Chapter 16 #3
“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.”
“Think of it more as an investment,” Fin suggested. “Christ Jesus, man, have you never put your foot in it with a woman and had to find the way to pull it out again?”
Boyle set his jaw. “If I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. If that’s not enough, well, that’s that. I’ve never gone around with a woman who matters, so . . .”
“And she does. Matter,” Connor finished.
“It should be apparent enough.” He brooded into his beer.
“I’m not going around buying flowers and baubles to put a patch on it.
I’ll apologize, for I couldn’t be sorrier to have put that look on her face.
The mad, that’s fine. You shout it out and it’s finished. But I hurt her, and I’m sorry for it.”
He pushed up. “I’ll see about the steaks.”
“Mad for her,” Fin said when Boyle left the room.
“And panicked with it, which would be good fun if this hadn’t happened. She’ll forgive him, for she’s tenderhearted and just as mad for him. But she won’t shine again until he gives her back what she’s so willing to give him.”
“What would that be?”
“Love, given freely and without conditions. The flowers, the bauble will make her smile, when she’s ready. But he’ll have to give over himself before she shines again.”
“It’s what makes us all shine,” Fin observed.
* * *
IN THE LIVING ROOM OF THE COTTAGE WITH THE FIRE SIMMERING and candles lit, Iona snuggled into the corner of the couch. Meara had not only come, but with provisions of pizza and ice cream.
“Pizza, cookie dough ice cream, wine, and girls.” Iona lifted her glass in toast. “The best there is.”
“I keep the pizza and ice cream in the freezer for just such emergencies.”
“It’s perfect. We should all be lesbians.”
“You’ll have to speak for yourself there.” Amused, Meara took a second slice.
“I think the Amazons were probably lesbians. Or some of them anyway. That’s what I thought of you when I first saw you.”
Choking on her bite of pizza, Meara downed some wine. “You took a look at me and thought: Why, there’s a lesbian?”
“. I hadn’t thought about your sexual orientation, then I saw you and Boyle together and figured you were together, but that was wrong. ,” Iona repeated. “Tall and gorgeous and built. I’m a little bit drunk.” She smiled at Branna. “Thanks.”
“Oh, anytime a’tall.”
“We can all be Amazons.”
“You’re a bit short for it,” Meara pointed out.
“There had to be some runts in the litter.”
“Word is she’s small but mighty,” Branna added.
“Damn right! See what I can do?” She popped a jittery ball of flame into her hand.
“Best not to play with fire, or magick, when you’re a little bit drunk,” Branna advised.
“Right.” She winked it out. “But I can do it, that’s the point. I can take care of myself. I’m going to buy a car, then when I want to drive around, I’ll drive my own damn self. I’ve got power and purpose. I don’t need a man.”
“If we’re to be Amazons, we’ll just use them for sex or whatever else comes to mind, then cast them out or kill them.”
Iona nodded at Meara. “Let’s do that. Not the killing, it’s a little extreme. But the sex and whatever. I really like sex.”
“Here’s to it.” Meara lifted her glass, drank, then glanced at Branna.
“Aren’t you drinking to sex?”
“I’ll drink to it, as that’s the closest I’ve come to it in some time.”
Iona sighed, a little bit drunkenly. “You could have sex with anybody. You’re so gorgeous.”
“Thanks very much, but anybody doesn’t appeal to me at this time.”
“She’s particular about the matter,” Meara added.
“Me, too, or I have been. I think I’ll stop doing that. Sex with Boyle was spectacular.”
“Do tell,” Meara commented. “And I mean do. I’ve all the time in the world.”
With a laugh, Iona sipped more wine. “Hot and wild and sweaty. Like the world was going to end any minute and you had to have each other first.”
“Ah well, I haven’t come close to that particular brand in some time myself.”
“Done now.” Iona swiped a hand through the air. “It’s time for a good dose of cynicism because love sucks. Who needs it when you’ve got pizza and ice cream and girls, and lots of wine?”
“I’ve always figured it was the frosting.”
Now Iona stabbed a finger toward Meara. “Frosting’s fattening and gives you cavities.”
“There’s the risk of that to be sure, but . . . Well, you’ve got to bake the cake, don’t you? Bake it well so it satisfies yourself. And maybe you decide to add frosting, maybe you don’t.”
“Love as a choice?” No, Iona thought. No.
Love just picked you up and tossed you in.
“But how do you choose? You’ve baked your cake, and there it is, and you’re thinking that’s a pretty good cake, that’s good enough for me.
Then you blink and all this wonderful frosting just plops down on it out of nowhere. ”
Meara shrugged. “You could scrape it off.”
“You can,” Branna agreed. “But it takes some of the cake with it, and you never get all the frosting gone.”
“That’s sad. It sounds true,” Iona murmured, “and sad. We can’t be sad. I refuse it. We need music,” she decided. “Would you play, Branna? I love to hear you play.”
“Why not?” Branna stood. “I’m in the mood to play. I’ll get my fiddle, and Meara, you tune up your pipes.”
Iona got up to stir the fire when Branna went out. “I know Branna’s answer because I’ve seen her and Fin, and heard the story. But have you ever been in love?”
“Well, sticking with the theme, I’ve dipped my finger in the bowl of frosting and had a small sample or two, but nothing more.” From her own corner of the couch, Meara shifted. “I want to say, Boyle can be a idjit.”
“Branna called him a gobdaw.”
“And that as well, as can most men. And I’m sorry to say our side as well has moments of grand stupidity. I want to say as well, I’ve known him a good long time, and I’ve never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you.”
She believed that. She’d felt that. But. “I wish it could be enough. My problem is I always want more.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“It’s a problem when you don’t get it.”
She plopped down again as Branna came back with her violin case. “He’s out there,” Branna said.
“Boyle?” And damn it, Iona felt her heart jump.
“No. Cabhan.”
This time her nerves jumped even as she and Meara pushed off the couch.
“There’s fog all around the house, pressed right up to the windows like a Peeping Tom.”
“What should we do?” Iona saw it now, the gray curtain of it as she stepped to the glass with her friends. “We should do something.”
“We will. We’ll have music. He can’t go past my shield on this place,” Branna said as she calmly took out the fiddle, the bow. “So we’ll have more wine, and we’ll have music. And we’ll shove the sound of it right up his arse.”
“Something lively then.” Meara shot her middle finger at the window before she turned. “Something for dancing. I’ll see if I can teach Iona a few steps.”
“I’m a fast learner,” she said, as much to what lurked outside as to Meara.