Fighting Fate: Book 2 of the Warrior Chronicles (9 page)

He said he’d be ‘right back’. That was half a pizza and a liter of iced tea ago. These Americans and their iced tea. It was a mystery why they took perfectly good tea, and chilled it. The stuff in his host’s fridge was surprisingly good. It tasted green and minty, and aside from a hot dog in Chicago on his way here and some lovely oysters in Boston when he landed. It was probably the best thing he’d consumed in this country so far.

Curious, Magnus looked around. The kitchen was huge by Scottish standards, he was guessing by American standards as well. It was well equipped. Plenty of pots and pans suspended from an impossibly high ceiling. Two blocks of knives and enough counter space to create a feast. Judging by the amount of vegetables and fresh fruit in the refrigerator, and the fact that the pizza was homemade, someone in the home liked to cook.

Pouring himself another glass of cold tea Magnus decided to take his host up on his offer and make himself at home. The long hallway led to a family room with an oversized TV, two old fashioned pinball machines, a well used billiard table and five DVD towers full of movies, some old, some new, a surprising number of them set in Ireland and Scotland, most of them romantic. There were books everywhere. Lots of Hemmingway, not one of his personal favorites, Neil Gaiman, including a complete set of the Sandman series, an author by the name of James Lee Burke, all of those in hardcover, and half a wall of books on jewelry making.

That stopped him like a kick to the chest.

Magnus ran his hand over volumes even his mother didn’t have. Sterling hallmark stamps and their meaning, the art of enameling, lost wax carving, mixed metals fabrication, the art deco designs of Margaret MacDonald. The list went on and on. There were also high end catalogues: Graff, Tiffany, Van Cleef and Arpels, Harry Winston, Sheffield, Georg Jensen, Ola Gorie, Shelia Fleet, and…every catalogue D. Alexander, his mother, ever made.

Apparently he was in the right place.

A quick survey of the wall art confirmed it. Among framed prints of American movie posters were watercolors, pen and ink drawings and a few pencil sketches. Every single one was of his mother, most when she was about Magnus’s age, laughing, brushing her inky hair from her face. Her face had been rounder then, her body too. She was too thin now, Magnus thought. Then he saw a small pencil drawing of her outside their store in Edinburgh. Magnus recognized the scarf she was wearing. He’d given it to her for her birthday two years ago. The artist had shown every line on her face, recognized the transition from girl to woman and had somehow managed to capture the beauty of his mother’s heart in two dimensions. Whoever drew this sketch loved Dagmar Alexander as much as he did.

That’s where Shay found his son, gazing at the face of his mother, the face of the woman who haunted Shay’s dreams and still owned his heart. The face of the woman he’d gladly strangle for lying to him about a son who was now grown and standing in his living room.

“So is it you who loves her?” Magnus said, eyes still focused on the image of his mother.

“Aye, son.” Shay answered, emotion making him lapse into his native brogue. “I love Mari. From the moment I met her she’s been the one.” Shay rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. “Although right this moment I’d gladly take her over my knee.”

Magnus turned and looked the tattooed man in the eye, not sure what to say now that the moment was upon him. What came out of his mouth wasn’t planned. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

“I’m not going to hurt her.”
Much as I’d like to shake her senseless.
“I’d never raise a hand to Mari, or any other woman.”

“That’s good, because she and Seamus are on their way here. I called my grandfather when I knew for certain I found my
fath…
that I found…you. My mother doesn’t know yet that I came to find you. Seamus only told her that I’m here checking out art schools. I don’t know how she’s going to react when she sees you. If you don’t want to see her, I’ll leave. I can text my grandfather with the name of my hotel instead.”

Magnus took a step, backing away from this stranger who was his father, unsure of himself now that he’d found him. “I just wanted to meet you. No pressure. No obligation. I think…I think I’ll go now.”

The older man moved so fast Magnus didn’t register it until he was pulled into a bear hug that almost took his breath away. He was a good head taller than his father and almost as broad so the strength of his father’s embrace surprised him.

“You’ll stay right here, if you’re comfortable with that. There’s nowhere else I’d rather have you. And, I very much want to speak with your mother and with Seamus. I’ve missed that old man.”
Almost as much as I’ve missed Mari.

Shay pushed away from his tall, strong son, but retained his hold on the boy’s arms. Probing the young man’s eyes, gray like his own, trying to keep from shedding the tears he felt scalding his irises, Shay said, “I’d like to know your name, son.”

Magnus smiled, relieved and slightly more at ease in this man’s presence. “Magnus. Magnus Sham Alexander.”

Shay couldn’t breathe and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. Magnus was his father’s name, bless his soul. And Sham. Sham was what Mari called out every time they made love. It was her name for him, and hers alone. He hadn’t heard it spoken in two decades. She was his Scottish lass and he was her Shamrock, her Sham. He felt like he’d been gutted by the claymore that was Dagmar Alexander and should be bleeding out all over the floor.

Instead of falling mortally wounded, Shay decided to live and fight another day. He clasped one arm around his son’s shoulder, no easy feat, and said, “Let’s get you settled, shall we? Have you got a bag?”

Magnus’s bag was fetched from the trunk of his rental car, his things put away in the large guest room right down from Shay’s bedroom. They were on their way to the local tavern for a fish fry when Magnus asked, “What do you want me to call you?”

Dad. Father. The most important man in your life.
But none of those things were true. Not yet anyway. And Mari would answer for that, Shay vowed, preferably when their son wasn’t around to interfere. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he would have his pound of flesh one way or another. She’d wronged him terribly, robbed him of his son’s childhood. For that she would answer, however he decided. An unholy glee filled him where cold fury should have resided.

Dismissing thoughts of the love of his life who betrayed them both, Shay answered his son. “Call me Shay for now. Let’s see where that goes.”

They settled in at the bar and Magnus lifted his pint, clinking Shay’s. “Slainte, Shay. To new beginnings.”

“Slainte.” Shay echoed. His heart filled with the simple joy of sharing a pint with his son.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Merlin was her maid of honor and her treacherous mother gave her away. Such an antiquated progression of ceremonial events for what amounted to a legal contract between two equal, modern, quasi-consenting adults. Thank God it was over almost as quickly as it began.

Hell of a birthday so far.

How her life could change in the course of one day was a mystery she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. She was angry with her husb…a…the object of her contract. Yet, she wanted him to hold her and let her pretend that the events of today were an anathema, a bad dream that could and would be washed away by the hopeful events of tomorrow.

She signed the contract. He initialed and signed the contract. Contract congratulations were shared by the seemingly endless stream of newfound family. Everyone seemed happy except her, and for some strange reason, Reed, who found Taryn on the back patio overlooking the meadow and the pond. With two glasses of crisp champagne in her hands, she approached her daughter.

“You look less than pleased with this union.” Reed said, handing a crystal flute to Taryn.

Taryn took it, finishing its contents in two swallows. A server dressed in crisp white and black was at her side instantly with a tray of champagne filled flutes. Taryn took two after depositing her empty.

She held the server’s arm as she emptied her second glass, set it on the tray next to her first one and heaved a deep sigh. Taryn said
Thank you,
meaning it with the greatest depth of sincerity, before letting the woman go, still holding her third flute of champagne. Reed laughed, drawing her attention while grabbing another flute of her own from a passing tray.

“Good idea.” Reed said, downing her own glass, putting Taryn immediately at ease.

“You seem less than thrilled as well by this turn of events. I still can’t figure why my mom is so gung-ho to marry me off.”

“Careful. You don’t want to have Jesse hear you using the ‘M’ word. It might give him the wrong idea. As for my view of this-”

Reed waved her hand to the group of family and friends who were congregating in small groups on the patio and in the yard.

“-well, I don’t want to see my children get hurt. I am happy to have you here.”

“Jesse was quick enough to agree to this over-the-top-solution to a, well, over-the-top problem. He doesn’t look like the type to be easily hurt. I doubt very much I could so much as dent his armor. Certainly not in four months.” Taryn ignored the not-so-veiled allusion to Reed being her mother too. She just wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. Not even a magnum of champagne could change her mind on that one.

Reed looked into Taryn’s eyes, a mixture of love, acceptance, irritation and bemusement clearly written on her face. “You’re wrong on all counts. This wasn’t easy for Jesse, nor was it something he agreed to on a whim. When he loves, he loves. It doesn’t end for him, it only grows and deepens.”

She must have looked skeptical because Reed grabbed her hand. “Come sit with me. I want to tell you a story.”

They sat. Reed talked. Taryn listened, sipped, and listened some more.

“You married Jordon on your first date?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I’ve had a long time to think about that. Thirteen years in fact. And the answer is the same now as it was then. He is my one. Something inside me recognized that and for once in my life I didn’t over think it. I took a blind chance, jumped on the roller-coaster and hung on for dear life.”

Taryn could tell Reed believed everything she was saying. She was compelling, Taryn would give her that. She also had her adoring, rakish husband sending sensuous glances her way every time he was in sight. So it worked for them. Great. What the hell did that have to do with her?

“That’s a wonderful story and I’m glad it’s worked out well for the two of you. I just don’t see what that has to do with me or with this situation.”

Reed’s countenance lost some of its warmth, making Taryn wish she’d kept her mouth shut. She stiffened then relaxed again. Reed was being gracious and kind to the intruder who descended on her family and contracted with her son. A contract she had no intention of keeping past its ‘best by’ date, and one in which she openly stated her intent to use both his body and his abilities in private protection services.

Taryn felt her face flame with more than champagne induced heat. She was being a bitch. An Amazon-sized-ungracious-sex-crazed-bitch who was taking on a pint-sized mother-in-law/mother combined. Yeah she was a bitch alright, but she had nothing on that sister-bitch: Fate.
Yay, me.

“My story may have little to do with you. You may very well be right about that. My point is that it means something to Jesse, it’s part of his history too. He found out about you right after Jordon and I were married. He’s been obsessed with finding you for nearly half his life. He already loves you, Taryn.” Reed finished her glass, set it down and stood in one elegant motion. Standing over Taryn, looking much larger than her physical stature should allow, she said, “You can hurt him. Have a care for his heart, and don’t delude yourself that yours isn’t in play. Your eyes give you away.”

Taryn watched her biological mother walk to her husband who greeted her with open arms and a smile that made Taryn’s heart ache with longing. If only she had inherited Reed’s easy grace and impulsive courage.

Then maybe she could find that kind of love too.

“What’s got you all misty eyed and dewy?” Merlin asked, plopping down in the seat Reed vacated.

“I was just thinking about finding
The One
, marrying him and living and loving him forever.” Taryn didn’t try to hide the tears in her eyes from Merlin. He smiled his wise old wizard smile and touched her hand.

“Make a wish, Taryn.” He said.

“I want that.” She said, inclining her head toward Reed and Jordon. “I want the slow smiles, the soft touches, the ups the downs, the highs, the lows, the passion, the fantastic arguments that lead to even more fantastic sex, the love that never ends and greets you with open arms and an open heart every day. I want it all and I want children and a crazy family to share all that love with. You know, happily-ever-after and everything that comes with it. Oh, and as long as I’m wishing, I’d also like to lose ten pounds. That’s what I wish, Merlin. That’s what I’d give anything to make real.”

In that second, Jesse came and offered his arm. “Let’s get out of here. If one more person offers to buy us a toaster I’m going to lose it.”

Grateful for the opportunity to flee, Taryn took his arm. Neither of them saw Merlin’s smile nor heard his softly spoken, “As you wish it, so mote it be, Taryn Campbell Mohr-Bennett.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jesse walked with Taryn back to his home. She kept shooting odd looks at him surreptitiously, but she wasn’t any good at it. Her gaze lingered too long and no matter how hard she tried to extinguish it, Taryn had an
I want you naked inside me
vibe going that no male would mistake, certainly not one holding her hand as her energy hummed through him. Jesse kept staring straight ahead, concentrating on the path before him so he didn’t throw her down and take her right there in the woods. Knowing his luck, Shay or Jordon would stumble upon them and he’d never live it down. Worse than that, Taryn would be embarrassed, and she deserved a whole lot more than sticks in her hair on her contract day, no matter how much she wanted to diminish its significance.