“That’s enough—enough, Fin. You’ll have the poor thing smothered in bubbles.”
He set the bottle on the counter. “I’ve something upstairs—a potion—that should do for him.”
“I’ll get him started here if you’ll get it.”
“I’m grateful, Branna.”
“I know. Here now, in you go. Isn’t that nice?”
“He’s fond of the shower.”
With the dog sitting in the sea of bubbles looking, to Fin’s eye, ridiculous, Branna turned.
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ll get the tonic.”
“The shower, is it?” she murmured when Fin left, rubbing her hands over the dog. Bugs lapped at the bubbles, at her hand, and brought on a very clear image of Fin, wearing nothing but water, laughing as he held the dog in a glass-walled shower where the jets streamed everywhere and steam puffed.
“Hmmm. He’s kept in tune, hasn’t he? Still some of the boy in there though, showering with a dog.”
It amused her, touched her, which wasn’t a problem. It stirred her, which was.
Fin brought back a pretty bottle with a hexagon base filled with deep green liquid. At Branna’s crooked finger, he unstopped it, held it out for her to sniff.
“Ah, yes, that’s just what he needs. If you have a little biscuit, you’d add three—no, let’s have four—drops to it. It’ll go down easier that way, and he’ll think it a treat.”
Without thinking, Fin reached in his pocket, took out a thumb-sized dog biscuit.
“You carry those in your pocket—what, in case you or the dog here get hungry?”
“I didn’t know how long we’d be out,” he muttered, and added the drops.
“Set it down to soak in. We could use an old towel.”
He set off again, came back with a fluffy towel the color of moss.
“Egyptian cotton,” Branna observed, and smoothly lifted the dog out, bundled him up before he could shake.
“I don’t have an old towel. And it’ll wash, won’t it?”
“So it will.” She rubbed the dog briskly, kissed his nose. “That’s better now, isn’t it? All clean and smelling like a citrus grove. An Egyptian one. Give him his treat, Fin, for he’s a good boy, a good, brave boy.”
Bugs turned those adoring, trusting eyes on Fin, then gobbled down the offered treat.
“He could do with some water before . . .” She glanced down, and stared. Truly horrified. “Belleek? You’re using Belleek bowls for the dog’s food and water.”
“They were handy.” Flustered, he took the dog, tossed the towel on the counter, then set Bugs down by the water bowl.
The dog drank thirstily, and noisily, for nearly a full minute. Let out a small belch then sat, stared up at Fin.
“He only needs a warm place to sleep for a while,” Branna told him.
Fin picked the dog up, snagged a pillow from the sofa in the great room, tossed it down in front of the fire.
Egyptian cotton, Belleek bowls, and now a damask pillow, Branna thought. The stable dog had become a little prince.
“He’s tired.” Fin stayed crouched down, stroking Bugs. “But he doesn’t hurt. His blood’s clear. There’s no poison in him.”