“It’s enough. It’s enough to hear you say what you haven’t said to me in more than a dozen years. Be grateful I owe you a debt.” There was fire behind his eyes, burning hot. “I owe you for what lies sleeping there, else I’d find a way to get you into my bed, and put an end to this torment.”
“Seduction? Persuasion?” She tossed back her hair, rose. “I go to no man’s bed unless and until it’s my clear choice.”
“Of course, and one made only with your head. For such a clever woman you can be amazingly thick.”
“Now that you’re back to insulting me, I’ll be on my way. I’ve work I’m neglecting.”
“I’ll drive you. I’ll drive you,” he said even as she prepared to blast him. “There’s no point giving Cabhan another target today should he still be around. And I’ll stay and work with you, as agreed. The purpose, Branna, is mine as well, however different our thoughts on the life we live around that purpose.”
She might still have blasted him—she could work up a head of steam quickly and keep it pumping. But she caught the quick and concerned glance he sent the dog.
Bugger it.
“That’s fine then, as there’s plenty of work. Bring the dog. He’ll sleep through the ride, then Kathel can look after him.”
“I’d feel better about it. Oh, and there’s another thing. Iona tells me I’m having a party here for New Year’s Eve. So there’s that.”
“A party?”
“Why does everyone say it back to me as if I’ve used a foreign tongue?”
“That may be because I don’t recall you ever having a party.”
“There’s a first time,” he muttered, and got the dog.
8
SHE BLAMED THE DOG. HE’D SOFTENED HER UP, AND FIN, with his fancy towel
s and bowls and utter love for a stable dog, had marched right through her defenses.
She’d said more than she’d meant to, and more than she’d admitted to herself. Words had as much power as deeds to her mind, and now she’d given them to him when it might have been more rational, more practical to keep them to herself.
But that was done, and she knew well how to shore up her defenses. Where Finbar Burke was concerned she’d been doing so for more than a decade.
And in truth, there was too much to do, too much going on around her, to fret about it.
They’d had a lovely, quiet Yule, made only more special by Iona’s grandmother joining them. As they observed the solstice and the longest night, she could begin looking toward spring.
But Christmas came first.
It was a holiday she particularly enjoyed—all the fussiness of it. She liked the shopping, the wrapping, the decorating, the baking. And this year in particular, all the work of it gave her a short respite from what she’d termed to Fin her purpose.
She’d hoped they’d host a big céili during the season, but it seemed too mixed with risks with Cabhan lurking. Next year for certain, she promised herself. Next year, she’d have her parents and other cousins, neighbors and friends and the rest.
But this year, it would be her circle, and Iona’s Nan, and that was a fine thing, and a happy one.
With her breads and biscuits baked, along with mince pie she’d serve with brandy butter, she checked the goose roasting in the oven.
“Your kitchen smells of my childhood.” Mary Kate, Iona’s grandmother, came in. Her face, still flushed from cold, beamed as she crossed the room to kiss Branna’s cheek. “Iona’s slipping some gifts under the tree, and likely shaking a few as well. I thought I’d see what I could do to help.”
“It’s good to see you, and I’m more than grateful to have a pair of skilled hands in here.”
Trim and stylish in a bright red sweater, Mary Kate walked over to sniff at pots. “I’m told you’ve taught Iona to cook a thing or two, which was more than I could do.”
“She’s willing, and getting better at the able. We’ll have some wine first, before we get down to it. It’s Christmas, after all. Did you get by to see the new house?”
“I did. Oh, it’s going to be fine, isn’t it? And finished, they tell me, by the wedding—or near enough. It’s a light in my heart to see her so happy.”