“And here’s Breen now, bearing gifts. I haven’t seen enough of you since you came back.”
“I’ve been selfish with her.” Nan walked over, took Breen’s shoulders. “I’m so pleased the dress suits you.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” she said to Tarryn. “Marco baked a cake. I’m not sure where to put it.”
“Well then, hand it over.” Tarryn, looking resplendent in russet despite the cloth tied around her waist, came over to take the box. “Marco’s kitchen skills are already far-famed, so let’s see what we have here.”
Tarryn made room on a table and opened the box. “Sweet Brigid, the scent alone! And see how lovely.” She lifted the cake out to show it off. “If it tastes half so good, it won’t last more than a minute.”
“From personal experience, I can promise it tastes even better. He’s dancing with Finola now, but if we could save a slice for her and Seamus? He used their apples.”
“We’ll see to that. Marg, why don’t you tuck two slices away safe?”
“What can I do to help?”
“You can have some wine to start. No, no, you sit awhile longer,” Tarryn told Aisling. “The baby likes the music, it seems, and has been dancing in there all evening.”
“This one will be musical, I’m thinking.” Aisling smiled as she stroked her belly.
Tarryn handed Breen a cup of wine and a plate of cheeses and bread. “Eat a bit. There’s plenty where that came from. The cheeses Harken and Aisling—and Keegan and myself when we’re about—make here on the farm.”
“It’s good,” Breen said after she tried a piece. “It’s really good.”
“Cheeses from the valley are the best in all of Talamh.”
Tarryn turned when Morena burst through the back door. “The kids have run me to the ground, so I’ll beg for wine. Mab and Bollocks are on them now, and a few of the growns as well.
“Hello to you, Breen,” she added as she grabbed for wine.
“You’re wearing a dress.”
“As are you. I’ve been known to don one on occasion.”
She’d donned one of violet, like her wings, that stopped just below her knees. She’d paired it with tall boots of deep purple, and left her hair long and wavy.
She spotted the cake.
“Is that Marco’s? I’m having some.” She cut a generous slice, ate the first bite out of her own hand. “Well gods, this is brilliant. Here.” She broke off a piece and, to Breen’s surprise, fed it to Tarryn from her fingers.
“It’s all of that. Ah, Minga,” she said as the door opened again. “Come meet Breen, and have a slice of Marco’s cake, as you’ve never had better.”
“I will. I’ve dragooned some of the older children into the washing up, as we’ll need more dishes.” She walked to Breen, pressed her gold-dust cheek to hers. “The traditional first greeting of my tribe,” she explained.
“Minga is my dearest friend. She came from the desert world of Largus to Talamh for love.”
“And my love is now out in the field playing dice and telling tall tales. They’ll be sending a runner before long for more food, so be warned.”
She took the slice of cake from Tarryn, still smiling at Breen. “I’ve never been to your world, but I know there are places in it not unlike my own of golden sands and heat, and cities rising from it.”
“Yes. I’ve never actually seen. That is, I’ve never been. I’ve never really been anywhere until I came to Ireland. And here.”
“Not a traveler then? I’m not one myself, or not very much. I’m glad Og was. I met my love when he traveled. I must meet the one who bakes like a god. Introduce me, won’t you?”
Smoothly, Minga guided Breen out of the kitchen. And sent Tarryn a quick wink over her shoulder.
“Minga will ease her into things. Now.” Tarryn whipped off the cloth. “We’ve done our duty here, again. So, Morena, pry that fiddle from Harken and get the boy to dance.”
“I’ll do just that. I’ll clear a chair for you, Aisling.”
“No need.” She hauled herself up. “I’ve rested enough, and since this one wants to dance, I’ll oblige.”
The woman from yet another world, in her bold red dress, introduced Breen to a dozen people so their names and faces and words rattled around in her head.
Marco joined the musicians, somehow catching the rhythm and notes of songs she’d never heard. Having the time of his life, she thought, and since everyone was so friendly, she didn’t feel awkward.
Then Marco called out to her. “Come on, Breen, let’s do one.”
“You’re doing fine.”
But Morena shoved her forward, and people started clapping and stomping. Marco just grinned when she sent him a you’ll-pay-later look.
“We don’t know any Talamhish songs yet,” Marco, the natural MC, announced. “We’ll do one from our world. Let’s do ‘Shallow.’”
She tried to think of something else—something fast and quick and easy—but he’d already found the opening notes on his guitar. The room had already hushed.
When he began to sing, she tuned herself to him as she had hundreds of times before. So when it came to her part, she slid into it, stopped thinking about anyone watching or listening.
She barely noticed when Harken picked up the violin again, filled in some notes, and the mandolin player did as well.
By the time she hit the key change, it was only the music, and the pleasure of making it.
When they finished, voices twined, eyes on each other as the song demanded, the hush held another moment.
Then the applause erupted, and shot her back into herself so a flush rose up into her cheeks. But she saw Marg standing with Tarryn, saw the tears in Marg’s eyes.
Her grandmother crossed her hands over heart and, her heart in her eyes, held them out as if giving it to Breen.
“Take a bow, girl,” Marco ordered, and took an elaborate one himself. Though she rolled her eyes at him, she dipped into a curtsy that brought more applause.
And calls for more.
“We’ll do one more.” Marco leaned close to her ear. “Then I’ve got to get my flirt on.”
She glanced where he grinned, and at first saw only Keegan, standing in his leather duster, his hair windswept, his eyes on hers. But the dragon rider Marco had spoken with that morning stood beside him.
They did one more, then yet another by popular demand before Marco managed to pull away. Breen intended to head straight for Marg, but Keegan stepped in front of her, held out a glass of wine.
“Thanks.”
“You should sing more.” He took her arm, steered her toward the kitchen. “And they’ll see you do if you don’t move away. Your dog is entertaining those still among the tents.”
“I should call him, go back to the cottage.”
“Why?”
“I …” She decided to just come out with it. “I’m terrible at parties where I don’t know people. And I met I don’t know how many already, and I’m never going to remember the names.”
He nodded, drank some ale. “They’re crowded and noisy, and I need breaks from them myself.” He sliced a hunk of bread, slapped some cheese and cold meat on it. “Come outside in the air for a bit. I only came back myself as Brian wanted to find Marco.”
“Brian? Oh. I didn’t know his name.”
“Brian Kelly,” Keegan said as he nudged her outside. “He’s your cousin. His great-grandfather times four or so and yours were brothers, though his traveled to the north, met a north woman named Kate, and settled there. Yours stayed in the valley.”
“How do you know all that? How do you remember all that?”
“It’s part of my duty, and I suppose some luck with it. He’s a good man, is Brian, so you’ve no worries about Marco.”