“That’s all right. I’ll have a day off, I assume.”
“Sure you’ll have your day off. Boyle, he’ll work you hard enough, but not to the bone.”
They walked down, against the rise of the road, and she lifted her face, happy to feel the cool air on her skin. “Is that . . . Is it peat I smell?”
“Sure it is. Nothing like a peat fire on an evening, and a pint to go with it. And here, we’ll have both.”
He opened a door, nudged her in.
The yeasty smell of beer pouring from the tap, the earthy scent of peat simmering in the hearth—yes, Iona thought, there was nothing like it. People claimed stools at the hub of the bar, or sat at tables already into their meal. Their voices hummed over the clink of glassware.
A half dozen patrons hailed Connor the minute he stepped in the door. He called out greetings, sent out a wave, and steered Iona to the bar.
“Good evening to you, Sean. This is my cousin Iona Sheehan, from America. She’s granddaughter to Mary Kate O’Connor.”
“Welcome.” He had a shock of white hair shaggy around a ruddy face, and sent her a quick beam out of cheerful blue eyes. “And how’s Mary Kate faring?”
“She’s very well, thanks.”
“Iona’s working for Boyle at the stables. Had her first day.”
“Is that a fact? A horsewoman are you then?”
“I am.”
“She’s buying me a pint to celebrate. I’ll have a Guinness. What’s your pleasure, Iona?”
“Make it two.”
“Branna’s on her way, so it’s to be three. We’ll just find us a table. Well, it’s Franny.” Connor gave a pretty blonde a peck on the cheek. “Meet my cousin Iona from America.”
So it began. Iona calculated she met more people in ten minutes within feet of the bar than she normally did in a month. By the time they moved away she carried a blur of faces and names in her head.
“Do you know everybody?”
“Hereabouts, most. And there’s two you know yourself.”
She spotted Boyle and Meara at a table crowded with pints and plates. Connor snagged one beside them. “How’s it all going then?”
“Well enough. Taking in the local nightlife are you, Iona?” Meara asked her.
“Celebrating my new job. Thanks again,” she said to Boyle.
“It happens we’re working out schedules,” Meara told her, “and you’ve Thursday off if you’ve a mind to make plans.”
“I’m nothing but plans right now.”
“Iona tells me Fin sent you a new horse. Alastar, is it—and temperamental.”
“My arse.” Boyle hefted what was left of his pint. “Tried making a meal out of Kevin Leery’s arm this morning after he kicked the shit out of Mooney.”
“Take any piece of you?”
“Not yet, and not for lack of trying. Behaved like a gentleman for your cousin.”
Iona smiled into her beer. “He’s just misunderstood.”
“I understand him fine.”
“We wonder what Fin’s about with this one.” Meara spooned up some soup, kept her eyes on Connor. “Alastar’s no riding hack, that’s for certain. It may be he’ll breed well, but he never said he was after acquiring a stallion for that when off he went.”
Connor gave his easy shrug. “No one knows what’s in Fin’s mind save Fin, and plenty’s the time he doesn’t know either. And speaking of that, there’s our Branna.”
He lifted a hand, caught her eye.
“Well now, it’s a party,” she said when she walked to the table. Her hand lowered to rub on Meara’s shoulder as she sent Boyle a smile. “Are you working my girl then, right through her supper?”
“More the other way around,” Boyle claimed. “She’s relentless. I was coming to see you tomorrow. The salve you made for us is about gone.”
“I’ve more on hand. I’ll send it along with Iona in the morning.” She sat, picked up her beer. “So, here’s to Iona and her new position, and to you for having the good sense to hire her.”
She felt nearly giddy, sitting there. Cousins, boss, coworker—and ordering, at Connor’s suggestion, the beef and barley stew.
As her first working day in Ireland, it couldn’t get better.
And then it did.
Connor slid away from the table. He came back a few moments later with a violin.
“Connor,” Branna began.
“I’m buying, so the least you can do is play for your supper.”
“You play the violin?”
Branna glanced at Iona, gave a shrug much like her brother’s. “When the mood comes.”
“I always wanted to play something, but I’m hopeless. Please, won’t you?”
“How can you say no?” Connor handed his sister the violin and bow. “Give us a song, Meara darling. Something cheerful to match the mood.”
“You didn’t pay for my supper.”
He sent her a wink, both cheeky and wicked. “There’s always a sweet to come, if you’ve the appetite.”
“One.” Branna tested the bow. He’d rosined it, she noted, confident he’d coax her into it. “You know he won’t leave off till we do.”
She angled her chair, tested again, tweaked the tuning. Voices around them quieted as Branna smiled, tapped her foot in time.
Music danced out, cheerful as Connor had asked, lively and quick. Branna’s gaze laughed toward Meara, and Iona saw the friendship, the ease and depth of it even as Meara laughed and nodded.
“I’ll tell me ma when I go home, the boys won’t leave the girls alone.”
More magick, Iona thought. The bright, happy music, Meara’s rich, flirtatious voice, the humor on Branna’s face as she played. Her heart, already high, lifted as she imprinted everything—the sound, the look, even the air on her memory.
She’d never forget this moment, and how it made her feel.
She caught Boyle watching her, a bemused smile on his face. She imagined she looked like a starstruck idiot, and didn’t care.
When applause rang out, she found herself bouncing on her seat. “Oh, that was great! You’re both amazing.”
“Won us a prize once, didn’t we, Branna?”
“That we did. First prize, Hannigan’s Talent Show. A short-lived enterprise to match our short-lived career.”
“You were grand, both of you, then and now, but we’re grateful Meara didn’t run off to be a singing star.” Boyle gave her hand a pat. “We need her at the stables.”
“I’d rather sing for the fun than my supper.”
“Don’t you want to have more fun?” Iona gave Meara a poke on the arm. “Give us another.”
“Look what you started,” Branna said to her brother.
“You don’t play for fun often enough. I always wish you would.” And when he laid a hand on Branna’s cheek, she sighed.
“You have a way, you do, and you know it.”
“Iona’s not the only Yank in here tonight. I’ve spotted a few others. Give them ‘Wild Rover,’ and send them back with the memory of the two beauties in the pub in Cong.”
“Such a way, you do,” she said and laughed. And shaking her hair back, lifted the fiddle.
Iona saw the smile fade, all the humor fade out of the smoky eyes. Something else came into them, so quick there, then gone, she couldn’t be sure. Longing? Temper? Some combination of both.
But she lowered the instrument again.
“Your partner’s back,” Branna said to Boyle.
7
EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM WAS SHARP. The cheekbones, the jaw, even the bold green of his eyes—and the glint in them.
He’d come in on a kick of wind that had the simmering peat fire giving a quick snap.
As they had with Connor, several people hailed him. But Connor had been greeted with easy and affectionate warmth. Finbar Burke’s welcome was edged with respect and, Iona thought, a little caution and wariness.
He wore a black leather coat that skimmed to his knees. Rain, which must have started while she’d been cozy and warm, beaded on it, and on his sweep of black hair.
Cautious herself, Iona skimmed her gaze toward Branna. Nothing showed on her cousin’s face now, as if that momentary swirl of emotion had been nothing more than illusion.
Fin wound through the crowd and, as Branna had with Meara, laid a hand on Boyle’s shoulder, and on Connor’s. But his gaze, Iona noted, fixed on Branna.
“Don’t let me interrupt.”
“And there he is, home from the wars at last.” Connor sent him a cheeky grin. “And just in time to stand the next round.”
“Some of us have to work tomorrow,” Branna reminded her brother.
“Sure it’s fortunate my boss is an understanding and generous sort of man. Unlike yours,” Connor added with a wink for Branna, “who’s a tyrant for certain.”
“I’ll stand the round,” Fin said. “Good evening to you, Meara, and how’s your mother faring? I got word she was feeling poorly,” he said when she blinked at him.
“She’s better, thanks. Just a bout of bronchitis that lingered awhile. The doctor dosed her with medicine, and Branna with soup, so she’s well again.”
“It’s good to hear it.”
“You brought the rain,” Boyle commented.
“Apparently. And Branna. You look more than well.”
“I’m well enough. You cut your travels short then?”
“Six weeks was long enough. Did you miss me?”
“No. Not a bit.”
He smiled at her, quick and again sharp, then turned those vivid eyes on Iona. “You’d be the American cousin. Iona, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Fin Burke,” he said and extended a hand over the table. “As this lot doesn’t have the manners for introductions.”
She took his hand automatically, and felt the heat, a quick zip of power. Still smiling, he cocked an eyebrow as if to say: What were you expecting?
“Another Guinness for you?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Despite understanding and generous bosses, this is my limit. Thanks anyway.”
“I wouldn’t mind some tea before I head out in the rain,” Meara said. “Thanks, Fin.”
“Tea then. Another pint, Boyle?”
“I’m in my truck, so this will have to do me.”
“I’m on my feet,” Connor said, “so I’ll have another.”
“Sure I’ll join you.” Fin had barely glanced around when their waitress hurried up. “Hello there, Clare. The ladies, they’ll have tea. Connor and I will have a pint. Guinness tonight.”
He found a chair, pulled it up. “We won’t bring business into the party,” he said to Boyle. “We’ll talk later in that area, though I think we’ve kept each other up to date. And you as well, Connor.”
“Suits me. I took Merlin out a few times while you were rambling, as did Meara,” Connor told him. “And he took himself out when he wanted. Will you be coming by the school tomorrow?”