Chapter Twenty-One #2
Ethan was Briar’s Iron Crow: morally flexible, intimidating, and willing to do things other witches would not dare.
He was also utterly besotted with Briar Foxglove, who wore flowers in her hair and used to run a tea shop for the snooty villagers of Haven.
Sorcha had always liked him. And she trusted him to protect her friend, who was entirely too forgiving.
“Ethan!” Briar darted across the kitchen. “You’re back!”
“Back just in time to do crime, it seems.” He hauled her right off her feet for a deep kiss. Sorcha and Pippa looked away.
For a long moment.
And another.
“Are you done yet?” Sorcha called.
“Not by a long shot,” Ethan returned. “I’ve been at sea for a week.”
“It’s too early for that sort of thing,” she said, just to needle him.
“It’s never too early, Red.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Ethan smirked, sitting in Briar’s chair and pulling her down onto his knee.
“There are plenty of chairs,” Briar pointed out.
“I don’t see a single one,” he insisted, the Irish hills in his voice. “So what’s this about a murder, then?”
Sorcha had no doubt he would cheerfully murder his way around the island if Briar asked him to. She probably shouldn’t find that sweet.
Ethan raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Please don’t murder my very honorable earl of a betrothed,” she had to laugh.
“Your betrothed?” His dark eyes narrowed. “Who? Which bloody earl?”
“Coventry,” she replied.
“That do-gooder?” He shrugged. “He could use an adventure.” He winked. “But if he needs murdering, you let me know.”
“I can see where your loyalties lie, Swansea,” Aidan said drily, coming in from the garden door. His hair was tousled and his shirt looked much the worse for wear. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or spectacles.
“Coventry,” Ethan said easily. “Morning. I walked right in here unaccosted, just so you know.”
“You were spotted a hundred yards from the gate.”
“Well, that’s all right, then. Thought you’d lost your touch.”
“Miss Foxglove. Miss Cavendish.” Aidan poured the dregs of the tea into a cup and drained it before glancing down at Sorcha. “Why are you plotting my early demise?”
“I wasn’t,” she mumbled. “Yet.” She didn’t know where he had been all night so she was reserving judgment. She frowned. “Wait. Who noticed Ethan a hundred yards from the gate?”
“Simon, Tavish. Lorcan, who is currently up an oak tree.”
She blinked. “That’s an awful lot of wolves roaming about.”
“You’re an awful lot of mischief.”
“You’ve the right of it there.” Ethan grinned. “Speaking of mischief, here’s that item you wanted, Red.”
Sorcha caught the small, wrapped bundle he tossed her. “Thank you!”
Aidan frowned, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Yes,” Ethan replied, just as Sorcha smiled brightly with a cheerful “No!”
Aidan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should know better than to ask questions when I do not want the answer.”
“You really should,” Sorcha agreed without a twinge of remorse. She would take down the Collector and witches of his ilk by fair means or foul.
“And the Thieves’ Vinegar,” Ethan added, pulling a bottle from his pocket.
“Thieves’ Vinegar?” Briar asked. “I could have made that for you.”
“This one has actual thief in it,” Sorcha replied.
Aidan turned toward her slowly.
“No need to fuss,” she said. “This particular thief died over a hundred years ago.”
“Grave robbing does not make this better,” Aidan pointed out.
Ethan passed her the bottle with a shrug. Iron Crows were not known for remorse or following the witching laws. Any laws, really. The silver ring he wore on his thumb glinted.
So did the one on his ring finger.
Pippa pointed at Ethan and Briar accusingly. “You’ve gotten married!”
Sorcha whipped around to stare at Briar, who blushed. Ethan just smirked, a smug Irish mountain of muscles and scars.
“How is it you can get married in secret but I can’t get betrothed?” Sorcha demanded.
“The Dragon’s Blood Roses bloomed in my garden, and they only bloom once a year for one hour,” Briar said as if that explained everything. For her, it did. “There wasn’t time to tell you.”
“Damnation, I ought to have bought you a ring,” Aidan muttered, but Sorcha didn’t think anyone else heard him.
Except for Pippa with her clever eyes and knowing smile. “You’re going to need a new gown for your betrothal ball. I assume there’s to be one.”
“Yes.” That was the entire point, though Sorcha did not say so out loud. “And I already have gowns.”
“You have old gowns. If you want to make this believable, you’ll get a new dress.”
Sorcha sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Believable?” Briar frowned, pulling her attention from her husband. “Are you not really betrothed? Is that why you didn’t tell us?”
Aidan glowered. “We’re betrothed,” he said in a tone she had never heard him use before. It bordered on surly.
“It’s complicated,” Sorcha said. She wasn’t going to discuss it further with Aidan standing right there.
“I’m taking my wife home”—Ethan stood, lifting Briar easily—“while you sort it out.”
Sorcha would have been thrilled to go to the modiste a few years ago. Now she was trying to figure out what else she could sell to cover the costs. There would be an assembly room to rent as well, and food and drink. Decorations.
She groaned. “I’m never going to get a cup of tea, am I?”