Brian touched a finger to Marco’s lips. “You have other skills and strengths and gifts.” He ran a hand down Marco’s flank—smooth skin, slim build, toned muscle. “You’re beautiful. Body, heart, spirit.”
“So are you.” Levering up, Marco ran his lips over those broad shoulders. “I want you again. God, I want you again.”
“I’m yours for the taking.”
Breen woke early, and throwing the cloak over her pajamas, shoving on her boots, took Bollocks outside. She dreamed of coffee, or at least some strong tea, as she let him race and wander and sniff, and do what he had to do.
She wasn’t the only early riser, as she’d heard activity and movement inside before she’d taken Bollocks out the door closest to the stables.
And she heard laughter behind the high walls of the falcon mews. When they walked on, she saw people already working in gardens, others drawing water from a wide stone well. Another carrying pails— milk?—away from what she took for a barn.
She saw a couple of cats slink out of it—and so did Bollocks.
“Oh no, not today. No chasing cats or squirrels or anything until we know our way around.”
To make up for it, she walked him down to the bridge so he could jump in the river for a swim.
From there she watched what she took as young recruits—or whatever they were called here—drilling in a field. Swords, spears, archery, hand-to-hand.
Overhead, a handful of faeries sparred in midair.
She recognized Keegan, his leather duster flapping as he gave the woman beside him a friendly punch on the shoulder. When he turned her way, she called to the dog.
“Okay, let’s go now. That water has to be cold. Let’s dry off, go inside.”
He came out, but reluctantly, and stalling. Then he spotted Keegan, and with a happy bark, raced to him instead of her.
“Great. Perfect,” she muttered. No caffeine, pajamas, and bed head.
And, of course, he looked exactly that. Great and perfect as the dog leaped around him, as he laughed and gave Bollocks a good rub.
Stuck, she waited as Keegan walked to her, and the dog trotted beside him as if bringing her a present.
“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thanks.” She gathered the cloak close as the wind snapped at it. “He needed to go out, and he wanted a swim.”
“We’ve dogs around if he wants their company. A pair of wolf-hounds, some spaniels and mutts as well.”
“Oh. I haven’t seen any.”
“You will. Are you walking on?”
“No, I was going back.”
“As am I.”
“The Leaving was beautiful,” she said as they started back. “Heart-breakingly beautiful. I didn’t know you sang.”
He shrugged. “I enjoy it more with a pint or two in me.”
“Who doesn’t? I don’t know when or where I’m supposed to go later.”
“In two hours, we’ll have the Judgment. Someone will fetch you.”
“Is there a dress code—what I should wear? It may sound silly to you, but I don’t want to be disrespectful.”
He gave her a glance. “I’m thinking you might change what you’re wearing presently.”
“Funny. I packed light, as instructed, so I don’t have a lot of choices.”
“It’s not a fancy matter, so what you usually wear, what I’ve seen of it, will do very well. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to show you and Marco around—and I’ve kept my mother busy as well. Or haven’t yet introduced you to those who live and work here.”
“I’ve met a few. Brigid and Lo—they brought me up dinner last night.”
He stopped, hissed. “You ate in your rooms? So again, I’m sorry.”
“You’re off the hook. I wanted the quiet, and Marco was with Brian. Kiara, who I already like a lot, brought me invitations—to eat with her parents, or go with her and some friends into the village. I really just wanted to write some and have the quiet.”
“All right then. Kiara’s a likable sort. She’ll talk both your ears off your head, but she’s entertaining and good-natured about it.”
“She’s determined to do my hair this morning.”
He took a longer look and reached out, twisted one of her curls around his finger. “I like your hair as it is, but she’s a skill for it.”
“I also met Shana.”
“Hmm. Not surprising, as she and Kiara are tight as ticks.”
“Are they? I’d say that surprises me, because they strike me as opposite types. One being friendly and charming, and the other being …what’s the term. Oh yeah. A stone-cold bitch.”
He stopped again, spoke carefully—and she assumed as taoiseach. “Sure it’s a pity you found her so, but it should be a simple matter to avoid her company while you’re here.”
“You think?” She couldn’t help herself—in fact, she enjoyed herself by shooting him a big smile. “Harder to do that when she waltzes into my room uninvited.”
His face went blank, but she saw annoyance clearly under the shield. “I’ll speak to her about that, as we prize good manners here.”
“I spoke to her myself, thanks all the same. She made a point of coming to my room shortly after you were with her in the courtyard— the one my room looks over.”
“Plead the gods! If this is some female drama, I haven’t the time or—”
She punched him, solid, in the gut.
Rather than flinch, he nodded. “You’ve improved there.”
“Consider yourself lucky I aimed above the belt. The drama was all hers. She flounced her way in to subtly insult my looks, my clothes— that I’m used to. And she topped it by warning me off you.”
“Sure that’s nonsense, and I—”
“Shut up. She made it clear you and she were together, not that either of you minded a little dalliance—such as me. And whoever she dallies with when you’re not around. But poor, unworthy me shouldn’t get my hopes up where you’re concerned. Added to it, people are dead because of me. If I hadn’t been born—”
Now he gripped Breen’s arm. “Stop. Stop now. She had no right to say such a thing to you. A lie, and a cruel one. I’m ashamed of her and for her. I will speak with her.”
She’d been angrier than she’d realized, Breen admitted, and had bottled it up.
Well, she’d uncorked it now.
“I don’t care if you speak to her or not. I know I’m not to blame for any of this. And I don’t care—why should I?—that you slept with her.”
“Sleeping wasn’t much of it. I don’t have time for this, but I’ll take this time, as it’s wrong what she said, what she did. And that business in the courtyard was nothing.”
“It was something,” she corrected, and felt considerably calmer now that she’d popped the cork. “Since she staged it hoping I’d see—or someone would and it would get back to me.”
“You can’t—”
“I’ve spent most of my life watching people, Keegan,” she interrupted, “because I had such a hard time interacting with them. I’d sit on the bus and watch them, and from their faces, their gestures, and so on, I’d decide who they were, what they were feeling.
“I saw your body language out there with her.”
“My body speaks now, does it?”
“The way you stood, the way you made certain not to touch her when she insisted on touching you. Polite and cool, that’s what you were. You dumped her—I know the signs there, too, as I’ve been dumped. And she didn’t want to be. Broke things off with her,” she explained when he frowned at her.
“As I was trying to say before you went off on your speech there. I ended it, as I began to see she wanted what I couldn’t and wouldn’t give. I never went to her bed after I went to yours.”