“Yep. I’m having a really big glass of wine,” she said as she walked to the cabinet. “Do you want one?”
Now Branna’s eyebrows drew together. “I wouldn’t say no. What happened? Did you have another encounter with Cabhan?”
“Not everything is about Cabhan and ancient fricking evil.” True to her word, she poured an enormous glass of wine, then a more sedate one for her cousin.
“Well now, here’s a mood that’s come on in under twenty minutes. Wasn’t your horse happy to see you then?”
“I never got to Alastar, which is just one more thing I can be pissed about. I never saw my horse, never got my ride.” She handed Branna the glass, tapped her own to it. “Bloody sláinte.”
When Iona flopped down at the table, Branna took a sip of wine, studied her cousin over the rim. Anger, yes, but hurt besides. Deliberately she kept her voice breezy.
“Not Cabhan or the horse, so what does that leave? Let me see, could it be Boyle?”
“Could be and is. I walked into the stables when he was ranting to Fin about how inconvenient it is for him to have me around all the time, in his space. In his way, in his bed. Wrapped around him like a vine in his words.”
“He’s an idiot, and I hope you gave him a solid boot for it. Men can be loathsome creatures, especially when they put their heads together.”
“Oh, there’s more, as if that wasn’t bad enough. He’s decided since I’ve managed to push my way into his life, his head, his bed, I’ve put a love spell on him.”
“Bollocks to that!” The sympathy Branna tried to keep mild erupted in stunned insult. “He must’ve been joking, just having it on with Fin who likely teased him a bit.”
“He wasn’t joking, Branna. He was furious, shouting. He didn’t even hear me come in. When I did he was saying—loudly—that he barely has any time to himself the way I’ve pushed myself on him, and I’d put a love spell on him. I’m new at all this, and testing the waters, and decided to test them on him with a love spell. He told Fin to break it.”
“What a pair of right gobdaws.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds insulting, so good. Except not Fin. He said bollocks to that, too.”
“I’m pleased to hear that at least. Now we won’t be turning him into a slug and drowning him in beer.”
Iona tried to laugh, but it kept catching. “It’s a good word bollocks, I’m going to start using it a lot. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”
Her eyes filled, her throat burned. So she shook her head, gulped wine. “No, no, no. I am not going to cry. I have to stay mad so I won’t.”
“Did you speak to Boyle, or just turn his penis into a warty little stub?”
“I spoke with him.” Iona swiped at the single tear that got through. “I let him know I had too much respect for myself to use magick to get someone to want me. To love me. He tried to make excuses, but bollocks to that, right? I asked Fin to bring me back, and he did. He was kind.”
He could be, Branna thought, enormously kind. To some. “Then I’m glad he was there. I won’t make excuses for Boyle. What he said was a harsh and unwarranted insult to those like you and me. And more, it’s hurtful because you have such strong feelings for him. I’ll only say that while he’s got a black temper at times, and is in the way of being, well, gruff’s a simple word for it, at other times, I’v
e never known him to hurt anyone like this. It’s my thinking he’s taken considerably aback by his feelings for you.”
“He doesn’t want them. I’m not going to cry over someone who doesn’t want feelings for me. I may get a little drunk, but I’m not going to cry about it.”
“A sensible attitude.” Branna’s phone jingled. “It’s Connor. Give me a moment. And where are you?” she said into the phone by way of greeting. “Right here, yes. No, we could do without you, you being a man for all that. That’s best, that’s fine. And when I want your fine advice, I’ll be asking for it. Go on, be jackasses together, and you can tell Boyle he can count his luck I don’t make that literal.”
She clicked off. “Fin went by the school for Connor. I’ve told him, as you gathered, to go on, as men can just jam things up. I’ve a mind to ring up Meara, unless you’d rather I didn’t. We can sit around, drink more wine, and say all the rude and truthful things about men without any of them around.”
“That’d be great. Really. But you’re working.”
“I’ll get back to it.”
“You feel sorry for me.”
“A poor sort I’d be if I didn’t. But I’m pissed right along with you, for you, myself, and every other self-respecting witch, and every self-respecting woman. Love spell, my arse.”
* * *
WHEN CONNOR AND FIN WALKED INTO FIN’S HOUSE, BOYLE paced the living room.