Mystical Warrior (37 page)

It didn’t help his libido any that she stuck out her well-loved lower lip in a cute little pout or that she went and flipped her hair back over her shoulder again just before
she laid her delicate—and very talented—hand over his suddenly pounding heart. “So, you’re never going to serve me breakfast in bed?” Her finger started drawing lazy circles through his chest hair. “I was so hoping to see what it’s like to have a man hand-feed me strawberries that are dripping in chocolate and whipped cream, and feel what it’s like to have him sip champagne off every inch of my skin.”

He had her flat on her back and was looming over her before she got half a laugh out. “That does it. I’m locking out the Soap Opera, WE, Oxygen, and Lifetime channels, along with that Discovery and science junk. That leaves you only Martha Stewart and Animal Planet.”

She clutched his arms, and he felt her thumb brush over his right bicep as she started to respond, but her eyes suddenly narrowed on her hand. “How come you have a hawk on your arm?” she asked in surprise.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s a good old-fashioned American bald eagle. I got it when I first went into the military.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she purred, this time poking his bicep, “but that’s a good old-fashioned red-tailed hawk.”

Trace rolled off her and sat up, twisting his arm to look down at his tattoo, only to blink in surprise. Damn, it sure as hell looked like a hawk.

She sat up beside him, running her finger over it. “How did you know?” she whispered, her gaze meeting his. “It’s obvious you had this done long before we met. What made you choose a hawk?” She suddenly smiled, pressing her palm over his tattoo. “It was your destiny speaking to you, before you could even know your heart would belong to me.”

No, it was Mac the Menace. Trace had thought it strange
last night when Mac had patted his arm, but now he realized why. Apparently, the wizard had enough spare magic kicking around to change an eagle to a hawk. Only when Trace saw Fiona’s beautiful gold-rich eyes were filled with such certainty, he didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble. “Yeah, I guess it was destiny.”

“Ye have five seconds to open this door, Huntsman, before I kick it down!” Kenzie’s voice suddenly boomed just as Trace was in mid-pounce.

Only he found himself pouncing on nothing, as Fiona was halfway across the room before he could untangle himself from the blanket she’d tossed over him.

“Your feet so much as hit that floor,” she growled from the doorway as she slipped into her bathrobe, “and I swear, everything you eat for the next month will come from a goat.” She pointed at him. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

Trace relaxed back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Or we could tactically retreat down to our hidey-hole by using the secret door behind the bureau,” he suggested as she tightened the belt on her robe.

“Huntsman!” Kenzie shouted, making every window in the house rattle.

“Stay put,” she snapped, disappearing down the hall.

Trace was off the bed and hopping into a pair of jeans before she reached the kitchen. But he stopped and grabbed a shirt off the closet floor, figuring the less naked he was, the less angry Kenzie would be—assuming the highlander didn’t outright explode when he saw his sister wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a wild mess of love-tangled hair.

Trace silently crept down the hall but turned into the living room, being careful of where the floor creaked, and stood just out of sight in the kitchen doorway.

“Son of a bitch!” Kenzie shouted. “I will kill the bastard!”

Trace heard what sounded like someone being pushed up against the open door, and he stepped out into the kitchen, but when he saw
Kenzie
righting himself, he quickly stepped back into the living room with a grin.

“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.”