Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

Sweat poured down Connor’s face—and ran down Fin’s.

Branna’s breathing grew shallow as she took in some of the heat, some of the pain.

“I’m holding it,” Fin said between his teeth.

“Not alone now. Healing hurts—it’s the price of it. Look at me, and let it go with me. Out of him we both love, slowly, coolly, out of him, into you, onto me. Out of him, into you, onto me. Out of him, into you, onto me.”

She all but hypnotized him. That face, those eyes, that voice. And the gradual lifting of the pain, the cooling of the burn.

“Out of him,” she continued, rocking, rocking. “Into you, onto me. And away. Away.”

“Look at me.” Now he told her as he felt her hands begin to tremble over his. “We’re nearly there. Boyle, in my workroom, a brown apothecary bottle with a green stopper, top shelf behind my workbench.”

Gently, he eased his hands back so they could see the wound. The burn, raw and red now, was no larger than a woman’s fist.

“He’s cooler,” Meara said, stroking, stroking. “Clammy now, but cooler, and breathing steady.”

“There’s no black under it, no poison under it.” Iona looked from Branna to Fin and back for confirmation.

“No, it’s but a nasty burn now. I’ll finish it.” Branna put her hands over it, sighed. “Just a burn now, healing well.”

“This?” Boyle rushed in with the bottle.

“That’s it.” Fin took it, opening it for Branna to sniff.

“Yes, yes, that’s good. That’s perfect.” She turned up her hands for Fin to pour the balm into them.

“Here now, mo chroi.” She turned her hands over, gently, gently rubbed the balm on the burn—now pink, now shrinking.

As she rubbed, as she crooned, Connor’s eyes fluttered open. He found himself staring up into Meara’s pale face and teary eyes.

“What? Why am I on the floor? I hadn’t gotten drunk yet.” He reached up, brushed a tear from Meara’s cheek. “Don’t cry, darling.” He struggled to sit up, teetered a bit. “Well, here we all are, sitting on Fin’s kitchen floor. If we’re going to spin the bottle, I’d like to be the one to empty it first.”

“Water.” Boyle pushed it on him.

He drank like a camel, pushed it back. “I could do with stronger. My arm,” he remembered. “It was my arm. Looks fine now.”

And seeing Branna’s face, he opened his arms to her. “You tended me.”

“After you scared five lives out of me.” She held on tight, tight until she could trust herself. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you, but— Thanks.” He took the glass Boyle offered, drank. Winced. “Jesus, it’s brandy. Can’t a man get a whiskey?”

“It’s brandy for fainting,” Boyle insisted.

“I didn’t faint.” Both mortified and insulted, Connor pushed the glass back at Boyle. “I fell unconscious from my wounds, and that’s entirely different. I’d rather a whiskey.”

“I’ll get it.” Meara scrambled up as Iona leaned over, pressed a kiss to Connor’s cheek.

“Your color’s coming back. You were so pale, and so hot. Please don’t ever do that again.”

“I can promise to do my best never to repeat the experience.”

“What was the experience?” Branna demanded.

“I’ll tell you, all of it, but I swear on my life I’m starving. I don’t want to be accused of fainting again if I pass out from hunger. I’m light-headed with it, God’s truth.”

“I’ve a hunk of pork. Raw,” Fin began.