Page 5 of Whiskey & Witches

“Yeah.” She tried to tell herself he was being a good da and that she was a good mother, but it got more challenging every day. “Take the potion and go, Carrick.” She pointed to the bottle she’d tried to reach, then to the envelope at the far end of the table. “There’s the spell to go with it.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m tired, and I need rest.”

What she really meant was that she was exhausted from the age-old argument. He’d made the decision to protect their son from the horror of her face while she’d been in stasis. And when Roisin had woken, he’d presented the plan to her. In her broken state with endless hours of recovery ahead of her, she’d agreed. Not only to protect Aeden’s mental health, but because someone had targeted her that day, and she saw no other recourse to keep Aeden safe until she discovered who.

But in the interval, her spirit had been crushed, and her seemingly unbreakable bond with Carrick had frayed, becoming dangerously close to severing. These days, all she ever received from him—when he wasn’t shoving her away and reminding her this horrid way of life was better for everyone involved—were rare scraps of affection. She was tired of that, too.

No more.

She refused to meet his probing gaze and kept her eyes trained on the stone floor.

It seemed as if an hour passed before he moved out of her good eye’s peripheral.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s for his throat. I’ve been working on the proper recipe for months. That should help.”

His large hand came down on her shoulder and caused her to jump.

Damned blind eye!

And damned stealthy male!

“What’s the dosage?” Carrick held the bottle to the light and squinted at the contents.

“A spoonful morning, noon, and night until it’s gone. And should he regain his voice, he’s to continue until there’s none left.”

“What if he hates the flavor?” he asked dryly. “You don’t know what it’s like to make that child take—”

He clammed up when she glared. Their gazes remained locked until redness dusted his cheeks. “Right. Sorry, love.”

“I flavored it to taste like his favorite sweets. He’ll take it without complaint,” she told him as he retrieved the envelope with a handwritten spell from the end of the table. “He might not be able to speak that aloud, but have him mouth it, at least.” She gave Carrick a pointed look. “Aeden needs to concentrate on the words and the intent behind them. It will give the potion a boost.”

“He’s an O’Malley. He has no power.”

“Oh, you O’Malleys hold more magic than you realize. But the spell is from my family’s grimoire and the potion from me. It’ll work.”

“Will it tax your strength?” he asked.

“Cautious to the last,” she muttered. “What does it matter if it does? It’s for our son.”

Carrick’s dark green eyes focused on her, and in their depths, she saw his thanks. Roisin was positive she heard her heart crack for the third time that day. His gratitude made all of this worse; he truly believed parting Aeden and her had been for the best.

Fool.

Once, those stunning eyes of his had been a brilliant emerald color. But since their personal tragedy, they had turned the shade of a shadowed forest. Eyes were a witch’s tell. The lighter and brighter the color, the happier or more content the person was. Carrick’s told the tale of his pain.

“I don’t know how to express my thanks, Ro.”

“Meg.I’m Meghan now. Roisin is never waking from her stasis, remember?” she said snidely. “And I’m not doing any of this foryou. I’m doing it for Aeden. And only because I don’t want him to know his da is a fecking eejit.”

She bit her lower lip as she struggled to her feet. Having Carrick hover over her was a strain on her neck. With her standard shuffling walk, she crossed to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, Carrick.”

He paused in front of her. His hand lifted to her destroyed cheek, and she flinched at his touch. As he trailed three fingers along the network of scars, she forced herself to give him a stern look from her good eye.

Wordlessly, he dropped his arm and left her alone.

A sob caught in her throat, and she sank to the ground with her back to the closed door, giving in to her grief. Sitting like this would cause a cramp, and she knew it would be hours before she could move again.

CHAPTER2

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