Page 160 of A Winding Wave of Magic
Phelan cocked a gray brow, then trudged off to the back room with an empty glass.
“Cassandra here is my best new student,” Jock informed the man as he steered me to a stool between the two of them.
“Is she now?” asked the stranger as I sat down. “Seems to me there’s a few phrases she needs to learn.”
He turned a pair of familiar flashing black eyes on me, this time flaring not with anger, but amusement. His pale skin, marred only by a small bluish swelling in the center of his forehead, was rosy in the warmth of the room, but even in the firelight, he seemed to shine.
Themurúchfrom the beach. This time clothed in a faded red Henley and a pair of old jeans. And a smile instead of a scowl.
“I’m Caomhán.” He extended a hand.
I stared at it until he took it back, black eyes still dancing.
“No, you’recrazy,” I said, prompting a chorus of hoots from Jock and Phelan, who set a pint of ale the color of Caomhán’s eyes in front of me. “What kind of idiot goes swimming in the North Atlantic without a stitch of clothing?”
“Are you still doing that?” Jock asked. “I thought it was only when you were a boy.”
Caomhán leaned farther back on the bar as if he had little investment in the question. “Suppose I’m something of an adrenaline junkie. The cold water gives a bit of a shock. Besides, I’d wager you’re no one to be pointing fingers, a weebird like yourself floundering about the waves. She broke her board on my head.” He pointed to the knot on his forehead.
I frowned. Wee bird indeed.
“Listen, you,” I said as I drew from my very best version of Gran when I was in trouble, pointed finger and all.
His eyes zeroed in on the finger with a cross-eyed expression until he looked back at me and laughed outright.
“I said, listen!” I was trying for imperious, though it only earned more chuckles. “I’ve been ‘floundering’ in the water my entire life, and considering I was the one with the necessary equipment, not to mention the only one following the appropriate rules of engagement, I don’t really think you’re in a position to be criticizing when it wasyouwho swam directly intomyboard.”
I picked up my pint glass as Caomhán watched, still chuckling, with one black brow infuriatingly arched.
Well, I had thought it was a half-decent tirade.
I raised the glass. “Sláinte,” I pronounced, in the most haughty Irish I could conjure before taking a large gulp. Then I spat it all over Caomhán’s shirt.
There was a horrible pause. Then, Jock and Phelan broke into peals of laughter, clutching their stomachs while rivulets of beer dripped down Caomhán’s face as he jumped up.
“Jaysus!” he cried as he caught the bar towel Phelan tossed his way. “You can’t keep a thing to yourself, can you? Not even your drink!”
“‘Jaysus’ yourself,” I said, mimicking his thick accent. “You knew that beer was completely shite, didn’t you? Phelan, what is that stuff?”
Phelan, who had already poured me a glass of water and a fresh pint of Guinness, shrugged and handed me Phelan shrugged and handed me both drinks with a wry smile. “A bad batch. Ginny’ll use it for bread. But you did ask for it, so I thought you knew what you were getting.”
Ginny, Phelan’s wife, ran the kitchen, which served traditional Irish fare that often included some kind of beer bread.
Caomhán had given up trying to clean himself up and was now back to grinning. I downed the water, then took several gulps of Guinness, trying to wash the taste of rancid mash off my tongue. Even though all three of the men had obviously been in on the joke, I quite unfairly wanted to blame it all on this stranger who hardly knew me yet had targeted me as public enemy number one.
“Careful, girl, or you’ll make yourself sick,” Caomhán remarked when I started on the rest of my beer.
I ignored him, finished the pint, and turned to Phelan. “How quickly can Ginny make up a fish sandwich?”
Phelan shrugged and held up a few gnarled fingers in response, which I took to mean a few minutes.
“Could I have one, please? To go?”
Phelan nodded and hobbled back to the kitchen on bowed legs, though not before Caomhán yelled, “One for me too!”
I glared at him. “Jock? Perhaps your next Irish class should be about how to put off unwanted advances from strange men. I’m sure a lot of the tourists could benefit.”
Jock guffawed but stifled his laughter with a gulp of beer when Caomhán shot him a piercing look.
