Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(85)

“That’d be great. Really. But you’re working.”

“I’ll get back to it.”

“You feel sorry for me.”

“A poor sort I’d be if I didn’t. But I’m pissed right along with you, for you, myself, and every other self-respecting witch, and every self-respecting woman. Love spell, my arse.”


*


WHEN CONNOR AND FIN WALKED INTO FIN’S HOUSE, BOYLE paced the living room.

“What took you so bloody long,” he began, then spotted Connor. “Ah, well. Before you jump up my arse I never knew she was there, and was just having a bit of a rant. I’m entitled to have a bit of a rant in my own stables.”

“One question, before we go any further on the matter.” Connor held up a single finger. “Are you saying Iona used magick to trap you—a love spell?”

“I said it, as you bloody well know, but I’m not saying it. I was blowing off, is all. Or mostly all.”

“Do you think she used magick on you?”

“No, not when I—”

“No’s enough for now,” Connor told him. “No means I’m not obliged to plant my fist in your face, the result of which would be you kicking the living shit out of me, and I’d rather have a beer. Bugger it, Boyle, you know what we’re about, and what’s over a line for us. You should know the same of Iona.”

“I do. But it’s . . . Well, fuck it, have a swing. I won’t hit back as I earned it.”

“There’s no satisfaction in punching under those conditions.”

“I’ll do it,” Fin volunteered.

“You’re not her cousin,” Boyle shot back, then threw up his hands. Jutted out his chin. “Go on then, have a go.”

Fin only smiled. “I’ll save that offer, and have that go when you least expect it.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Connor shrugged out of his jacket. “I want the beer, then you can tell me how you plan to fix this up with Iona.”

“If she’d just be reasonable—”

“That’s not the way, mate.” Connor dropped down on the big leather couch. “Any crisps to go with the beer?”

“I’ll take care of it. There’s steaks, and Boyle can do the cooking in a bit,” Fin decided. “To practice being humble and apologetic.”

“Look here.” Boyle sat down, leaned forward. “You asked if I meant it, right? I said I didn’t, and that’s that. Reasonable.”

“And you expect her to be the same?”

“I was blowing off,” Boyle insisted. “When she’s calmed herself I’ll tell her I was just, what do you call it, venting, and didn’t mean anything by it. That’s all.”

Connor said nothing for a moment, then glanced over as Fin came back with bottles of Smithwick’s and a bag of potato chips.

“I know he’s been around and with women before,” Connor said conversationally. “I’ve seen that for myself, and met some of them as well. But if I didn’t know better I’d swear an oath the man had just crawled out of a cave full grown without having any female contact whatsoever.”

“Ah, feck off.”

“Groveling.” Fin tossed the beers, one to Connor, one to Boyle, dropped down on the sofa, propped his feet on the oversized coffee table he’d found on his travels.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Mo dearthair, I wager you will before it’s done. I’ve a hundred I’ll put on it. He’s mad for her,” he said to Connor.

“Sure that’s one more reason he’ll make a complete bags of it.”

“I should go talk to her now, get it done and finished.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Connor grabbed a handful of chips. “She’s with Branna, and my sister isn’t too pleased with you at the moment. I reckon she’ll pull Meara in, so that’ll be all the three of them sending hard thoughts, at the least of it, your way.”

“Well, Jesus, I can’t go about fixing anything if she won’t talk to me, and she’s being guarded by a witch and a woman with a tongue as sharp as a razor.”

“Resign yourself to stewing in it tonight, and maybe a day or two more,” Fin advised. “After that . . . I’m thinking flowers won’t do the trick here.”

Connor washed down the chips with beer. “She’s a romantic soul, our Iona, but flowers are paltry considering the insult.”

“I didn’t insult her,” Boyle began, then swore bitterly before gulping down beer. “All right then, I did. I admit it. Admitting a wrong and apologizing ought to be enough.”

Fin slid down to a slouch. “I’m forced to agree with you, Connor, though it pains me, about the cave. She’s not a man, brother, and you don’t handle her as one with a sorry, mate. I’ll stand you a round. Flowers, as she’s romantic, and something with some shine to it to show you understand the depth of your mistake.”

Astonished, Boyle shot straight up in his chair. “Now I’m buying her jewelry just for blowing off when she wasn’t even meant to be there? I’ll not do it.” A man had his pride, and his spine, didn’t he? “It’s nothing but a bribe.”