Magic by Moonlight by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

T-shirt he wore clung. He had great arms. Hard. Nice.
    M. C. got up, deciding to keep her thoughts
in line by keeping busy with other things. “I’ll help gather wood,”
she said.
    “Nonsense, lady. Gathering wood for the fire
is a man’s job.”
    Aha. There it was. She’d known there had to
be something wrong with him. No man could be as perfect as he was
beginning to seem to her. He was a chauvinist.
    “This is the twenty-first century, Al. There
are no men’s jobs or women’s work anymore. Women in this day and
age can be police officers or firefighters or world leaders if they
want to. And men cook and clean and change diapers.”
    He went still, his back to her, still
crouching over the fire he’d begun to lay on a bare spot of ground.
“I have offended you,” he said softly. “I am sorry, Lady Hammer.
Chivalry... is a part of being a man, in my time. It is difficult
to understand how it can have become an insult in only a few
centuries.”
    “Chivalry.” She repeated the word.
    Sighing deeply, Al resumed piling dried
leaves and twigs, adding larger pieces of wood on top of them.
“Yes. The men of my generation are not fools, Mary Catherine. It
has never been a matter of believing a woman incapable of
doing heavy work. Only a matter of believing she should not have to
do it.”
    “I see.”
    He straightened, turning to come close to
her, and then dropping to one knee in front of her. “I do not think
you do. In my time, Mary Catherine, we cherished our women. Treated
them as the precious, beloved creatures they are. The only hope for
the continuation of our race, the mothers of our children.” He took
her hand in his, tracing its contours with the tip of a forefinger.
“Look at this hand. Beautiful, delicate...capable, yes, but small
and fragile.” Then he turned their clasped hands over, so his was
on top. “Mine, however, is large, hard, and callused. Rough work,
unpleasant tasks...are beneath a creature as magical as a woman.
She...you...should be adored, treasured—respected as the beautiful
being you are. The mother of mankind. Not asked to bruise this
lovely hand on something as far beneath you as gathering wood.”
    She couldn’t breathe. His voice had gone
soft and deep, and it touched nerve endings somewhere inside her
that came to life all at once. Then he brought her hand to his
lips, and kissed it gently. “A woman like you should be given
anything she desires.”
    “A-and...what if what she desires is to help
gather firewood?”
    He lifted his head away from her hand, but
it tingled where his mouth had touched. Holding her gaze pinned to
his, he smiled slightly. “Then she should gather firewood.”
    “You...don’t think I’m too weak for the
job?”
    “Weak?” His brows rose. “I’ve never known a
woman with your strength, Mary Catherine. But even the most fragile
female has the ability in her to capture a man’s heart—to bear his
children. Surely the latter task takes far more strength than to
gather branches from the forest floor. More strength, perhaps, than
that of any man.”
    “I imagine so.”
    “I’ll start the fire,” he told her. “If you
wish to gather more wood, then do so. But if you’d rather rest from
the ride, consider me your humble servant.” He bowed his head.
    For just a moment she had the craziest
feeling that she was some kind of queen, and the grass underneath
her a throne. Whoa, what a sensation! She had to concede he wasn’t
exactly a chauvinist. There was, she decided, a difference between
chauvinism and chivalry.
    Al rose and returned to his pile of
kindling, pulling a flint stone from his pocket and crouching
again.
    Mary Catherine got up and went to crouch
beside him, reaching into her own pocket. “You can put the stone
away, Al. I have something better.”
    He eyed the lighter in her hand. “Another
wonder of your modern world?”
    “You’re gonna love this,” she said, and she
flicked the lighter. He smiled when a flame