As he appeared seconds later, he’d obviously been waiting for her to settle. “Whatever you like. I can do the eggs.”
“You’ll not touch them. Set the table as it seems I’ll be cooking for six the rest of my life. And when you’re done with that, you can start on the toast.”
The potatoes were frying when the others arrived.
“You’re all right?” Iona went straight to Meara. “You’re sure?”
“I am. More than all right as I’m bristling with energy from whatever potion they gave me.”
“Let me see it.” Fin nudged Iona aside.
“Am I going to have to lift my shirt for ever
yone?” But she did so, frowning a bit as Fin laid his hand on her. “Branna’s already had a poke at me.”
“He’s my blood. If there’s even a trace of him, I’ll know. And there’s none.” Gently, Fin drew her shirt into place again. “I wouldn’t have you hurt, mo deirfiúr.”
“I know it. Sure there was a moment, and I wouldn’t care to repeat it, but the rest? It was a fascination. You went with Iona once,” she said to Boyle.
“I did, so I know the sensation. Like dreaming but more like walking, talking, doing while you dream. It makes you a bit light-headed.”
“You should sit,” Iona decided. “Just sit down. I’ll help Branna finish breakfast.”
“You’ll not,” Branna said definitely. “Boyle, you’re the only one of the lot who doesn’t have ham hands in the kitchen. Scramble up the eggs, will you, as I’ve nearly finished the rest.”
He went over to the stove beside her, poured the beaten eggs from the bowl into a skillet where she’d melted butter.
“All right then?” he asked.
Branna leaned against him a moment. “I will be.”
She turned the heat off under the potatoes, began to scoop them out with a slotted tool onto paper towels to drain. “Why didn’t I feel any of it?” she wondered. “I slept straight through it all, never knowing a thing.”
“Why didn’t I, or Iona?” Fin countered from behind her. “It wasn’t our dream; we didn’t have a part in it.”
“I was right in the same house, only just down the hall. I should’ve sensed something.”
“I can see as you’re the center of this world how you’re deserving a piece of all of it.”
When she rounded on him, eyes flashing, narrowed, Iona stepped up. “Stop it, just stop it, both of you. You’re each blaming yourselves, and that’s stupid. Neither of you is responsible. The only one who is, is Cabhan, so knock it off. My blood, my brother,” she added before the pair of them could speak. “Blah, blah, blah. So what? We’re all in this. Why don’t we find out exactly what happened before we start dividing up the blame?”
“You’re marrying a bossy woman, mo dearthair,” Fin said to Boyle. “And a sensible one. Sit, Iona, and Meara as well. I’ll get your coffee.”
Iona sat, folded her hands neatly on the table. “That would be very nice.”
“Don’t bleed it out,” Meara warned, and joined her.
At Branna’s direction, Boyle piled eggs on the platter with the sausage, bacon, potatoes, fried tomatoes, and black pudding.
He carted it to the table while Fin served the coffee and Connor poured out juice.
“Take us through it,” Fin told Connor.
“It started as they do—as if you’re fully awake and aware and somewhere else all at once. In Clare we were, though I didn’t know it at first. In Clare, and in Eamon’s time.”
He wound through the story as they all served themselves from the huge platter.
“A hart?” Branna interrupted. “Was it real, or did you bring it into it?”