Mystical Warrior (26 page)

“She doesn’t want anything to do with men, so how in hell would asking her to marry me be anything but an insult?”

“You of all people should know that Fiona’s not liking men is merely a defense. Do you think she offered you her body the other day because she’s
not
attracted to you?”

“She was just … experimenting.”

“Yes; likely to prove to herself that
she
has the power to initiate sex rather than it being forced on her. And she honestly believes that men do desire her, only as a means to slake their lust but never as their wife. In Fiona’s eleventh-century mind, a woman’s value is in being cherished by her
husband
.”

“Goddamn it, I don’t ever intend to get married.”

Mac leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Then walk away, Huntsman. Go crawl back into that dark, miserable place you’ve been hiding in most of your life, and stop trying to pull Fiona down there with you. Because I assure you, she intends to live the rest of her life in the light—be it with you or despite you.”

F
iona sat on the top rail of the paddock fence, watching the dark, churning clouds building along the horizon out over the bay, and wondered if she was ever going to get the hang of living in this century. It seemed like everything about this time was so much more complicated, from all the different foods being sold in huge stores and all the technology that was supposed to help do chores but only created more work to a society that had as many rules as it did people.

Even the men were more complicated. A thousand years ago, all they had required was a full belly, occasional sex, and a good war to take out their aggressions on. But today, men apparently still wanted their basic needs met, only now they also wanted to stick their noses into women’s affairs.

It was obvious Trace didn’t know the first thing about preparing a decent meal, much less how to organize a kitchen, yet he got all prickly over a few moved items—and
then apologized for being upset with her for moving them. And one minute he was pulling her into his arms and kissing her, making her believe he desired her, and the next he was turning all prickly again and running off. But then he shows up on her doorstep falling down drunk, and accuses her of trying to trick him into making a baby.

And then he apologizes yet again, and asks her not only to forgive him for being an ass but to give him a second chance.

She was getting friggin’ tired of all his pulling and pushing.

How could she ever have thought she might be attracted to him? The man didn’t even shave regularly, and she was fairly sure his hair hadn’t seen scissors in almost a year. And he obviously didn’t understand the difference between a dishwasher and a clothes washer, because, honest to God, she had found a pair of socks lying in the top rack next to the dirty cups and bowls. There was also the fact that he drank quite a bit of Scotch, which meant that he didn’t even know a drunken warrior could easily be a dead one if his enemy caught him in such a state. And really, what could she possibly find attractive about someone who smelled of fish much of the time?

Just because he spent twelve grueling hours a day on a boat and didn’t have anyone to wash his clothes for him didn’t mean he had to be a walking bait bucket. And even when he was cleaned up and dressed in nice clothes, he was a little too tall and broad-shouldered and strong-looking, and a bit too handsome for her liking.

Because, really, what woman wanted anything to do with a handsome man who walked around with condoms in his wallet, hoping he’d get lucky?

No, she was better off having nothing to do with Trace Huntsman, even if she did find herself drawn to him. And now that she had a paying job, just as soon as this storm was over, she had to move to a new apartment before she not only forgave him but undressed for him again.

Fiona sighed. She’d just have to find a much less attractive man, she supposed, to see a condom actually being used.

Misneach suddenly stopped running through the tall marsh grass below and looked up, only Fiona realized the pup was actually watching Trace when she saw him come from behind the barn, looking as if he was searching for them.

She sighed again. It had been so much easier when he was working twelve-hour days, as it seemed she couldn’t get away from him now.

He spotted Misneach first, and after scanning the marsh, he turned and finally saw her sitting on the fence. He walked over and hopped up onto the rail beside her. “It looks like the storm could reach us sometime after midnight,” he said, staring out at the horizon. “Unless Mac’s father manages to keep the battle out on the bay.”

“I’ve seen at least two dozen whales in the half hour I’ve been sitting here.” She pointed to their right. “There’s another one. They seem to be swimming back and forth just offshore, like sentries.”

“They probably are, sent by Titus to protect his son.”

Fiona looked around the barnyard. “I miss the animals. I’m glad they’re safe at An Téarmann, but without them here, the place feels rather empty.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten used to having them around, too.” He
looked over at her. “I guess we never know how much we’ll miss something until it’s gone.”

“I think I’ll go fix something for Mac to eat,” she said, setting her hands on the rail to jump down. “Maybe a full belly will make him feel less sick.”

Trace stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Wait. I’d like to talk to you first.”

He let her go when she settled back on the rail. “About Mac?”

“No,” he said, looking out at the ocean. “About us.”

“There is no us, Trace,” she said, folding her hands on her lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling. “You need to leave me alone.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “So I’ve been told.”

“By who?” she asked in surprise.

“By Mac,” he said, still staring out at the ocean. “But the more I try to stay away from you, the more I find I can’t.”

Fiona felt her heart start to pound—in dread, she decided, because she really didn’t want it to be pounding in hope. “But why?”

The faintest grin tugged at the edge of his mouth when he looked over at her. “Because I happen to like women.” His grin broadened, actually reaching his eyes. “And you in particular.”

“But
why
?”

“I think partly because you’re smarter than I am.”

She leaned away. “I am not.”

“Sure you are,” he said, looking back out at the ocean. “Not only do you seem to know what you want but you go after it with hell-bent determination and courage. Whereas I’ve spent my entire life focused on avoiding what I
don’t
want. I’ve only recently realized that I’ve always been afraid to have dreams, probably because I’ve always figured why get all excited about something just to have it taken away from me.”

He shifted on the rail toward her and took her hand in his. “But then you showed up, and I watched you change from a frightened, confused, almost childlike mouse into a woman every damned last red-blooded twenty-first-century man would give his right arm just to date. I swear you grew more and more beautiful with each passing day.”

Fiona’s heart started pounding so hard she was afraid he would hear it.

He looked down at her hand clasped in his. “And I remember thinking,” he continued quietly, “that if I could just get close enough to you, then maybe some of your courage would rub off on me.” His hand tightened around hers. “Only every time I caught myself believing it might actually work, I’d get scared and turn into an ass.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “Because I kept feeling things for you that I had no business feeling.”

He dropped his gaze again and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I swear, you have more courage in your little finger than I have in my entire body. How do you do it?” he asked, looking up. “How do you go after what you want so courageously? Tell me,” he said, squeezing her hand again when she didn’t immediately answer.

“I’m not brave,” she softly admitted. “I’m really afraid that if I ever stop dreaming, I won’t even get out of bed.” She leaned toward him. “You want to know a secret? I discovered that a person can’t will herself to go to sleep and never wake up. I tried for nearly two whole months, but
I couldn’t make it happen. And then I realized I was with child, and I started praying to God to please let me wake up every morning.”

“But why?” he whispered. “If you and your son had lived, weren’t you afraid the two of you would have known nothing but hardship?”

“No, Kyle was my salvation. Each new generation is another chance to get it right, Trace, and that’s why we always have to keep trying. Just because my dreams weren’t coming true exactly the way I’d imagined they would, it didn’t mean my son’s dreams wouldn’t. I intended to give Kyle the best chance at a good life that I could, and in doing so, I would have been living my own dream.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I died, remember? And that’s when I discovered that life isn’t about reaching our goals; it’s about having them to begin with and then going after them every day. And now Mac has given me another chance to make some of my dreams come true.”

“Just some of them?”

She looked down at their clasped hands. “I’m willing to settle for the ones most important to me. In fact, I’ve already achieved several of them. I’m living in a village now and have women friends, and I’ve found a way to earn a living by doing something I love. And someday I will have children of my own.”

“But not a husband?” he quietly asked. “Was getting married ever one of your childhood dreams?”

She looked up, smiling crookedly again. “It was until I was old enough to realize that husbands are more trouble than they’re worth.”

He didn’t return her smile, but he did pull his hand
away. “So are you saying that if some man here in the twenty-first century—say, some guy you might actually be able to
like
—were to ask you to marry him, you’d say no?”

“Yes, I would probably say no.”

“A flat-out no without even thinking about it? You wouldn’t even take a couple of days or weeks to even
consider
his proposal?”

Wondering at the edge creeping into his voice, Fiona gave him a tight smile. “I believe that’s the best thing about this century. I can have a child without it being ostracized for being born out of wedlock, which means I won’t have to put up with a husband bossing me around in order to achieve my dreams.”

“Husbands and wives are equal partners today, so nobody’s bossing anybody around,” he growled. “Marriage is about
teamwork
.”

She snorted. “Tell that to Winter and Eve. When I lived with them, those poor women spent half their time trying to avoid an argument and the other half figuring out ways to make their husbands believe everything was
their
idea.”

“They’re married to eleventh-century men!” he snapped. He took a deep breath, apparently to calm himself, although she didn’t know why he was getting so riled up to begin with. “Look,” he continued quietly. “My mother remarried, and she’s the happiest woman on the planet right now. She
loves
being married.”

“Is her husband a warrior?”

“What? No. What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked, the edge creeping back into his voice.

“I don’t care what century it is; warriors give orders and expect to be obeyed, and they don’t leave that habit
on the battlefield.” She beamed him a smile, hoping to soothe whatever had gotten him so riled. “I’m really glad your mother found someone who obviously cherishes her the way your stepfather must. But few marriages are love matches, even today. Oh, they start out lovely,” she said, waving at nothing, “but a majority of them turn nasty, and the men and women stay together for the sake of the children while having affairs with other people, and before you know it, everyone ends up either drinking too much or taking medicine to dull their heartache.”

He blinked at her, and then his face suddenly darkened. “For chrissakes, those are soap operas! They’re not
real
.”

She gripped the fence rail to keep from falling when she leaned away and kicked her smile up another notch. “I am aware the stories are exaggerated to make them interesting.” She sighed. “Why are we having this conversation, Trace? What does it matter that I don’t want to get married?” She tried smiling at him again, feeling more like Eve and Winter than she cared to admit. “You have my word of honor; I will not drag home innocent men all hours of the day and night.”

He suddenly jumped down off the fence, grasped her waist, and lifted her down, then started leading her toward his truck.

“I’m not going to An Téarmann,” she hissed, clawing at his hand.

He pulled her off-balance with a muttered curse, forcing her to grasp his sleeve to keep from falling. “I’m not taking you anywhere. I’m giving you a shooting lesson.”

“Is there a reason you can’t
ask
me to go with you instead of dragging me around like a recalcitrant child?”

He finally let go of her to open his truck door. “Is that an eleventh-century word?” he asked, reaching in to his seat. “Because in this century, we just call them brats. Here,” he said, shoving a belted pouch at her. “Put this on. And you keep it on until I tell you to take it off.”