He carried her from the room on more laughter.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted,” Fin said to Branna.
“What I knew could be, felt should be, and yes, what I wanted.” She let out a sigh. “I’ll put on the kettle.”
* * *
LATER, WRAPPED UP WITH MEARA IN BED, THE HOUSE QUIET around them, and moonlight coming through the window, Connor asked her.
“Was it the battle that did it? The knowing of life and death that steadied your heart?”
“You took his pain.”
“What? Who?”
“Down in the kitchen. Though he didn’t want it of you, you wouldn’t let him hurt, so you took Fin’s pain. I thought, That’s who he is, down into it. A man who’d take on the pain of a friend—or anyone else for that matter. A man of power, of kindness. Of fun and music and loyalty. And he loves me.”
She laid a hand on his cheek. “I’ve loved you as long as I can remember, but I wouldn’t let myself have it, have that gift you spoke of, or give it. That was fear.
“And I thought, when I watched you tonight, in the horrible heat of battle, in the bright lights of the kitchen, how can I let myself be too afraid to have what I love? Why do I keep convincing myself I might be like my father, or let what he did define the whole of my life? I owe Cabhan a debt.”
“Cabhan?”
“He thought to hurt and shame and shake me by bringing the image of my father to me. And he did, right enough, but that was from me. And seeing plain what I held in me, I could start seeing the truth. He didn’t leave me, or my mother, or the rest of us. He left his own shame and his mistakes and failures because he couldn’t stand and look at them in the mirror.”
“You always stand, you always look.”
“I try, but I didn’t look from the right angle. I didn’t let myself tip the glass. It’s my mother who stayed, with the shame he left her with, who lived—in her own dithering way—with mistakes and failures that were his. And she stood, and stayed, for me and my family, even after we were grown. She’s happy now, free of that whether she knows it fully or not. I’m free of it as well. So I owe Cabhan a debt. But it won’t stop me from doing all I can to send him to hell.”
“Then I owe him a debt alongside you. And we’ll send him to hell
together.”
* * *
IT WAS HARD OVER THE NEXT TWO DAYS OUTSIDE OF THE cocoon of the cottage to stop himself from radiating joy. He had to go about his work, and avoid contact with Meara until they were inside that sanctuary.
He felt Cabhan probing once or twice, but lightly, cautiously. And there were bruises there, oh yes, they’d given the bastard a few bruises for his trouble.
He’d come into it weaker than he’d been—and thinking their circle damaged when it was stronger and more vital than it had ever been.
And yet.
“You have doubts,” he said to Branna. Only hours remained, so he’d come home to help however he could.
“It’s a good scheme.”
“And still?”
She took out the dream potion, padded it carefully in a silver box that had come down through their family, placing it alongside the bloodred brew she hoped would end Cabhan.
“A feeling, and I don’t know if it’s a true one. I wonder if I was so confident on the solstice that now I doubt when it’s time to try again. Or if there’s truly something I’m not seeing, not doing that needs seeing, needs doing.”
“It’s not only on your shoulders, Branna.”
“I know it. Whatever Fin thinks, I know that very well.” She gathered the tools she’d cleansed and charmed to wrap in a roll of white velvet.
She opened a drawer, took out a smaller silver box. “I have something for you, whatever tonight brings.”