Unholy Blue (23 page)

She gestured toward a photo sitting by itself on the mantel near Bann's elbow. A redheaded man, clearly Hugh's brother, but clean-shaven, stood arm in arm with a younger Isobel. A stand of blue spruces behind a low stone wall created a rustic backdrop. Side by side in front of the adults, two young children, both towheads, beamed at the camera. A young Shay showed off two missing front teeth.

“Shay was about Cor's age when that picture was taken,” Isobel said.

Bann studied it, then her. “The Doyle clan has beautiful women.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Trying to charm me?”

“Merely stating a truth. A truth for which I would use young Meggie as support.”

“Oh, you're good.” A look of respect flitted across her face. “Well struck, Bannerman Boru, using my granddaughter as a weapon.”

“A weapon? I dinna know we were at war, madam.” He let slip his brogue to fight for him. To remind her that he was
Éireann
born and bred, an old-school Celt in all the best ways, including being willing—
nay, eager
—to fight for what he wants. And for those he loves.

She must have picked up on his hint, for she leaned back and studied him with grudging respect. “Bann—” she started to say when Shay joined them, carrying a serving tray of drinks.

“Here, Mom.” She passed a glass of wine to her mother and a shot glass half-full of amber liquid to Bann. Her back to the sofa, she winked at him before turning to place the empty tray on the coffee table. “As
the mortals would say,
sláinte
.” She raised her own glass of whiskey.

Bann downed most of the drink in one gulp. Smoke and fire filled his sinuses. He noticed Isobel took a rather deep drink herself. Lowering the glass, she stared into its depths as if it were the Cauldron of the Tuatha Dé Danaan itself.

No doubt rallying for the next round
. Bann found himself suddenly weary of the game. He took another drink.
If she will not welcome me into her daughter's life, then so be it
. He wondered what the
real
reason was she did not want him marrying Shay.

As if reading his thoughts, Isobel glanced at the hallway, then leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “May I be blunt?”

“When haven't you?” Shay said under her breath.

Isobel ignored the comment. “Bann,” she began again, her gaze fixed on him in a manner that was so Shay, it was uncanny. “I respect Hugh's opinion, not just because he is our clan leader and my brother-by-law, but because he is one of the most level-headed men I've ever known. Ann, as well. They both sing your praises. And, yes, your bloodline is impressive, but—”

“Mom,” Shay interrupted her. “When are you going to let it go and just accept—”

“But—” Isobel raised her voice, overriding her daughter as she went for the killing blow. “My greatest concern is that my only daughter is marrying a man who was unable to prevent his first wife from being killed by the same monster that now threatens us.”

And there it is
. It took everything Bann had to not flinch. Instead, he saluted her with his glass. “Well
struck, yourself, Isobel Doyle, using the one weapon I cannot fight against. 'Tis true, I was unable to prevent Cernunnos from killing Elizabeth. Just as you were unable to prevent those
Amandán
from killing your husband. Would that both our mates be alive right now.” He straightened. “But would you have given up the love you shared with your husband, and the two fine children you bore him, to side-step the pain of losing him?”

Isobel sat in silence, gazing at the photo. The crackle of the fire and the boyish voice of Cor playing with Sam filled the room with an odd normalcy. A long minute passed.

Then Isobel sighed. “I would not. I treasure every day I had with Liam.” She drained her glass, set it on the coffee table, and rose. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped around the table and extended her hand to Bann, who put down his own drink.

He hesitated, then took it. “A truce?”

“No, a victory. For you, Bannerman Boru. You're right—in spite of the risk, I
do
want Shay to have the same happiness I had with her father.” She tilted her head, studying him. “And I have a feeling that you will do whatever it takes to make her happy and keep her safe. What else can a mother ask of her future son-by-law?”

Bann raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, looking at Isobel through his lashes.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Are you always such a flirt?”

“As needs be.”

“Shay?” They all turned when Cor appeared, jiggling from one foot to the other as he hesitated in the hallway entrance. “Um…”

“What's the matter, buddy?”

“Sam threw up on the bed.”

“Which bed?” Shay asked.

“Yours.”

Bann and Isobel both laughed. “Welcome to parenthood,” they said in unison.

Three hours later, and with his head buzzing from too much whiskey, Bann waited by Isobel's car as mother and daughter said their farewells on the porch. He opened the door as the woman walked down the drive. With a word of thanks, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine, then powered down the window. At her signal, he bent closer and rested his elbows on the open frame.

“I was dreading this evening, Bann,” Isobel said. “I was certain things were going to get ugly. And that you might cause a rift between me and my only daughter.”

“I see where Shay gets her honesty from. One of many traits I admired in her from the moment I met her.” He glanced over at Shay waiting by the front door. The porch light cast a halo around her head. “I could not help falling in love with her. But I must admit—she was first a friend to me and Cor. And, oh, did we sorely need one.” He looked back at Isobel. He was surprised to see the glint of tears in her eyes.

“And love founded on friendship makes a strong marriage—I should know. I now see why Hugh and Ann think so highly of you. And I
do
trust Shay's judgment. She seems so happy with you and with Cor.” She glanced at the boy standing next to Shay, yawning from being up an hour past his bedtime. Her face softened. “Looks like someone is ready for bed.”

“You are speaking of the boy, eh?”

“Funny.” She smiled and patted his arm. “I'll see you soon, Bann.”

“A safe journey back to Aspen tomorrow.”

Stepping away, he raised a hand in farewell as she backed down the driveway and drove off. The purr of her sedan faded when she disappeared around the corner of the cul-de-sac. With a sigh of relief, he raked his fingers through his hair, then dug his fingers into his scalp, massaging away the tension.

Shay joined him. “Well, that went a lot better than I thought it was going to.”

“Aye.”

After tossing a coin to see who would clean the kitchen and who would wrangle Cor into bed, Bann stood at the sink, humming to himself as he dried his hands. On the stove, the teakettle was whistling along with him. “Shay?” He called over a shoulder. “Would you care for a cuppa?”

“I'd rather have a stick,” she answered from down the hall. “So I can beat a certain boy who won't stop screwing around and get his
butt in bed
!”

“I'll take that as a yes.” He clicked off the burner under the kettle before the whistle could turn into a shriek. After pouring the hot water into two mugs
already set up with sachets containing an herbal tea of Shay's own creation, he let them steep while he gave the fire a final poke. The flames cast a warm glow around the room.
It never gets old
, he thought.
The simple joy of tea in front of one's fire
.

The sound of Shay's voice pulled him toward his son's room. Lingering in the doorway, he watched her as she sat on the edge of the bed and read aloud to Cor from a book. In his crate, Sam sat braced against the metal door, ready to go in case someone decided that they needed a puppy to hold.

“‘The beagle usually reaches maturity between the age of eighteen months to two years,'” she read. “‘A mature beagle will—'”

“What does ‘maturity' mean?” Cor asked.

“It means grown up.”

“Are you and Dad mature?”

“I am. Your dad is not.”

“I'm standing right here, you know,” Bann said.

Cor shared a grin with Shay. It faded after a moment. “Does Isobel like you now, Dad?”

Bann was blindsided by both the abrupt change in subject and the question itself. “What are you talking about?” he asked, knowing exactly what the boy was asking.
My son is nothing if he is not perceptive
.

Cor's gaze flickered from man to woman and back to man again. “She didn't like you at first. When we went to Hugh and Ann's house. Remember? But now she does, right?”

“She does, indeed,” Shay said before Bann could speak. She closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. “My mom likes Bann because he's a pretty special
guy. But she also likes him
, and you
, because I love him,
and you
, very much.” She tucked the covers higher under Cor's chin. “Does that make sense?”

Bann could see
that
new notion churning away in his son's head. His brows puckered for a moment. “But what if she didn't
ever
like us? Would you still marry Dad?”

“Yup.”

“Really and truly?”

“Yup.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what. You guys are stuck with me for the rest of your lives.”

And aren't we the blessed ones?
Bann thought.

E
ARLY THE NEXT MORNING
, Bann stood in front of the toilet, half-asleep and eyelids parted just enough to aim, relieving himself as quietly as he could. His painful bladder and pounding head reminded him how much he had had to drink last night. After flushing, he eased the bathroom door open.

The bed was empty.

My morning bird
, he thought. He pulled on a pair of sweats, sans underwear, and a T-shirt, then headed down the hall, his bare feet
shush
ing on the wooden floor. Pausing at Cor's room, he poked his head around the half-open door. A whiffling sound came from the mound of covers on the bed. Only a mop of dark hair poked out.
Late night for all of us
. Bann started to pull the door shut when a soft whimper from the crate caught his attention. He peered over. In the muted light of dawn, he could just make out Sam. The puppy was sprawled on his bedding, paws twitching as he harried dream rabbits into their burrows.
With his breeding
, Bann thought,
we should have named him Cú—the Hound
. He eased the door closed. The smell of fresh brewed coffee tugged him along by the nose toward the great room.

“You're up early.” Shay was curled up on one end of the sofa. Already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she had a throw tucked around her feet and a steaming mug cupped in her hands. The epitome of contentment. Her hair, still free of its customary ponytail, was draped over her shoulders and her face was slumber-soft. “I thought you'd sleep in.”

“My bladder had other plans. You wouldn't have some
slàinte
tea brewed this morning, by the way? That special kind?”

“Already left a cup of it cooling for you on the counter. Drink it all at once. Headache?”

“How did you know?”

“Check the level in the whiskey bottle.”

“There was some left?” He was quite certain he'd accounted for most of it during dinner.

After chugging the brew, Bann waited a few moments, then sighed in relief as the
bodhran
that had been pounding out a rhythm in his head faded. He poured a cup of coffee. Taking that all-important first sip, he lingered by the sink in his morning ritual and gazed out the window.

Fog surrounded the house, the underbelly of a low-lying cloudbank shoved up against the foothills. The rock formations on the other side of the back fence were dirty ghosts in the mist.
Snow later, I'll warrant
. He topped off his cup, wandered back to the living room, and took a stand by the fireplace. “Looks like autumn has finally surrendered.” He sipped again, then placed the mug on the mantel. Stretching, he arched his back until his spine gave off a satisfying pop.

Shay eyed him. “You should do yoga.”

“Yoga.”

“We could do it together.”

“Yoga.”

“Sure. I used to go to a co-ed class at the downtown Y. It'll help keep you limber.”

“Yoga.”

“Yes,
yoga
. And repeating it over and over with that look on your face is not going to make me stop.”

“What look is that?”

“The look that screams ‘hell will have frozen over enough for the Frost Giants to vacation there before you will find me twisted into a position that resembles a Celtic knot.'”