EPILOGUE
IONA ACCEPTED THE WHISKEY, WITH GRATITUDE, AND CURLED INTO the corner of the living room sofa. The fire snapped, but brought comfort instead of fear and pain.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t good enough. He rolled right over me.”
“Bollocks to that.” Connor tipped more whiskey in his own glass. “Bloody, buggering bollocks to that.”
“Well said,” Branna agreed. “’Tis I who’s sorry. Every step in place, every detail. But one. I never thought of him slipping through time like that, not on command. I didn’t know he could so quickly, and with us so close.”
“No.” Fin shook his head when she glanced at him. “I never saw it coming. He’s too clever by half, changing the ground to one where his power burned stronger than we knew.”
“And where we couldn’t get to Iona. Where she was alone, after all.” Boyle reached over, took her hand, held it firmly in his.
“But you came, all of you.”
“Not as fast as I would like. It’s not enough to know where, but when. We might not have found you, but you called so strong. You believed, just as you said, and you called. You finished the circle, even with all that, you finished the circle, opened the power, and we could find you. And nearly took him.”
For a moment, Branna closed her eyes. “Nearly, I swear it was close.”
“It’s no fault of yours,” Connor told Iona, “or anyone’s come to that. It’s true enough we didn’t finish him, but we gave him a hell of a fight, and we hurt him. He won’t forget the pain we gave him this night.”
“And he’ll be more prepared for next time.” Meara lifted her hands. “It’s true, and needs to be said, so we don’t walk into that kind of trap again.”
“That’s fine, but . . . you’re burned.”
Meara glanced at her wrists, the backs of her hands, and the scatter of burns. “Blowback, mostly. What about you?”
“Fin and I took care of each other. Why didn’t you say something? Stubborn arse.” Connor rose, gripped her hands.
“I’ve worse cooking breakfast.”
“There’s no need for pain. Are you burned as well?” he asked his sister.
“Not a f**king mark. We have his blood, and the ash his torn flesh turned to. We’ll use it against him. We’ll figure out just how, and we’ll use it against him when next we come at him. And it won’t be his ground the next time. We’ll be sure of it.”
Iona didn’t ask how. Sitting there, with those she loved, with her hand in Boyle’s, she felt her faith come back.
“He couldn’t take it,” she said slowly, and touched her free hand to her amulet. “Even when I was helpless, or as close to helpless as I’ve ever been, even when he hurt me, he couldn’t take it from me. He needed me to give it to him. He could kill me, but he couldn’t take what’s in me. That pissed him off.”
“Good.”
Iona smiled. “Damn good. I stabbed him with my athame.”
“Did you now?” Fin rose, walked over, and, bending down, kissed her hard on the lips. “That’s our girl. A weapon of light against the dark. It may be why there was so much blood left for us.”
“We’ll use that as well. I’m putting a meal together. I can’t promise what it might be, but we’ll eat well tonight. And there’s a bottle yet of that French champagne. We didn’t finish it, but I’d say the first battle is ours, and we’ll celebrate that. You lot can give me a hand. Not the two of you,” Branna said to Iona and Boyle. “You took the worst of it, so you’ll sit there and drink your whiskey by the fire a bit.”
“I’ve not finished with the stubborn arse yet.”
Meara punched Connor’s shoulder. “Mind your own arse.”
“Why when yours is not only stubborn but shapely as well?”
“In the kitchen, I said.” And this time Branna rolled her eyes at Connor to give him a clue.
“Fine, fine, I’m half starved anyway.”
He trooped out, dragging Meara with him.
“I’ll take a look at the horses. So you can rest your mind there.”
Iona smiled at Fin. “Thanks. They’re fine, but it never hurts.”
Then she leaned her head back, closed her eyes. “I was fire,” she said softly. “Not just making it, being it. It was terrifying and glorious.”
“It was, looking at you with Connor and Branna, burning like a torch, all white and heat. It was terrifying, and glorious.”
“And still, it wasn’t enough. I wanted it to be over, now. Tonight.”
“Some things don’t happen as fast as you like.” Boyle turned her hand over in his, then gave in and pressed it to his cheek. “It doesn’t mean they won’t happen.”
“That’s right. And Branna’s right. When we weigh it all, we tipped the scales on this one. The way you flew through the fog. You and Alastar, you’re my heroes.”
“Since I know what store you put by the horse, I’m in fine company.”
“When I close my eyes and see your hands. See them on fire.”
“Look at them here. See that? Same as ever.”
Big, scarred. Precious.
“I didn’t think we’d get to you.” He spoke slowly, and with great care. “I didn’t think we’d get to you in time if at all, and that I might never see you again. I didn’t have your faith. I want you to know I have it now. So, you can say you’re my hero as well.”
She tipped her head to his shoulder a moment.
“And I think, all things considered . . .”
She took a sip of whiskey. “What things?”
“I’m saying, I think considering all of it, and the fact we’re done for now, and don’t know as yet what might be next. Considering all that, and all the rest, I think it would be best all around if you married me.”
She lowered the glass to stare at him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I know all you said after I was, well, just a raving git, and I’ve done what you wanted, or tried my best to. But I think it’s time we were past that now, and considering it all, we’ll get married and put all that away.”
“Married.” Had the battle, the bruisings, the flaming addled her brain? “As in married?”
“It’s the sensible thing. We’re good for each other, as you’ve said yourself. And . . . we have horses in common.”
“Can’t forget the horses.”
“It matters,” he muttered. “You love me. You said you did, and you’re a woman honest about her feelings.”
“That’s true.”
“So, we’re good for each other, and have the horses. You love me and it’s the same for me, so we’ll just get married.”
She decided her brain was working just fine, thank you. “What’s the same for you?”
“Jesus.” He had to stand for a moment, circle around the room. Stall by tossing more peat on the fire. “I never said it to a woman not my mother or related in some fashion. I don’t toss such things about as if they’re nothing.”
His hair, caught between brown and red, was a tumbled mess. She hadn’t noticed before, she realized. Or the blood on his shirt, the way his jaw set, so stubborn.
But she could see, very clearly, the intensity in his eyes.
“I believe you.”
“Some words matter more than others, and it’s one of those.”
“What’s one of those, exactly?”
“Love is. I know what love is, damn it, because you put it in me, and you’ve given it to me. And I’ll never be the same again. I’ll never feel it for anyone else.”
“It.”
“I love you, all right then?” He punched the words out like an argument waiting to happen, and she was totally, utterly done for.
“I’m saying it clear enough.” His brows drew together in that half scowl as he threw up his hands. “I love you. I . . . want to as well. I want all that I feel for you, as I’d only be half alive without it. And I want to marry you, and live with you, and have a family with you some time or other. But for now, I want you to stop making me run around it all, and just say it’s all right with you.”
She only stared at him a moment, as she wanted it all, every tiny detail of it, etched forever in her memory. “This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Oh bugger it. You want fancy words? Maybe I could pull some Yeats out or something.”
“No, no, no.” Laughing, she got to her feet, and felt stronger and surer than she’d ever felt before. “I meant it. This is romance, for me, from you. If you could say it just one more time. The three words, the word that matters more than others.”
“I love you. Iona Sheehan, I love you. Give me a bloody answer.”
“It was yes as soon as you opened your mouth. I just wanted to hear it all. It was yes the minute you asked.”
He blinked at her slowly, then narrowed his eyes. “It was yes? It’s yes?”
“I love you. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well good. Grand. God.” He lunged at her, and she met him halfway. “God, thank God. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve done without you.”
“Now you’ll never have to know.” She gave herself over to the kiss, and all the promises in it. “You’ll never have to do without me.” She held on, tight, tight. “We did win tonight, in so many way. In ways he’ll never understand. We have love. He doesn’t know what it means. We have love.”
“I’m marrying a witch.” Hauling her off her feet, he circled with her. “I’m a lucky man.”
“Oh, you really, really are. When?”
“When?”
“When are we getting married?”
“Tomorrow would do me.”
Delighted, she laughed. “Not that soon. Talk about boots-first. I need a fabulous dress, and I need Nan to be here. And I haven’t met your family.”
“A lot of them are right in this house.”
“That’s true. We won’t wait too long, but long enough to do it right.”
“I have to buy you a ring. The boys were right, after all. I need to get you something shiny.”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’re right, too, it has to wait a little bit of time. At least long enough to get a booking at Ballintubber Abbey.”
“At . . .” Joy all but drowned her. “You’d marry me there?”
“It’s what you want, isn’t it? And by God, it seems it’s what I want as well. There, in the ancient and holy place. It’s what’s meant for us.”
He grabbed her hands, yanked them to his lips, then laughed down at her. “You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours. That’s what I want.”