Page 96 of Shadow Spell

Bride-white lace formed a strapless bodice with the curve of a sweetheart neckline. From the nipped waist, the lace-edged tulle fell in soft, romantic tiers.

“She likes it,” Meara said with a laugh.

“No, no, no. I love it more than I can say. Oh, Branna.” Tears glimmered now as she met her cousin’s eyes in the glass.

“The back was my notion,” Meara reminded her, and had Iona angling to look. “Oh! Oh, Meara. It’s fabulous. It’s wonderful. It’s the most beautiful dress in the world.”

She spun around in it, laughed through the tears. “I’m a bride.”

“Almost. Let’s play a bit more.”

“Oh please.” As if to protect, Iona crossed her arms over the bodice. “Branna, I love it exactly as it is.”

“Not with the dress, for it couldn’t be more perfect for you. No veil you said, and I agree. What about something like this?”

She ran a finger over Iona’s cap of sunny hair so Iona wore a rainbow of tiny rosebuds on a sparkling band. “That suits the dress, and you, I think—and something for your ears. Your Nan might have just the thing, but for now...” She added tiny diamond stars.

“That works well.”

A dress, Branna thought, suited to the shower of sunlight and the glimmer of the moon. Suited for a day of love and promises, and a night of rejoicing.

“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 FIREin 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 bestcéilieshereabouts have forever been hosted by the O’Dwyers.”

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