“I don’t have the words to thank you for this. It’s not just the dress—how it looks, which is beyond anything I hoped for. But that it’s from family.”
“You’re mine,” Branna told her, “as is Boyle.” She slid an arm around Meara’s waist. “Ours.”
“We’re a circle as well, we three.” Meara took Iona’s hand. “It’s important to know that, and value that. Beyond all the rest, we’re a circle as well.”
“And that’s beyond anything I once hoped for. On the day I marry Boyle, my happiest day, you’ll both stand with me. We’ll stand, we three, the three and all six. Nothing can ever break that.”
“Nothing can or will,” Branna agreed.
“And now I see why you decided to celebrate. Spanish hysterics be damned,” Meara announced. “I’m in the mood to sing and put my dancing shoes on.”
15
THE KITCHEN SMELLED OF COOKING, AND THE PEAT FIRE in the hearth. It glowed with light, shoving the bright, celebrational glow against the dark that pressed against the windows. The dog stretched by the fire, big head on big paws, watching his family with an amused eye.
There was music, full of pipes and strings, rollicking out of the little kitchen iPod while they put the finishing touches on the meal. Voices mixed and mingled, song and conversation as Connor swung Iona around in a quick dance.
“I’m still so clumsy!”
“You’re not at all,” he told her. “You’re only needing more practice.” He twirled her once, and twice on her laugh, then passed her smoothly to Boyle. “Give her a spin, man. I’ve primed her for you.”
“And I’ll break her toes when I trod on her feet.”
“You’re light enough on them when you’ve a mind to it.”
Boyle only smiled and lifted his beer. “I haven’t had enough pints for that.”
“We’ll tend to that as well.” Connor grabbed Meara’s hand, sent her a wink, then executed a quick complicated step, boots clacking, clicking on the glossy wood floor.
And Meara angled her head—a silent acceptance of the challenge. Mirrored it. Two beats later they clicked, stomped, kicked in perfect unison to the music, and, Iona thought, to some energetic choreography in their minds.
She watched them face each other, torsos straight and still while their legs and feet seemed to fly.
“It’s like they were born dancing.”
“I can’t say about the Quinns,” Fin commented, “but the O’Dwyers have always been musical. Hands, feet, voices. The best céilies hereabouts have forever been hosted by the O’Dwyers.”
“Magickal,” she said with a smile.
His gaze slid toward Branna, lingered a moment. “In all ways.”
“And what about the Burkes? Do they dance?”
“We’ve been known to. Myself, I do better at it with my hands on a woman. And since Boyle’s not making the move, I’m obliged to.”
He surprised Iona by pulling her to him, circling her fast, then dropping into steps that took the dance into a half time. After a moment’s fumbling, she caught on, matched him well enough, with his arms guiding her.
“I’d say the Burkes hold their own.”
When he twirled her around, she levitated herself a few inches off the floor and made him laugh.
“As does the American cousin. I’m looking forward to dancing with you at your wedding. It may be I’ll have to be standing in for the groom on that, while he stands on the sidelines.”
“Now I see I’ve no choice in the matter, or find myself shown up by Finbar Burke.”
Boyle snatched Iona away, solved the issue of his less talented feet by lifting her off hers and turning circles.
And Branna found herself facing Fin.