Page 81 of Shadow Spell

She was spared when Branna came in. Her friend wore blue and green striped flannel pants with a thin green top. She’d tied a little blue sweater over it, and that somehow matched the thick socks on her feet.

Her hair spilling free to her waist, Branna marched straight for the coffee. “Don’t talk to me, not a word, until I’ve had my coffee. Put some potatoes on the boil, and when they’re soft enough, chip them up for frying.”

She drank the coffee black rather than adding the good dose of cream that was her usual.

“I swear an oath, there’s a time coming soon when I’ll not step near a stove for a month.”

“You’ll have earned it. I’m not talking to anyone in particular,” Meara said quickly as she scrubbed potatoes in the sink. “Just making some general observations.”

“Bloody Cabhan,” Branna muttered, as she pulled things from the fridge. “I’ll kill him with my own hands, I swearanotheroath, for forcing me to see so many sunrises. The eggs are going scrambled, and whoever doesn’t like it doesn’t have to eat them.”

Wisely, Meara said nothing, but put the potatoes on the boil.

Muttering all the while, Branna put on sausage, started on the bacon, sliced bread from the loaf for toast.

Then downed more coffee.

“I want to see your side.”

Meara stopped herself from saying she was fine, simply lifted up her shirt.

Branna laid her fingers on it—how did she know the exact spot—probed for a moment. Meara felt heat slide in, and out again.

Then Branna met her eyes, just moved in and wrapped around her tight.

“It’s healed perfectly. Damn it, Meara. Damn it.”

“Don’t start now. I’ve had it from Connor already. You’d think I’d been gutted instead of getting a bit of a swipe.”

“What do you think he was aiming for if not your guts?” But Branna stepped back, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Breathed deep before she dropped them again.

“All right then. Let’s get this bloody breakfast on. Connor Sean Michael O’Dwyer! Get your arse down here and do something with this breakfast besides eat it.”

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 everyone?” 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.

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