Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(70)

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SHE GAVE AINE A CARROT AND A RUBDOWN, SO WHEN FIN came into the stables he found both her and Iona.

“I’m told you went for a ride.”

“We did, and it reminded me how I enjoy it.” She leaned her cheek to Aine’s. “You did say she and I should get acquainted.”

“I didn’t have in mind you going off alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. I was with Iona and she with me, with Aine and Alastar and the dogs altogether. Oh, don’t try to slither out because he’s glowering,” she said to Iona. “You’re tougher than that. We had a conversation with Cabhan—no more really than a volley of harsh words all around. We’ll tell you and the others the whole of it.”

“Bloody right you will.” He started to grab Branna’s arm, and Aine butted him in the shoulder with her head.

“Taking her side now?”

“She’s mine, after all. And knows as well as I do we had no trouble, and took no more risks than any of us do when taking a step out of the house. I suppose you’ll want a meal with the telling.”

“I could eat,” Iona said.

“We’ll have it all here,” Fin told them.

“With what?”

He took Branna’s arm now, but casually. “You’ve given me lists every time I turn around. There’s enough in the kitchen to put together a week of meals.”

“As it should be. All right then. Iona, would you mind telling the others while I see what I can put together in Finbar’s famous kitchen?”

“You went out looking for him,” Fin accused.

“I didn’t, no, but I didn’t go out not expecting to find him.”

“You knew he’d come at you.”

“He didn’t come at us, not in any way as you mean. Only words. A kind of testing ground on his part, I’m thinking. I’d hoped he’d come as the wolf, so I could try to get the name, but he was only a man.”

Inside, she took off her coat, handed it to Fin. “And we did have a lovely ride around it, coming back so I could see the progress on Iona’s house. It’s going to be lovely, just lovely. An open kind of space, and still a few snug little places for the cozy. Coming back here that way, I had a different perspective on this house. That room with all the windows that juts toward the woods. It must be a lovely place to sit and look out, all year long. Private enough, and steps from the trees.”

She rummaged in the refrigerator, freezer, cupboards as she spoke.

“I’ve a recipe for these chicken breasts Connor’s fond of. It gives them a bite.” Head angled, she sent him a challenging look. “Can you take a bite, Fin?”

“Can you?” He pulled her to him, nipped her bottom lip.

“I give good as I get. And you might get more yet if you pour me some wine.”

He turned, found a bottle, studied the label. “Do you understand what it would have done to me if he’d hurt you?”

“None of us can think like that. We can’t. What we feel for each other, all of us for each other, is strong and true and deep. And we can’t think that way.”

“It’s not thinking, Branna. It’s feeling.”

She laid her hands on his chest. “Then we can’t feel that way. He weakens us if he holds us back from taking the risks we have to take.”

“He weakens us all the more if we stop feeling.”

“You’re both right.” Iona came in. “We have to feel it. I’m afraid for Boyle all the time, but we still do what we have to do. We feel it, and we keep going.”

“You’ve a good point. You feel, but you don’t stop,” she said to Fin. “Neither can I. I can promise you I’ll protect myself as best I can. And I’m very good at it.”

“You are that. I’m going to open this wine, Iona. Would you have some?”

“Twist my arm.”

“After you’ve done the wine, Fin, you can scrub up the potatoes.”

“Iona,” Fin said smooth as butter, “you wouldn’t mind scrubbing the potatoes, would you, darling?”

Before Branna could speak, Iona pulled off her coat. “I’ll take KP. In fact, whatever you’re making, Branna, you could walk me through it. Maybe it’ll be the anniversary dinner for Boyle.”

“This is a little rough and ready for that,” Branna began, “but . . . Well, that’s it! For the love of . . . Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Think of what?” Iona asked.

“The time. The day we end Cabhan. Right in front of my face. I need my book. I need my star charts. I need to be sure. I’ll take the table here for it—it shouldn’t take long.”

She grabbed the wine Fin had just poured, and walking toward the dining area, flicked fingers in the air until her spell books, her laptop, her notepad sat neatly on one side. “Iona, you’ll need to quarter those potatoes once scrubbed, lay them in a large baking dish. Get the oven preheated now, to three hundred and seventy-five.”

“I can do that, but—”

“I need twenty minutes here. Maybe a half hour. Ah . . . then you’ll pour four tablespoons, more or less, of olive oil over the potatoes, toss them in it to coat. Sprinkle on pepper and crushed rosemary. Use your eye for it, you’ve got one. In the oven for thirty minutes, then I’ll tell you what to do with them next. I’ll be finished by then. Quiet!” she snapped, dropping down to sit before Iona could ask another question.