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?”