing Misneach. He blinked at Kenzie and William. “Come again? Did you just say you think the tooth fairy was leading the demons?”
Kenzie didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “I would offer to bring Mac to An Téarmann to recuperate, but it appears he’s already made himself comfortable on your couch.” He leaned forward on
the footstool he was sitting on next to the woodstove. “I’d hide that trident if I were you, though, the moment he falls asleep. When he gets his strength back, there’s no telling what sort of havoc he might wreak.”
William snorted. “Aye, there’s a good chance he’s still a wee bit miffed at ye for rejecting his sister’s marriage proposal.”
“Is he miffed at you for rejecting Carolina and for marrying Maddy?”
“Nay,” William said with a chuckle. “Mac likes me.”
“Lucky you,” Trace muttered.
Kenzie stood up with a tired groan when he saw Fiona heading to the kitchen. “If you’re done here, sister, go upstairs and pack a few of your things, and I will take you to An Téarmann.”
She spun toward him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“We’ll return in a few days to get the rest of your belongings.”
“But I’m not moving back to An Téarmann. This is my home now. I mean, that’s my home now,” she said, pointing at the ceiling.
Kenzie gave her a gentle smile. “I’ve decided this may not be the best arrangement for you after all, so you can live with us until I’m able to find a better one.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve decided that you aren’t the boss of me anymore. And neither is Matt. I will live where I want, and say and do and think what I want, from now on, just like any other twenty-first-century woman.”
Trace very nearly jumped out of his chair, he was so pleased.
Not because he wanted her to stay or anything but because she was very politely telling her brother to go to hell.
Kenzie pointed at the ceiling rather … pointedly. “You will do as you’re told and go get your things, and we will discuss this at home.”
Fiona folded her arms under her breasts and arched a brow. “Exactly which part of ‘you’re not the boss of me anymore’ didn’t you understand?” she asked ever so softly, obviously trying to rein in her anger. “Because I have to tell you, I’m damn tired of sitting through your one-sided discussions. You and Matt can discuss my arrangement until hell freezes over for all I care, but it’s not going to change the fact that neither one of you men knows shit about what’s good for me.”
Wow. When the woman decided to break out of her shell, she came out swinging! Christ, he wanted to kiss her again.
“Your language is unbecoming!” Kenzie snapped, his anger growing in direct proportion to his realization that he’d lost control of her.
She actually laughed. “Are you sure it’s my language you find unbecoming, or is it my unwillingness to jump at your command like a clueless eleventh-century lass?”
Hell, she was even starting to sound like a Mainer.
Kenzie was so taken aback that he seemed to have been rendered speechless.
“Gabriella, get your coat,” William growled as he stood up and used his bloodied sword to point toward the kitchen.
“Nay.” The girl thrust her chin out defiantly. “I believe I’ll spend the week here with Fiona and help her take care of Mac and Trace.” She walked over and looped her arm through Fiona’s. “Friends do not abandon friends.”
Instead of also being rendered speechless, William turned a thunderous glare on Trace, pointing his sword at him. “This is your fault, Huntsman. We leave these two perfectly obedient women in your care for one day, and suddenly, the only word they seem able to utter is no.”
Trace grinned at the confounded warrior. “Kind of dents the ego, doesn’t it, when a woman tells you no? I would think you’d be used to it by now, seeing as how you’ve been married to Maddy for over a month and a half.” He turned his grin on Kenzie. “And how’s your campaign coming along to get Eve to have her baby in a hospital? Has she agreed with you yet that just because the MacKeage women all had their children at home, that doesn’t mean she should?”
“Are ye saying you won’t burn down your house to make Fiona leave?” the vengeful highlander ground out.
Trace looked directly at Fiona when he heard her gasp. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I like having a tenant I can count on when things get scary.” He continued to answer Kenzie even as he continued staring into Fiona’s no longer vulnerable but definitely wounded eyes. “Especially when that tenant handles a gun better than you do, Gregor, and knows that retreating is not an act of cowardice but one of intelligence.”
Giving her a wink, he looked at Kenzie and William. “I realize you might have a hard time wrapping your ancient minds around the concept, but today wasn’t the first time a female has pulled my neck out of the wringer. I’ve fought side-by-side with women in Iraq and Afghanistan, and for the record, I don’t have a problem facing screaming demons with either one of your sisters. In fact, Killkenny,” he said, giving the wide-eyed Gabriella a wink as he slid his gaze to William, “neither do I have a problem with Gabriella also becoming my tenant, should she decide to move in with Fiona.”
William’s hand on his sword flexed. “Ye overstep your bounds, Huntsman!”
“Not by twenty-first-century rules, I don’t. When we were waiting for you to finally come to our rescue, Gabriella just happened to mention that her birthday is next week. And in this century, eighteen is the age of independence.”
“Are ye deliberately trying to anger us?” Kenzie asked tightly. He lifted a brow. “Or maybe you’ve decided ye like having a clean house and home-cooked meals.”
“Personally,” Mac said from the couch, “I think he’s looking to get himself some milk without having to buy the cow.” He snorted. “Or should I say goat?”
“Enough!” Fiona snapped. “You will all shut the fuck up, or I swear, I’ll find my gun and shoot every damned last one of you.”
“Sister!” Kenzie shouted, taking a step back. “You will mind your tongue! Where did you even learn such a word?”
Equally shocked but utterly enthralled, Trace could only gape at Fiona as she shot her brother a scathing glare. “You’d be surprised at what a camp whore learns,” she hissed, “other than just how to pleasure a man.”
Kenzie took another step back, his knees obviously gone weak as he staggered into the wall. “What are ye saying?” he whispered.
Her brother’s shock apparently doing nothing to quell her anger, Trace saw Fiona’s hands ball into fists. “I’m not the innocent little girl you remember, Kenzie. I grew up the day you walked away from Mama and Papa and me, and I grew wise the day that bastard caught me alone in the woods and turned me into a whore.”
When Kenzie slid down the wall to squat on his heels, his face as pale as snow, Fiona took a hesitant step toward him. “I honestly tried to be the baby sister you and Matt remembered,” she said huskily. “And for a while, I actually became her—to the point that I even began fearing men again. But even worse than losing her virginity, when a woman’s innocence is stolen from her, she can’t ever go back to pretending she is something more or anything less than she is.”
She took another step forward and held her hand out, and Trace was proud to see that it wasn’t trembling even a little. “Where you and Matt left to find your destinies, mine was thrust upon me.” She snorted. “Several destinies, actually, and always at the hand of some man. Well, brother, I’m done. My future is in my hands now, and if I screw up, then I have no one to blame but myself.” Her mouth curved upward. “And if all of my dreams do come true, they will be all the sweeter for being mine alone. I will have children again, and I’ll raise them to know that the only thing they need to fear is their mama’s wrath, if I ever catch them being afraid of anything.”
That said, she started toward the kitchen but then stopped and faced Kenzie again, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. “Please tell Eve and Winter for me that I thank them for speaking their minds. I realize now that as long as I continued living with you or Matt, I would have continued trying to be your baby sister.”
Fiona walked over to Trace and lifted Misneach off his lap. “There are enough like-minded males in this room already,” she muttere
d, heading to the kitchen again. “I don’t need any of you corrupting my pet. Come on, Gabriella,” she said as she walked past her gaping friend. “We’ll go upstairs and build a fire and make ourselves a cup of tea. But first, grab that unopened bottle of Scotch in the cupboard next to the sink and bring it with you.”
The porch door closed a moment later, and the ensuing silence lasted several more moments until it was broken by the sound of the ceiling creaking over their heads.
“Holy Christ,” Kenzie whispered. He raised pain-filled eyes first to William and then to Trace. “I thought she’d only been raped. One time. I thought some man had caught her alone in the woods and that … that she had …” He dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head. “She called herself a whore.”
Mac sat up on the couch, cradling his arm against his side. “You didn’t know Fiona had gone missing for nearly seven months?” he asked softly.
“Nay,” Kenzie said, not looking up. He ran his hands through his hair and then held his head as he stared at the floor. “What kind of hell was she forced to endure for seven months?” He looked up, his haunted gaze focused inward. “I thought I killed the bastard who’d raped her, but … hell, it appears he was only the first of many.”
Trace quietly closed the footrest on his recliner and stood up, then limped over and pulled the highlander to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But you need to realize that what didn’t kill your sister only made her stronger.”
“And now she’s fighting to remain strong,” Mac said as he limped over to them. “And if you truly love her, you’ll not only let Fiona go forward on her own terms, you will help her. But only when she asks, Kenzie, and then only what she asks for, instead of what you believe she needs.”
Although he hated like hell to admit it, Trace found himself agreeing with the drùidh. “Your sister is a lot stronger and smarter and more capable than most men I know,” he added. He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “And a hell of a lot prettier.”
Mystical Warrior (Midnight Bay) Page 11