Page 16 of Beer & Broomsticks
“Misunderstanding? Yeah, and I’d like to be enlightened, but I’m talking about our da disappearin’ when the twins were justweens. She’s had to be both mother and father to all of us. And ya should already know Bridget doesn’t take her responsibilities lightly.”
Ruairí removed a handful of crisps from the bag Carrick nudged his way. “I hadn’t considered the disappointments she faced after your da was gone. But yeah, I broke her trust when we were barely out of nappies ourselves. Instead of thawing, her heart became firmly encased in ice after a time.”
“If my sister is treating you with caution, she’s a reason. I’ll tell you true, be honest with her in everything. Don’t give her another reason to doubt you, because if she catches you out in a lie, she’ll wipe her hands of you.”
Unease stirred in the pit of Ruairí’s stomach. He’d created the scavenger hunt to spend more time in Bridget’s company, but would she see it as another of his games? An unforgivable lie?
“What aren’t ya tellin’ me, man?” Carrick’s steady stare was unnerving. As if he could see right into Ruairí’s brain and had already detected the deception.
He glanced behind him toward the stairs to make sure they were alone, then laid out his plan of action to Bridget’s brother. The amused gleam in Carrick’s bright green eyes convinced Ruairí all his plotting was harmless enough.
“Yeah, you’re a dead man, but only after she takes a pound of flesh. It’ll be some craic to see how this plays out.” Whistling, Carrick took his plate and headed for the door.
“Why don’t you eat yourownfecking food?” Ruairí called out. “I’ll not save you if Bridget takes a piece ofyourhide.”
As the words left his mouth, he felt Bridget’s presence behind him. Her light laugh swept over him a second before she touched him, and he almost swallowed his tongue when she rubbed a small circle over his lower back. After their breakup, Bridget had never willingly touched him other than to flick his ear or tug his hair if she considered him unruly in her pub. That she was doing so now was shocking. Heaven and hell rolled into one because he doubted she meant it as more than a friendly gesture. Certainly not the affection he craved and read into.
“He’s been raiding our kitchen since he moved out,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’d think, with as much as he makes off those ridiculous books of his, he’d have enough to stock his own pantry.”
“Your cooking is far better than mine, Bridg,” Carrick said.
“Sure, and you’re telling me your woman doesn’t know how to cook? I’ll say you’re a fecking liar.” She shook her head at her brother’s retreating back and took down two plates. With an arch look at Ruairí, she said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting me to make you lunch, too?”
“I can go scrounge up my own, if it’s a bother.”
“It’s all in the price of your stay, but if you go next door and grab us a couple of pints, I’ll apply the family rate.”
With a chuckle, he left to go draw two pints of Granny O’Malley’s specialty brew. From all the hours he’d spent nursing a drink and watching her from afar, he happened to know Bridget preferred her granny’s beer to anything else.
Halfway down the alley to the pub, he experienced a bone-deep chill. The flesh on his arms formed goosebumps as the hair on his body shot straight up to attention. A tidal wave of cold intent slammed into him, and for a split second, he floundered. He turned in time to see his cousin Moira plunge a knife downward.
Acting on instinct, he jumped to the side and blasted her in the face with a gale-force wind. Her weapon clattered to the ground as she lifted her arms to protect herself from the icy sting of his counterattack. Moira’s outraged cry was piercing enough to attract attention from the residents of the Black Cat Inn, and Bridget charged into the fray with a rolling pin and a severe look of determination. If he hadn’t loved her before, he would definitely have fallen for her in that moment.
Ruairí quickly kicked the blade in Bridget’s direction then waved a hand, producing a protective barrier between the two women. The second Bridget realized he’d effectively halted her progress, her cheeks reddened with temper. Had the threat of Moira not been so dire, he’d have laughed and enjoyed the scene, making sure to tease her. As it was, he couldn’t remove his concentration from his cousin for longer than an instant or he’d receive a pick ax to his brain as a reward.
“Begone, Moira. You’ve no business with the O’Malleys anymore,” he warned in a frosty tone.
“There you’d be wrong, Cousin. I’ve every business here. Not just with them, but with you as well. And if not me, then you should be expecting a visit from Uncle Loman for certain.” She sneered her disgust. “You’re a traitor to the name O’Connor, is what you are.”
“And you’re a mad cow without an ounce of sense,” he countered with a disdainful sneer of his own. “I’ll not let you hurt Bridget or anyone else. Not again.”
A sly smile curled her lips, and she cast a glance sideways, taking in Bridget, who was helpless on the other side of the barrier. “That’s the way of it then,” she said with a hard laugh. “It’s thanks I’ll be giving you for helping me solve the last of the riddle.”
“I’ve not helped you with shite,” he snapped.
“But you did, Cousin. You showed me exactly who the last line of that bloody prophecy was about. You and the bitch. I’ve only to remove one or the other, and the magic reverts back to us.”
Ruairí’s lungs locked up, making breathing difficult, and his blood turned to sludge in his veins, causing his pulse to throb in a fierce manner. Outwardly, he remained unmoved—a trick he learned early on in dealing with his evil-incarnate family. “You can play guessing games all day long, Moira, but you’ll not solve the riddle, nor will you stop what is meant to be. And you’re a fool if you believe you can halt a prophecy in motion.”
A snarl formed on her lips, and her blue eyes turned stormy. Her hands curled into claws as if she were eager to use them to remove the flesh from his bones. “You may think you can, but you’ll not stop Loman O’Connor. All of you combined are no match for him. And don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
In a blink, she was gone.
Ruairí met Bridget’s wary gaze across the distance before snapping his fingers to dissolve the barrier. There was nothing to be said about the incident, not between them. Moira had said it all. “Go back to the inn,mo ghrá. I’ll get our pints.”
CHAPTER7
When Ruairí returned to the kitchen, Bridget was sitting at the table, unnaturally silent. Wordlessly, he placed a pint in front of her and sat down where she’d set a place for him. He was eaten with curiosity as to why she was so quiet, but she’d tell him her thoughts when she was ready.
