Chapter 16 #2
“Work.” Her eyes filled, killing him, but the tears didn’t come.
“Yeah, I know it’s so much work to care about me.
So I’ll make it easy for you. There’s no need, and there’s no spell.
I have too much respect for what I am to use it in such a small, selfish way.
And I love you too much to ever use you at all. ”
Every word came as a jab to his heart. “Come upstairs now, we’ll talk this through.”
“There’s nothing else for me to say, and I really don’t want to talk to you now.” Deliberately, she turned away from him. “Fin, could you give me a ride home?”
“I’ll take you myself—” Boyle began.
“You won’t. No, you won’t. I don’t want to be with you. I can call Connor if you can’t take me, Fin.”
“Of course I can.”
“You’re not just walking away after—”
“Watch me.” She shot him a look so full of both devastation and fury, he said nothing more when she turned and walked away.
“Let it be for now,” Fin said quietly, “and use some of this famous time and space to learn how to do a proper grovel.”
“Ah, fuck me.”
“And so you have.” He hurried out after Iona, reached down to open the car door for her.
“He’s never felt like this for anyone,” he began.
“Don’t try to smooth it over, please. If you could do me one favor, just don’t say anything. Anything at all. I just want to go home.”
He did exactly as she asked, kept his silence on the short drive. He could feel her pain. It seemed to pulse from her, sharpen the air in the car so keenly he thought it a wonder it didn’t draw blood.
Love, as he knew too well, could slice you to pieces and leave no visible scar.
He pulled up at the cottage, smoke curling from the chimney, an amazing array of colorful flowers twinkling in the evening gloom. And somewhere inside, Branna, as distant as the moon.
“Should I come in with you?”
“No. Thanks for bringing me home.”
When she started to get out, he simply touched her hand. “You’re not hard to love, deirfiúr bheag, but for some, loving is strange and boggy ground.”
“He can be careful where he steps.” Though her lips quivered, she managed an even tone. “But he can’t blame someone else for where he ends up.”
“You’d be right. I’m sorry you heard what was—”
“Don’t apologize. It’s better to see and know you’re a fool than to keep your eyes shut and keep acting like one.”
She got out quickly. He waited until she’d gone in the house before driving away. He half wished he was in love with her himself, and could show her what it was to be cherished.
But as that wasn’t an option, and it likely wasn’t wise to go home and pound on Boyle’s rock-hard head with a hammer, he’d go by and fetch Connor. They’d sit down with a bottle of whiskey, the three of them, and as good mates would, get Boyle drunk instead.
Iona went straight in. She had no intention of crying on Branna’s or anyone else’s shoulder. She had no intention of crying at all. What she intended to do was hang on to the anger, and that would see her through the worst of it.
So she went straight in, and straight back to the kitchen where Branna sat at the table with her enormous spell book with its carved and well-tended brown leather binding, an iPad, a notebook, and several keenly sharpened pencils.
Branna glanced up, cocked her head in question. “What, did you just go, turn around and come back?”
“Yep. I’m having a really big glass of wine,” she said as she walked to the cabinet. “Do you want one?”
Now Branna’s eyebrows drew together. “I wouldn’t say no. What happened? Did you have another encounter with Cabhan?”
“Not everything is about Cabhan and ancient fricking evil.” True to her word, she poured an enormous glass of wine, then a more sedate one for her cousin.
“Well now, here’s a mood that’s come on in under twenty minutes. Wasn’t your horse happy to see you then?”
“I never got to Alastar, which is just one more thing I can be pissed about. I never saw my horse, never got my ride.” She handed Branna the glass, tapped her own to it. “Bloody sláinte.”
When Iona flopped down at the table, Branna took a sip of wine, studied her cousin over the rim. Anger, yes, but hurt besides. Deliberately she kept her voice breezy.
“Not Cabhan or the horse, so what does that leave? Let me see, could it be Boyle?”
“Could be and is. I walked into the stables when he was ranting to Fin about how inconvenient it is for him to have me around all the time, in his space. In his way, in his bed. Wrapped around him like a vine in his words.”
“He’s an idiot, and I hope you gave him a solid boot for it. Men can be loathsome creatures, especially when they put their heads together.”
“Oh, there’s more, as if that wasn’t bad enough. He’s decided since I’ve managed to push my way into his life, his head, his bed, I’ve put a love spell on him.”
“Bollocks to that!” The sympathy Branna tried to keep mild erupted in stunned insult. “He must’ve been joking, just having it on with Fin who likely teased him a bit.”
“He wasn’t joking, Branna. He was furious, shouting.
He didn’t even hear me come in. When I did he was saying—loudly—that he barely has any time to himself the way I’ve pushed myself on him, and I’d put a love spell on him.
I’m new at all this, and testing the waters, and decided to test them on him with a love spell. He told Fin to break it.”
“What a pair of right gobdaws.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds insulting, so good. Except not Fin. He said bollocks to that, too.”
“I’m pleased to hear that at least. Now we won’t be turning him into a slug and drowning him in beer.”
Iona tried to laugh, but it kept catching. “It’s a good word bollocks, I’m going to start using it a lot. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”
Her eyes filled, her throat burned. So she shook her head, gulped wine. “No, no, no. I am not going to cry. I have to stay mad so I won’t.”
“Did you speak to Boyle, or just turn his penis into a warty little stub?”
“I spoke with him.” Iona swiped at the single tear that got through. “I let him know I had too much respect for myself to use magick to get someone to want me. To love me. He tried to make excuses, but bollocks to that, right? I asked Fin to bring me back, and he did. He was kind.”
He could be, Branna thought, enormously kind.
To some. “Then I’m glad he was there. I won’t make excuses for Boyle.
What he said was a harsh and unwarranted insult to those like you and me.
And more, it’s hurtful because you have such strong feelings for him.
I’ll only say that while he’s got a black temper at times, and is in the way of being, well, gruff’s a simple word for it, at other times, I’ve never known him to hurt anyone like this.
It’s my thinking he’s taken considerably aback by his feelings for you. ”
“He doesn’t want them. I’m not going to cry over someone who doesn’t want feelings for me. I may get a little drunk, but I’m not going to cry about it.”
“A sensible attitude.” Branna’s phone jingled.
“It’s Connor. Give me a moment. And where are you?
” she said into the phone by way of greeting.
“Right here, yes. No, we could do without you, you being a man for all that. That’s best, that’s fine.
And when I want your fine advice, I’ll be asking for it.
Go on, be jackasses together, and you can tell Boyle he can count his luck I don’t make that literal. ”
She clicked off. “Fin went by the school for Connor. I’ve told him, as you gathered, to go on, as men can just jam things up.
I’ve a mind to ring up Meara, unless you’d rather I didn’t.
We can sit around, drink more wine, and say all the rude and truthful things about men without any of them around. ”
“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?”