Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 1) - Page 77

“You study everything and everyone,” Boyle put in, “as if there’s to be an exam within the hour. And your brain’s full of questions and conclusions.”

“It feels like family.” She spoke the first thought that popped from the tangle of them in her mind. “It’s something I always wanted to feel, be part of.”

“Sure it is family,” Connor told her. “And yours.”

“You’re generous with people. It’s your nature. Not everyone is, or at least they’re more cautious before opening the door. I’m the newest here, on a lot of levels. Observing gives me a better sense of that family. Even just observing Boyle peel and chop a lot faster and better than I do.”

“Well now, he’s no Branna O’Dwyer,” Fin told her, “but he’s a passable cook. It’s just one reason Connor and I tolerate him.”

“If a man can’t toss a few things in a pan, he’s too often hungry. Here, put the palm of your hand on the tip, fingers up, out of range.” Boyle took Iona’s hand, to show her. “And the other on the hilt so you can use that to steer the blade.”

She let him guide her hands to produce nice, neat rounds of carrot, and appreciated the light press of his body to hers.

“I’ll have to practice,” she decided. “And figure out what to do with them after I chop them. It’s probably just as well I didn’t get the chance to ask you to dinner.”

She glanced up and around at him, caught the surprise on his face, and the hint of embarrassment as the room went quiet.

“You’re better off with Branna doing the cooking,” Iona continued. “I’ll have to figure out some other way to get you on a date.”

When Connor failed to disguise a chuckle with a cough, she shrugged.

“Family,” she said again. “And more, family with the kind of problem and mutual goal that means we could all get our asses kicked, or worse, tomorrow or anytime after. So I figure there’s not a bunch of time to waste or circle around what might make us happy. Speaking as someone who’s lived her life with half the happy, I’d like to finish it out—especially considering potential ass kickings—with a great big armload of it.”

From where he stood, leaning against the counter, Fin smiled at her. “I believe I’m already half in love with you myself.”

“You don’t have half to spare.” Then she sighed. “Now, let’s see. Who else can I embarrass?”

“You haven’t me,” Fin told her. “And as for love, deirfiúr bheag, there are no limits to it.”

“I’ve always hoped that. What does that mean, what you called me?”

“Little sister.”

“I like it. I should learn Irish. Do all of you speak it?”

“Branna, Connor, and Fin.” Finished with her mincing, Meara walked over to rinse her hands. “Boyle and I have enough to get by, wouldn’t you say, Boyle?”

“Enough.”

“Is magick more powerful, do you think, with it? Sorry,” Iona said immediately. “I shouldn’t keep bringing that up and screwing with the mood. And I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that,” she said to Boyle.

“You just disconcerted him, as he wouldn’t be accustomed to a woman who speaks her mind and feelings right out, without filtering. Connor,” Branna continued, “I need a Guinness for the pot, and I’d say another bottle of wine for the rest of us. And you’re right as well, Iona, to speak of the rest of it. We can’t know if we’ve a day or a year before we’ll face what’s coming, but logic says a day’s the closer to it. And all that said, I’m damned if any one of us will have our ass kicked. So we’ll get this stew on the simmer, have more wine, and we’ll talk of it.”

She turned, face flushed from the steam, eyes glittering with a determination so fierce Iona couldn’t believe it could be defeated.

“Well then, let’s have those vegetables. They won’t cook themselves.”

11

IT STILL MIGHT HAVE BEEN ANY GATHERING OF FRIENDS AND family—all crowded around the kitchen table with glasses of wine, and the dog still sprawled at the hearth.

But Iona recognized it for what it truly was.

A power summit.

“I’d like to say something first,” Branna began, “to Meara and to Boyle. ’Tisn’t your blood mixed into this, and you’ve neither power of your own as weapon or shield.”

“To begin with insulting us doesn’t make a strong first step,” Boyle told her.

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