by Darby Kaye
Bann began to answer when a shadow moved in the trees beyond the fence. Keeping his eyes fixed on it, he reached for his weapon. A lone Amandán slunk out from behind a copse of pines and edged closer. Standing on tiptoe, it peered over the fence.
“What’s wrong?” Shay appeared at his elbow. She crowded closer and looked out. “Oh, I see.” Balancing on one foot, she tugged up her jean leg and slid a slender dirk from her ankle sheath. “See? This is what happens when cities don’t enforce zoning laws—neighborhoods go to hell.”
One-handed, Bann pushed the sash up. At the sound, the Amandán tensed, then looked up. Bann leaned out. “Bog-born.” He wagged his knife.
The beast promptly answered with a snarl of what the Knight could do with his blade. Twice. With the pointy end. Then, it eased back and faded into the shadows.
Aye, you best flee, you ugly bastard. “I’ll go reconnoiter—just to make sure there are not others about. Our future home or no, I will not let such boldness go unanswered.”
Shay started to argue, then waved him away. “Go get it out of your system.”
He hurried along the corridor. As he passed the farthest bedroom, he threw an order to Cor to stay upstairs, then jogged down the stairs, his work boots punishing the wooden treads. Reaching the main level, he hesitated, trying to recall which way the kitchen was. He passed through it to the adjoining family room. Pausing at the French doors, he peered through the panes, then unlocked one with a soft snick, eased it open, and slipped outside.
The early afternoon sun was still high enough to warm the air, but shadows cast by the towering hillside to the west were already creeping across the yard. Bann strode across the dried grass to the back wall, scanning the surrounding area with his eyes and ears. And even his nose. Use every gift of the Goddess, said the voice of his old master in his head. Be the wolf on the hunt, the hound in pursuit. Closing his eyes, he stretched out with his senses to the world around him.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes and studied the ground on the other side of the fence. A faint deer trail, decorated sporadically with hoof prints, ran north and south; even while his rational brain recognized the innocence of those particular tracks, his gut tightened at them. Shaking loose of the memories, he leaned over the five-foot high wall for a closer look. The goblin hid its tracks too well. Most likely worried that I might follow. “Ye’re fortunate I haven’t the time right now,” he muttered in Gaelic. “But someday…”
11
“BANN? LET’S NOT MENTION the house to anyone yet, especially my mother,” Shay said as they drove to Hugh’s home the next day. “Not until we know we got it for sure.”
“Fine with me.” He glanced over at her sitting in the passenger seat of the truck cab. In the light of the early afternoon sun beaming through the windshield, her hair was the color of antique gold found in the tomb of a Bronze Age king. A leather jacket was folded across her lap. Wearing a low-cut silk blouse the color of County Clare cream tucked into black jeans that accentuated her slim hips, her fingernails tapped the haft of the slender dirk, which hung from her belt.
Nervous, I’ll bet. Well, she is not the only one. “You look beautiful, darlin’.”
“Thanks. And you look pretty handsome yourself.” She laid her hand on his thigh. He could feel its warmth through the denim. “I’m going to be buying a lot of men’s shirts in every shade of blue from now on.”
“And here I was wishing for pink.”
She patted his leg. “You’re not secure enough to wear that color, remember?”
“Ouch.”
Shay grinned. It faded after a moment. “I better warn you—if you think Hugh and Ann and my cousins are an outspoken bunch, wait until you meet my mother.”
“As you’ve mentioned before.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “Like mother, like daughter, eh?”
“And ouch back.”
Laughing softly, Bann turned into the graveled drive and proceeded through the iron gates, both adorned with a pair of Celtic knots overlaid with wild boars. They stood open wide in welcome. Pine trees dropped shadows across the long driveway in alternating bars of dark and light. Reaching the mansion, he pulled into the parking area already crowded with a dozen or more vehicles; he managed to squeeze the truck in between a minivan and a Volvo station wagon.
“Looks like Mom’s here already,” Shay said, nodding at the wagon as she flipped down the visor. She checked her face, then opened the door with a sigh. “How much you wanna bet she’s going to tell me I’m not wearing enough makeup and that this color washes me out?”
“I refuse to enter into a wager that puts me between my future wife and my future mother-by-law.” Especially with a mother-by-law who has already voiced her trepidation of me marrying her only daughter. Voiced it very clearly, according to Shay. He turned around to the back seat. “Cor?”
“Yes, sir?” Dressed in a clean T-shirt and a new hoodie—a birthday gift from James—in a shade of neon green that made Bann’s eyes water every time he looked at it, but that Cor loved, the boy had his fingers stuck through the slit of the travel crate belted into the seat next to him. Inside, Sam circled around and around.
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“I’m in charge of Sam and to keep him outside on his leash so he doesn’t pee in Ann’s house.”
“Aye. What else?”
“Say please and thank you, and don’t call any grown-up by their first name unless they tell me I can. And eat all my supper, even if it’s gross.”
“And remember what I told you about the ceremony?”
Cor swallowed and nodded. “Not to be scared. That it’s just a little cut.”
“Good lad. And do not speak of the house we’re buying.”
“It’s a secret?”
“More like a surprise. Like the truck.”
The boy nodded, then added, “I’m good at keeping surprises, aren’t I, Shay?”
“That you are, kiddo.”
All three climbed out. After freeing Sam and snapping the lead to his harness, the four of them headed toward the house, their feet crunching in the gravel. The muted roar of voices all talking at once drifted from the back yard, along with smoke carrying the aroma of cooking pork and burning wood.
A stab of homesickness shot through Bann. He recalled all the barbeques, usually after a successful hunt, which he had hosted in their backyard in Pennsylvania, in what seemed another life. He and his fellow Knights would stand around the grill, beer in hand, as they debated the best way to burn a steak. Their children would race back and forth in a no-holds-barred game of tag, Cor the youngest by several years, but determined to keep up with the big kids. All the while, Elizabeth would sit in a lawn chair on the porch with a polite smile that was one twitch away from becoming a sneer, forcing their friends to come to her to say hello instead of mingling with the common folk. I wonder if we could have made our marriage last? Bann thought. For Cor’s sake, if nothing else. He remembered just the other night, when he and Shay were having a nightcap by the fire, his future wife expressing her opinion on that very subject.
“While I don’t want to bad-mouth Elizabeth, because, in spite of everything, she was Cor’s mother and I will always respect her for that…” Shay had paused and stared into her whiskey, then continued. “From what you’ve told me, I think it would’ve been very unhealthy for Cor to grow up in that environment.”
“He hated it when we fought. And it seemed we were quarrelling more and more over less and less as the years went on.” Bann took a drink, the whiskey peat-smoke in his mouth. Perhaps the Stag Lord has done me a good turn. Self-loathing flooded him. Ye gods. What kind of man am I to think such as that? And about my son’s mother.
Shame must have shown on his face, for Shay reached over and poked him, forcing him to look at her. “Whatever it is, let it go, Bannerman Boru. You’re always finding ways to flail yourself with guilt. Enough already. I promise you, if you ever say or do anything that needs a swift kick in the as
s, I’ll make sure said ass gets kicked. Ye ken?”
“Aye, I ken.” Bann took her hand and kissed it, then pressed it to his cheek. “Mo chara.”
“Damn straight. Your best one, too, and don’t forget it.”
Shaking loose from the memory, Bann slowed when the front door opened. A woman with chin length hair a shade lighter than Shay’s, and wearing a stylish tunic over slim jeans, stepped out. She shaded her eyes with a motion Bann recognized instantly, then waved. “There you are!”
“Hey, Mom.” Shay hurried across the yard and bounded up the stairs.
The two women hugged, then stepped back, beaming at each other, the daughter a scant inch taller. Behind them, other members of the Doyle clan crowded out and fanned across the porch like some sort of redheaded delta. Bann noticed Hugh and Ann standing near Shay and her mother. Ann blew him a kiss while Hugh gave a nod and a wink. Off to one side, Rory leaned on the rail, his arm draped around a pretty woman’s shoulder. He called a greeting that Bann didn’t catch. Nearby, James bent his head to speak to a young Knight standing next to him, who was craning his neck to see.
“Dad?” Suddenly shy, Cor faded back behind his father. Even more shy, and intimidated by the crowd, Sam faded back behind Cor. “Is that Shay’s mom?”
“Aye. That is Isobel Doyle.”
Taking the boy’s hand, Bann continued toward the porch, surprised at the butterflies in his own stomach. He must be feeling the same way, he thought, noticing his son’s death grip on his fingers. “’Tis all right,” he said softly, giving the small hand a squeeze before letting go and halting—holding my position—at the foot of the steps. Isobel Doyle turned at a quiet word from Shay and stepped to the edge of the porch. The crowd quieted. The only sound was the murmur of voices from the back yard, which was filled with more of the clan.
The calm before combat.
For a long moment, Bann and Isobel stared at each other in silence. He studied the woman. The resemblance between mother and daughter was more in the bone and in the gestures. Isobel’s coloring, fair-haired and with skin that was more tanned than freckled, spoke of a Viking ancestor or two far enough back in time for a trace of mortal blood to have little, if any, impact. Knowing that, according to tradition, she was to speak first, Bann waited. And waited.
A grudging respect lifted Bann’s left eyebrow. She’s a clever one, she is. Controlling the pace of our first meeting. Establishing her authority. Even using the porch to tower over me. Holding the high ground.
Finally, just when the silence was moving from awkward to downright mean-spirited, she spoke. “Bannerman Boru,” she said in Gaelic. “I welcome you.” She looked down at him with a polite smile that did not reach her eyes. “Your bloodline honors us.”
“The honor is mine,” he replied in Gaelic, “to meet the mother of my betrothed.”
“Betrothed, is it?” The woman switched to English. “Ah, yes. Shay said you two would follow some of the old customs in this.” She cocked her head, studying him. “A daring move. But, then, I have heard from Shay, and others,” she nodded at Ann and Hugh, “that you are a bold man.”
“In many ways.” With that, he slid his bronze knife—the one his old master had gifted him on the day he became a Knight—free of its sheath and marched up the steps. The thump of his boots seemed magnified in the rare silence of the clan. He halted when they were almost eye-to-eye; then, he sank to one knee on the riser just below her. Several people sucked in breaths. The young Knight next to James whispered a question and was answered with an I’ll tell you later. Flipping the knife around so that he held it in his left hand by the blade, Bann presented the haft to her.
Isobel blinked in surprise. “Well, all right, then,” she said softly and took it. With the blade still in his hand and Isobel holding the haft, the knife joined them together in a weaponry clasp. For a split second, Bann thought he felt a slight buzz run through the bronze from the woman to himself and back again. Apparently, so did Isobel, for her eyes widened.
“I am Bannerman Boru, of Clan Boru,” he declared, using a tone that he normally reserved for a battlefield challenge. And this may well be one. “Long-son of the High King Brian Boru. Knight of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. With my blood—” he paused and squeezed the blade. White-hot pain tore through him as the razor-sharp edge sliced into his palm. He forced himself to continue in a steady voice. “I vow to defend your daughter against all the evils of this round world.” Bright crimson dripped from his clenched fist and splattered on the wooden steps by his knee while he spoke. “With me, she will never feel want nor hunger nor cold nor loneliness.” He looked at Shay. “I will be as a shield for her, and she for me.” His gaze shifted back to Isobel.
With a nod and a trace of respect, Isobel took the knife from his hand. He clenched his jaw, but made no other movement, when she dragged the blade along the open cut.
“This will I keep, Bannerman Boru, to remind you of your oath if you should ever fail in it.” Holding it to one side to allow for the blood to dry, she motioned for him to rise with her free hand.
“I will not fail.” He rose.
Her veiled expression seemed to say: We’ll see. “And this must be Cormac.” She looked past the Knight’s shoulder.
Ignoring his throbbing palm, Bann glanced back. “Come along, son.” He gave an encouraging wink as the boy and puppy joined them.
For the first time, warmth colored the woman’s face. “Hello, Cormac. Or Cor, I should say. Shay tells me that you’re quite the warrior.”
An uncertain smile flickered across the boy’s face. “I guess.”
“Is this your puppy?”
Cor’s grin reappeared, this time brighter. “Yes, ma’am. This is Sam. I just got him last week.” He held out his hand to the woman at a throat-clearing from his father. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Doyle.”
Unable to resist Cor’s grin—I should have sent him ahead to charm her—she smiled back and shook the small hand, the collection of bangles on her wrist jingling softly. “You may call me Isobel.” Letting go, she studied him, then Bann. “By the Goddess, you’re the spitting image of your father.”
Shay brushed around her mother and took Bann’s uninjured hand in hers. “I know, right? Aren’t I lucky—two good-looking guys.” She tugged him up on the porch. Cor was right behind them.
The clan began milling around, half of them trying to get to Bann to introduce themselves and the other half shoving back inside for food and drink. More drinks, from the number of empty beer bottles hanging from hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Cor had picked up Sam to keep him from being trampled. Good lad.
“Now that the formalities are complete,” Hugh’s voice boomed over the noisy crowd, “we’ve a pig in the ground that’s about ready to join us for a meal.”
With that, the clan leader pushed through the crowd, using both his bulk and his authority to clear a path. Ann and Isobel followed in his wake, speaking in low tones. A few snatches of their conversation floated back to Bann.
“See? What did I tell you?” Ann said. The other woman’s response was lost in the hum of voices.
“Bannerman Boru.”
Bann turned at the voice. A sandy-haired man, about Shay’s age, edged toward him. A thin scar bisected his right eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look. He held a dark-haired toddler on his hip while a redheaded boy near to Cor’s age stood next to him. Shifting the little girl to his other hip in a practiced move Bann knew well, he held out his hand.
“I’m Sean. Shay’s brother. Welcome to Crazyland. Also known as the Doyle clan,” he said with a broad, easy grin that had Bann smiling back.
“Thank you.” They clasped forearms. “And these are your children, I take it?”
“This is Meggie. She’s almost two.” Sean pulled his daughter’s thumb from her mouth. “And my son, Neill. Just turned nine a few months ago. My wife, Jenny, is inside, coordinating things.” He ruffled his son’s hair, who was eyeing Cor and Sam. Cor was
staring back. “Neill’s been eager to meet Cor.”
“Cor, you and Neill take the pup to the back yard.” Bann gave the boy a nudge toward the house. “Stay out from underfoot.”
“’Kay.” The two boys started to leave.
“And take Meggie with you.” Before Sean could hand off the girl to a scowling Neill, Shay plucked her from her father’s arms.
“Are you kidding? This one’s coming with her auntie.” She buzzed Meggie’s cheek, making her squeal with delight. “There’s my sweet girl.”
“Thanks, Shay. Listen, I promised Rory to help him with something. I’ll catch up with you two later.” With a grin and a nod, Sean disappeared inside the house behind the last of the crowd.
Bann watched Shay bounce Meggie, who was babbling in two-year-old speech about puppies or bubbles or chalupas or something. All the while Shay was nodding as if she understood. A sudden image of Shay holding a child of their own—a little girl who looks like her mother—flashed through his mind.
“Hello, Meggie,” he said in a gentle voice. He held out a finger to the child, who took it with great seriousness as she stared wide-eyed at the tall stranger. “Why, you’ve a strong grip, lass.”
“She’s a tough cookie, aren’t you, Meggie? Even when Neill gets rough when they’re playing, she’ll stand her ground.”
“A shield maiden like her aunt, eh?”
“And her mother, too. Jenny is this tiny little thing, but she’s incredibly fast with a blade. Speaking of which.” Shay glanced at Bann’s injured hand. “Let’s go upstairs so I can bandage that cut.” Shay shifted Meggie to her shoulder and headed for the stairs.
Bann trailed behind, making puffin faces and blowing raspberries at the toddler all the way up the wide stairs. He was rewarded with a stream of giggles. Taking a left at the first door—the room where he and Shay had first made love—he followed her inside to the attached bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet lid.
“Here.” Shay plunked Meggie on his lap. “Hold her while I get the stuff.” She rummaged through the cabinet for the first-aid items she kept stocked there as a matter of practicality, as a great deal of clan activity took place in this spacious and well-protected abode.
