Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(58)

“It’s time to find it.”

Branna nodded. “We can hope with six of us looking, we will. Now, as has been said, we’ve lives to live. We can start that by setting the table while I see to the stew.”

“And I say we live it well.” Connor pulled his sister up, kissed her. “For that’s surely a boot up his fucking arse.”

“All right then, well it is. Put on some music, Connor, and we’ll start living well right now.”

They set the dark aside, for the moment, with Connor and Meara arguing over the music until Connor tapped in some sort of fast jig with lots of fiddles and drums, and pulled her into a dance.

“Wow,” was Iona’s reaction. “They’re really good.”

“They’ve both of them wings on their feet.” Boyle took the bowls Iona held, set them around the table. “Always have.”

“Can you do that?”

“I haven’t got the wings, but I don’t have lead either.”

“Ask the lady to dance then, you git.” Fin dropped napkins on the table.

Iona only shook her head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Then it’s past time you learned,” Connor proclaimed and, snatching her hand, pulled her in.

“You’re slow, brother,” Fin murmured to Boyle.

“I move at the pace that suits me.”

“Slow,” Fin repeated. “As a snail on a turtle’s back.”

But Boyle shrugged it off. He liked watching Iona try to keep up with Connor’s fast and clever feet. More, he liked the way she laughed as she spun around.

And who could argue with the laughter, he thought when Fin twirled Meara in three fast circles, and at the stove Branna clapped her hands in time.

The light and the laughter felt good, felt needed. So he’d take it.

Neither he nor any of the others in the bright kitchen with the warm smells, the quick music, the rolling laughter saw the shadow outside the rain-splashed window that watched. That hated.


*


WITH THE MEAL BEHIND THEM, THE KITCHEN PUT TO RIGHTS, and the hour growing late, Boyle readied to go.

“We’ll see you home, Meara. I’ve my lorry. Branna, I meant to ask if you’ve any of the tonic you make for head colds. Mick’s been blowing and sneezing for the last two days, and I’ve a mind to pour some of it down his throat.”

“I do, of course.” She started to rise.

“I’ll get it for him,” Iona said. “In the blue bottle, right, on the shelves nearest the front window.”

“That’s the one. You can settle up with me here or at the shop, Boyle, at the end of the month.”

“I’ll do that, and thanks for dinner. I’ll meet you and Meara out front,” he told Fin.

He walked back with Iona, made the turn into the workshop. She hit the lights.

“I’ve been trying to get a good sense of her stock and what she keeps here, what she sells in the village. She won’t let me make anything yet—not unsupervised—but at least I’m learning some of what goes into what.”

She reached for the bottle, clearly marked with Branna’s Dark Witch label. “I hope this helps Mick. He’s been miserable the last couple days.”

“Less if he’d taken his medicine sooner.”

“I guess swallowing witch potions makes some people nervous.”

“He’ll swallow this, if I have to personally hold his nose.” Boyle slipped the bottle in his pocket. “I wanted to say, while there’s a moment, it meant something before, the way you stood up for Fin.”

“Being excluded hurts, just like being blamed for what you are hurts. I can understand Branna’s feelings, but my instincts are to trust him, and I get tripped up when I go against my instincts. Sometimes when I go with them, too.”

“Speaking out as you did, it mattered. So . . .” He shifted his feet. “We’ll go have dinner sometime.”

“Oh?” Her heart grinned like an idiot, but she did her best to keep her smile polite. “All right.”

“I prefer doing the asking. Whether or not that’s old-fashioned, it’s how it is.”

“Good to know. My social calendar’s pretty clear.”

“Then we’ll book something. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He started out, got halfway to the door, turned back.

This time Iona was ready for the grab, and grabbed him back.

She loved the way he hauled her to her toes. It didn’t make her feel small. It made her feel wanted. The reluctance in it only added a sexy edge. Everything about the kiss, the heat of his lips, the strong grip of his hands made her feel irresistible.

And that was a heady sensation, a powerful thrill.

He kept meaning to take it slow with her, if at all. He’d taught himself control, learned—for the most part—to balance heat and temper with cool-headed thinking and logical steps.

Yet here he was again, wrapped around her, wrapped up in her. And it was God’s own truth, he just wanted to sink there, be there, and draw all that natural sweetness, that cheerful energy in.

And with it, he wanted his hands on all those pretty curves and dips, his mouth on that smooth skin. That surprisingly tough little body moving, moving, moving under his.