He dropped down, as Fin had, with a beer.
“Branna said she’d rallied well, and was having a shower. A hell of a thing, a scare like that. A hell of a thing.” He drank deep from the beer. “I sent her out there. She was snappish and snarly, and I’d had enough of it, and sent her off to Shite Mountain. I should’ve kept her inside, working on tack. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not your fault.” Connor shoved up, paced around. “Don’t take any kind of blame on this, for it’s not yours. She took it off. I told her I loved her. And to think I was entertained at the way she stormed about after, claiming she had to get to the stables straightaway.”
“So, that’s why I lost a full hour’s sleep this morning. And,” Boyle added, “that’s what crawled up her arse like a scorpion.”
“She took what off?” Fin asked, circling back.
“The necklace, the blue chalcedony with jasper and jade I gave her for protection. She took it off, went out without it, because I told her I loved her.”
“Ah, God.” Fin rolled his eyes heavenward. “Women. Women drive men to madness, and is there any doubt as to why? Why, the question should be, do we want them about when they devil us at every turn?”
“Speak for your own women,” Boyle suggested. “I’m more than fine with my own.”
“Give it time,” Fin said darkly.
“Ah, feck off. She was in a temper,” Boyle added, watching Connor. “It was foolish and reckless, but, well, as someone who’s a temper of his own, it’s the easiest thing in the world to do the foolish and reckless when caught up in one.”
“We could have lost her.”
“That will never happen,” Fin vowed.
“She was gone, for moments—that might as well have been years for me.” It shook Connor, belly deep, to think it. To know it. “You saw it yourself, Boyle, as you reached her seconds after I did.”
“And in those seconds it felt as if the blood drained out of my body. I wanted to start CPR, and you tossed me back with a flick of your hand.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“No need. You knew what needed to be done, and I was in the way. You breathed light into her. I’ve never seen the like.”
Seeing it again, Boyle took a breath of his own.
“You’re straddling our girl on the ground, calling out for gods and goddesses, and your eyes, I swear to you, went near to black. And the wind’s whirling, the others come running, and you lifted your arms up, like a man grabbing on to a lifeline. And you pulled light out of the rain, pulled it out of the rain, into yourself so you burned like a torch. Then you breathed it into her. Three times you did that, burning hotter every time so I near expected you to go to flame.”
“Three times is needed,” Fin said. “With fire and light.”
“And I saw her draw in air. Her hand moved, just a bit in mine.” Boyle took another long drink. “Christ.”
“I owe you all,” Meara said from the doorway. She stood with her hands clasped, her hair loose, and her eyes filled with emotion. “I have to ask if I could have a moment alone to speak to Connor. Just a few moments, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Boyle got up quickly, moved to her, hugged her hard. “You look fine.” Drawing back, he gave her back a hearty pat, then walked straight out.
Fin got up more slowly, studying the tears swirling in her eyes. He said nothing at all, but kissed her lightly on the cheek before going out.
Connor stood where he was. “Did Branna give you leave to be up and about?”
“She did. Connor—”
“It’s best if you tell what happened to all, at one time.”
“I will. Connor, please, forgive me. You have to forgive me. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t, couldn’t bear knowing I ruined it all. I was wrong, in every way wrong, and I’ll do anything, anything you need or want or ask to mend this with you.”
Her shame, her sorrow poured out, all but pooled at his feet. And still he couldn’t bring himself to move toward her.
“Then answer me one question with truth.”
“I won’t lie to you, whatever the truth costs. I never have lied to you.”