“Like what? I can’t poof up a handful of fire like some of us here can.”
“I’m about to ask for a second portion of like what. Not so much as the first, or even Cróga won’t be able to carry me home.”
“Cooking?”
“Warriors need to eat, and well. I’ll see you’re trained. Morena’d be a good one to start him with,” he said to Breen. “She’s steady and firm, but has more patience than I do.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Haven’t found one yet,” Keegan said easily. “You have a gift for cooking, that’s more than clear, so it shouldn’t be wasted. And I’ll say, as one who knows, you throw a solid lucky punch, so I’m thinking—as with Breen—there’s more to you than you may know.”
Marco rested his chin on his fist. “You’re gorgeous and built, and now you say stuff like that to me. It’s going to be hard not to fall in love with you.”
Keegan laughed, ate more pasta. “If I liked men for that sort of thing, no doubt I’d come courting you, for your cooking alone.”
“A boy can dream. So tell me about Italy. Where did you go, what did you see, what did you do?”
They bonded. Breen sat, largely unrequired, and watched a friendship root, sprout, then bloom as Keegan spoke of art in Florence, fountains in Rome, of twisting roads along the sea and narrow streets in villages.
When they moved to the mountains and plains of Montana, she rose to stack dishes.
“No, sit,” she said when both men started to rise. “You cooked. And you can keep Marco entertained.”
Which he did, she admitted as she dealt with the dishes, telling tales of other worlds. Worlds of golden sands with mountainous dunes and lush oases, worlds of bustling cities where skyways soared and buildings pierced the clouds.
And the primitive where magicks thrived even as men hunted game with spears and built huts out of mud and straw.
It occurred to her she’d never seen Keegan quite so relaxed, or known him so willing to just sit and talk.
“How many are there?” Marco asked him. “How many worlds out there?”
“Who can say? We know of a score—twenty—but it seems there would be more than we would know.”
“Twenty? Have you been to all of them?”
“I haven’t, no. My duties don’t leave me enough time to travel so freely. Then there are worlds barred to us by law. Some are still evolving, you see, worlds of wild waters and fiery mountains. Volcanoes.”
“Whoa. Dinosaurs?”
“I’ve heard tales of great beasts.”
Breen left them to it. She went upstairs, slipped a charm under Marco’s pillow.
When she came down with Marco’s harp, Keegan rose. “I’ve kept you long enough,” he began, then stepped toward her to study the harp. “Now, that’s a true beauty, that is.”
“Breen brought it back for me.”
“She said you were musical. That’s a fine instrument.”
“I have to learn to play it. I don’t suppose you play.”
“A bit.”
Marco punched his arm. “Really? Show us.”
“I should get back.”
“I heard you play the violin.”
Keegan frowned at Breen. “When?”
“Right before I left.”
“Eian must have taught you to play. The man could make music from a hollow reed.”
“He taught me, but I’ve forgotten so much of it. It’d be nice to hear this played by someone who hasn’t forgotten.”
When he hesitated, Marco gave him a poke. “Consider it singing for your supper. Your next supper.”
“Well, that’s a hard thing to turn aside. All right then, one before I go.”
He sat in the living room, the harp on his lap, and trailed those long fingers over each string. “It’s well tuned.”
He paused a moment. Then began to play.
It seemed the notes simply wept from the strings. Beautiful and heart-wrenching so the air sighed with them.
“I know that song,” Breen murmured. “I remember that song.”
“As you should. It’s one of your father’s. He called it ‘Heart Tears.’ It’s made you sad,” Keegan said, and stopped.
“No, not that way. I can see him playing it. Sitting out in the backyard of the little house we had. Late at night, alone. I watched him out my window, and he seemed so lonely. I sent him butterflies.”
Remembering made her smile. “I wished for them, and they came, fluttered all around him. He looked up and saw me, smiled at me, put a finger to his lips. He played in the summer moonlight with butterflies all around him. I fell asleep with my head on the windowsill, and when I woke in my bed in the morning, it was like a dream.
“Play it again, please.”
When he had, he switched to something lively and quick to change the mood. Then he held the harp out to Marco. “Have a go.”
“We had a pretty good selection of instruments at the music store where I worked, but nothing quite like this.”
He plucked at the strings, shifted the harp, plucked a few more. And reached back for something he’d banged out on the piano at Sally’s on St. Patrick’s Day.
“Well, listen to you.” Keegan grinned at him. “You’re a rare one, Marco, or you’ve been pulling one saying you haven’t played before.”
“It’s trying to be ‘Black Velvet Band.’ It’s not quite there. I’m going to YouTube on this.”
“Instructions,” Breen told Keegan, “demonstrations online, on the computer.”
“You could, or you could bring it over with you. Aisling plays the harp, and she’d give you a lesson or two. What I’m hearing, you won’t need more than that.”
He rose. “Thanks for the meal, and the music. I’ve got to get back, as Harken will have me up before the sun breaks.”
“I live with one of those.” Marco wagged a thumb at Breen. “I’m glad you came by. We’ll see you tomorrow over there. I guess I’m already sort of used to it,” he said to Breen. “Or it’s the wine.”
“Drink some water, or you’ll be sorry tomorrow.” She got up. “I’ll walk out with you. Bollocks is already dancing by the door. He wants his nighttime swim.”
The minute she opened the door, he bolted toward the bay.
Keegan shrugged on his duster. “Good night to you, Marco.”
“Check you later.”
Breen stepped out in the cool as Bollocks splashed in the lake.
She didn’t waste time. “He’s determined to stay. You have to understand, he’s not built for this. For fighting, for dealing with what’s coming. I have to convince him to go back. You’re taoiseach.”
“And what, I could order him away? I have no sway there, and in any case, he’s a man grown, a man who values his friend. You should respect that.”
“I do respect that, damn it. But he’s powerless, and he’s—”
The hem of his duster snapped with his sharp movement—and so did his eyes. “You, of all, should know better than to deem him powerless. He stands for you, so stand for him. Quiet,” he ordered before she could object again. “Don’t lessen him.”
“I wouldn’t! I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll make you this promise. I’ll give my life to protect him as I would for you.”
“You’d do that for anyone. It’s the way you’re built. But, Keegan, if anything happens to him, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t.”
“I’ll see he’s protected, and you’ll do the same. Don’t make him less than he is. You of all people should know what it does to a mind, a heart, a spirit to be made less.”
“I don’t mean to do that.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I am doing that.” She dropped her hands. “You’re right. Saying he’s powerless was stupid and insulting. But he’s human, Keegan. He’s fully human.”