Mystical Warrior (Midnight Bay)

by Janet Chapman

  “Her inability to … her attitude toward …” Trace dropped his head in his hands. “I knew I had sworn off women for a reason.” He glared across the table at Mac. “I got the impression Fiona thought her only role in lovemaking was giving pleasure, and it appeared to me she didn’t have a clue how to receive it.”

  Mac nodded. “That is what she spent seven months learning.”

  “And now she intends to use her ill-gotten skills to get pregnant.” Trace stood up. “Only that sure as hell isn’t going to happen on my watch!”

  But he had to grab the edge of the table when the room started spinning. “Shit. I guess that last drink gave me a bit of a buzz.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed it to Mac. “Pay the waitress and give her a nice tip, and then meet me out front. I’m going to see if I can find someone headed to Midnight Bay to give us a ride.”

  Mac scrambled out of the booth with a laugh. “You’re not buzzed, my friend, you’re stinking drunk.” He pulled out all of Trace’s money and tossed it onto the table, then tucked the wallet into his own pocket before hauling Trace’s arm over his shoulder. “And I’ll drive,” he said, heading for the door.

  Trace pulled them to a stumbling halt. “You know how?”

  “I fixed the truck, remember? Driving it can’t be all that hard.”

  Trace shuddered as Mac headed them toward the door again. “Maybe you should go for a ride with Killkenny sometime.” He sucked in a deep breath when they hit the frigid night air, then bent over to brace his hands on his knees as he craned his neck to look around. “Damn, I can’t remember where I parked.” He waved his finger in a circle next to his spinning head. “Conjure up my truck, magic man, and have it come pick us up.” He set both hands back on his knees. “And make it snappy, because I gotta go save some unsuspecting chump before Fiona fixes her own damn problem.”

  Mac hauled Trace’s arm over his shoulder again and started them down the sidewalk. “Mind telling me exactly how you intend to save her?”

  “Not her, the unsuspecting chump!” Trace grinned, feeling quite smug that he knew exactly what to do and that he hadn’t had to ask anyone. “I’m going to use Fiona’s own tactics against her, only instead of her stuff, I’m going to rearrange the lady’s thinking.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Misneach was a perfect example of why children weren’t allowed to be anywhere near an army when it was camped close to the enemy. The moment he heard Trace shouting Fiona’s name at the top of his lungs out in the yard, the pup started whining and scratching at the cupboard door. And when Trace stomped up the outside stairs and started banging on her door hard enough to rattle the windows, Misneach became so frantic to get to him that he piddled all over the floor.

  Fiona unlocked the cupboard door and scrambled out as her pet ran off in such a rush that she heard him slip on the floor, tumble into one of the kitchen chairs, and knock it over. She pulled on her bathrobe, tossed back her braid and squared her shoulders, and calmly walked to the woodstove in the front room as she remembered the last time Trace had banged on her door. It had been her first night here, and she’d been so frightened she’d spent the night shaking like a leaf.

  “Fiona! Get out of bed and open this door!” he shouted, banging on it again so hard she was surprised the window didn’t break.

  She took her time setting another log in the woodstove, contemplating how she’d spent the last two days trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. But this afternoon, she’d finally concluded that the only mistake she’d made was to forget that Trace Huntsman was about as male as a man could be. And in her experience, either men got angry and lashed out, or they stormed off in a huff when something didn’t go the way they were expecting, especially when that something involved their precious manhood.

  “Fiona! I want to talk to you!”

  She just bet he did. But if he thought she wanted to talk to him after he’d run off and spent two days … slaking his lust on some other woman, most likely, he was either out of his mind or drunk—or both.

  “Misneach,” she heard him say, his voice suddenly encouraging. “Hey there, squirt. Yeah, I missed you, too. Go on, go get Fiona and tell her to come open the door so I can play with you. Go on, go get her, boy.”

  She heard Misneach whine and then return to scratching frantically at the door.

  But then she heard another man’s voice, to which Trace responded heatedly. Something bumped into her door; she heard a strangled yelp, and then muttering from the other man.

  Mac, most likely.

  She’d wondered how long it would take the drùidh to get sick of his own company—as well as his own cooking—and finally go hunt Trace down. Not that she cared. And she certainly didn’t care if that beautiful kitchen downstairs now looked worse than it had before she’d cleaned it. She was even getting used to the smell of burnt toast that wafted upstairs every morning, as well as the pungent and equally burnt smell, along with the smoke, every afternoon.

  She figured they must not have modern appliances in Atlantis.

  “Open the goddamned door!” Trace shouted.

  Apparently ignoring him wasn’t going to work. Fiona tightened the belt on her robe, walked to the kitchen and pushed Misneach out of the way with her leg, and unlocked and opened the door.

  Trace gave the pup a quick pat, then straightened and thrust his hand toward her, palm up. “I want my condom back.”

  She certainly hadn’t been expecting that. “Your what?”

  He lifted his outstretched hand just under her nose, apparently assuming she couldn’t see it. “You know, the thin rubber thingy that’s about this long when you unroll it,” he said, raising his other hand and holding them a short distance apart, “that’s shaped exactly like a man’s cock.” He thrust his open hand at her again, arching one brow. “Ring any bells, Fiona? It’s what every red-blooded, twenty-first-century male hoping to get lucky carries in his wallet, just in case some woman walks up and starts undressing him. I believe you found one under the pillow in my safe room. Well, it’s mine, and I want it back.” He shot her a rather nasty grin. “In case I find some other woman who wants to get me naked.”

  “For the love of Zeus, Huntsman,” Mac growled, grabbing Trace’s sleeve and trying to tug him around. “This is your solution, to make her jealous?”

  Trace pulled free and shoved his hands in his pockets as he hunched his shoulders against the cold—although Fiona couldn’t see why he should be cold, as the glare he was giving her was hot enough to boil a kettle of water.

  “People with hidden agendas don’t get jealous,” he growled as he continued glaring at her. “They just move on to their next target when the first one doesn’t cooperate.”

  She was at a complete loss as to what he was angry at, other than her taking his condom. But she hadn’t known what it was, only that it hadn’t been under the pillow when she’d cleaned the room the previous day. So, after taking it out of the packet and unrolling it, suspecting what it was for but not quite sure, she’d brought it upstairs with the intention of asking Madeline if it truly was something men wore during sex.

  But beyond her taking his property, she didn’t know what else he was mad at.

  “What are you talking about? What hidden agenda are you implying I have?”

  “If you want another baby, lady, you’re going to have to put up with a husband to get it. I even catch a hint of you undressing in front of anyone else, and I swear, I’ll … I’ll …” He pulled a hand out of his pocket to point his finger at her. “You just stay away from Johnnie Dempster, you hear me? And any other chump unlucky enough to bump into you in town. Your brothers might not be the boss of you anymore, but a landlord sure as hell has some say over his tenant dragging home innocent men at all hours of the day and night.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Besides,” he growled, “you won’t have time even to smile at another man, because you’ll be too busy working for me.” He took his pointer finger and pointe
d down the stairs. “You be standing on my porch at four a.m. tomorrow, and make sure you’re dressed warm, because it gets friggin’ cold at sea this time of year.”

  “That’s your plan?” Mac barked, appearing even more shocked than she was. “You’re going to take her to work with you?”

  “Rick and I need help, and she needs a job,” Trace said, turning back to Fiona. “Because your rent just went up a hundred bucks a month. Landlords always charge extra for animals, and my deal with Kenzie didn’t include a zoo.” He pointed his finger at her again, only this time Fiona noticed it was shaking quite badly. “And your brother’s not paying the difference, you are, which means you need to get off your duff and earn some honest money.”

  “That’s telling her,” Mac muttered, grabbing Trace’s sleeve again. “Can we please go inside to have this discussion?” He gave him a shove. “It’s freezing out.”

  Trace pushed back against Mac as he tried to elbow the drùidh in the ribs but missed. “Are you nuts? You don’t ever go inside a woman’s apartment, day or night, even if she was civil enough to invite you in.” He turned his glare on her again. “And you especially don’t go in if she’s looking for a sperm donor.”

  Even though she couldn’t stifle her gasp of surprise, Fiona glared right back at him. “I’m not inviting you in because you’re drunk.”

  “Here’s a suggestion,” Mac said, blowing into his clenched fists. “Let’s all go downstairs to have our little … chat. I will even do the honors of making us hot cocoa.”

  “If a little chill in the air bothers you, then go sit in the truck.” Trace snorted. “No, wait. You can’t, because the truck is sitting in a snowbank a mile down the road.” He turned back to Fiona and pointed his finger right at her nose. “Five a.m. sharp and not a minute later, or I’ll dock your pay an hour.”

  She very generously refrained from pointing out that he’d originally wanted her standing on his porch at four, not five. But still at a loss as to why Trace was so angry at her—other than that he didn’t seem to want her smiling at men—Fiona gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for offering me a job, but I already have one.”

  He swayed back on his feet. “You what?” he yelped as Mac caught him.

  “And it starts at the civil hour of eight,” she continued. “And goes until six.”

  He narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her. “Doing what?”

  “Watching a gentleman’s two young children.”

  He leaned toward her. “At his house or here?” he asked ever so softly.

  “Um … here,” she said, leaning away.

  “Why aren’t you watching them for the gentleman’s wife?”

  Fiona inched away from his escalating anger. “His wife died two years ago, so he’s been raising his two children all by himself. And when he came here tonight to—”

  “When he what?” Trace shouted, stumbling toward her.

  “Enough!” Mac snapped, shoving him the rest of the way inside and closing the door behind them. “This is getting interesting, actually, but I’m starting to miss parts of the conversation because my teeth are chattering too loudly.” He dragged Trace into Fiona’s front room, then shoved him down onto the couch and turned to hold his hands over the woodstove. “Would you happen to have any … coffee, I believe, is what they think sobers them up.” He smiled at her. “If not, tea or anything hot will do.”

  They both turned at the sound of snoring coming from the couch.

  Mac sighed. “It would have helped if the truck heater had hit him that hard and knocked him out.” He looked at her, shaking his head. “You would think being a warrior would have hardened his nerves, but when he wasn’t gripping the dash on our ride back from Oak Harbor tonight, he was grabbing the steering wheel and shouting at me to keep to one side of the road.” He shrugged. “Which made no sense if there wasn’t another vehicle coming toward us. I slowed down and veered to the edge whenever I saw headlights coming at us.”

  “Mac, do you know why he’s so angry at me?” she asked, gesturing at Trace, who was flopped over sideways on her couch in an awkward position.

  God help her, it was all she could do not to go over there and straighten him out.

  “He’s angry that you tried to seduce him with the intention of making a child.”

  “What?” she gasped, taking a step back. “But I wasn’t … I didn’t …” Fiona felt her cheeks fill with heat. “He told what happened down in the safe room?” she squeaked, deciding she’d rather go over and kick Trace instead.

  Mac tucked his hands behind him as he backed toward the stove. “Not the details, just the generalities of what led up to your little misunderstanding.” He arched a brow. “Are you saying that at the time you never once thought of the possibility that you could make a child?”

  “No!” She pointed at the couch. “And you better tell him that the moment he wakes up.” She dropped her hand, fighting tears. “I can’t believe he thought I would deceive him about something as important as fathering a child.”

  “You’d have to know about his childhood to understand why he jumped to that conclusion,” Mac said gently. “Trace’s father blamed his mother for getting pregnant when she was sixteen and trapping him in a marriage he didn’t want.”

  “Th-that’s why his father beat him?” she whispered, seeing one more piece of the puzzle fall into place. “Just because he’d been born?”

  The drùidh nodded. “I’m afraid Trace is quite sensitive about fathering children, which is why you mustn’t take his anger tonight personally. It’s not about you, Fiona, it’s about him.” He folded his arms over his chest. “And so I would ask, if you weren’t looking to get with child, what were you doing down in that room?”

  Fiona spun away and ran to the kitchen. “We forgot Misneach outside.”

  But when she couldn’t get the door to open, even after she checked to make sure it wasn’t locked, she turned to find Mac standing in the front-room doorway.

  “I’m only asking because I’d like to know if you are attracted to Trace or not,” he continued, apparently unconcerned that her pet was freezing to death.

  “You locked the door.”

  “It will open just as soon as you answer my question.”

  “But what does my liking or not liking him matter to you?”

  “It shouldn’t, really.” He smiled sheepishly. “But it appears I have a romantic side I wasn’t aware of until just recently.” He shrugged. “Probably because I’m finding it’s easier to stick my nose in other people’s affairs than it is to get my own affairs in order. So, are you attracted to that drunken lout on your couch or not?”

  She turned back and rattled the doorknob again as she looked down through the window to see Misneach sitting on the porch, his whole body shivering as he stared up at her. She spun back to Mac. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m sure you know how much I don’t like men, but I don’t … dislike Trace.” She pointed her finger at the drùidh. “And if you tell him that, I swear I’ll poison your dinner.”

  Up went that brow again, and his eyes took on an amused twinkle. “So, you were merely not disliking him two days ago when you took off all your clothes?”

  “I was trying to be modern!” she snapped. “Women today can sleep with a man simply because we can.”

  “And Trace just happened to be available and willing and … what? Safe? You felt comfortable with him because he’s a friend of Kenzie’s?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said, deciding that was as good a reason as any for why she’d made a complete fool of herself.

  “Then can I ask how you’re planning to go about getting a child, if you don’t want anything to do with men and hadn’t been trying to have one with Trace?”

  Fiona immediately brightened. “Oh, but it truly is possible now! I was watching a show on television yesterday, and there was a woman getting something called artificial insem … insem … I wrote it down,” she said, rushing to the counter. “Artificial insemination,” s
he read from the piece of paper she picked up. She looked at Mac. “A doctor places a man’s seed inside the woman, and she gets pregnant without having to have sex. Isn’t that wonderful?” She waved the paper at him. “I knew there would be a miraculous way to have children without involving a man in this modern time.”

  Up when Mac’s brow again. “I believe a man’s got to be involved somehow, if you want his seed.”

  “Oh, but the show said there are banks of it, just like the banks that hold people’s money. I can get the seed from one of them.”

  “Without knowing whom it belongs to?” he asked. “What if the gentleman who put his seed in the bank is … oh, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “What if he’s stupid or a ne’er-do-well, or he’s sickly or old?” He smiled. “Or so ugly that no woman will sleep with him? Is it not important to you what sort of lineage your baby will have? And do you not question why a man would give his seed to a woman he doesn’t even know, to create a child he will never see?”

  Fiona dropped her hand holding the paper, her shoulders slumping as she looked down at the floor. “I—I hadn’t thought about any of that,” she whispered.

  Mac walked over and lifted her chin. “You will have your babes, Fiona,” he said gently. “But maybe not today or tomorrow or even next week, okay? Why don’t you focus on just being alive for the moment and let good old-fashioned Mother Nature take care of the details of when and how and with whom?”

  “But I’m thirty years old, Mac. If Mama and Papa hadn’t kept us isolated from society, I would have had several children by now.”

  “Your parents were trying to protect you, Fiona. They knew that the very society you yearned to be part of had a tendency to fear and ultimately annihilate anyone who was different. Did you not learn that lesson the hard way, when that man caught you alone in the woods and asked you to come home and heal his dying father?”

  “But I’m not a healer. My mother was the Guardian, only she was dead.”

  “And when he realized you didn’t have your mother’s magic and couldn’t help him, that’s when he turned on you, isn’t it?” Mac took hold of her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Fiona, for all that you went through, and if I could, I would undo it. But it’s important for you to understand that what you endured served to make you the strong, resilient, and determined woman you are now. No man will ever take advantage of you again, because you won’t let him.” He brushed a finger down her cheek. “Especially not that drunken lout snoring on your couch.”