Page 33 of Beer & Broomsticks
A reptilian smile twisted Loman’s mouth, and he looked from one man to the next, stopping on Ruairí. “Moira told me you’re the third part of the prophecy, boyo. I’ll be paying you a visit soon, don’t ya know.”
“Say when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Not without your magical backup, yeah? Foolish gobshite. You’ll learn not to cross me soon.”
“You’re sounding like a broken record.” Castor swept his arm toward the door in a grand gesture. “Do you want to walk out the way you came, or should I send you to hell?”
Loman was gone before another word could be spoken, and four of the five of them shared a relieved look.
“Sure, and I think you’ll be handy to have around, Uncle Alex,” Ronan said with a shaky chuckle. “Remind me to put you on me Christmas list.”
Castor didn’t laugh as Ruairí suspected, but gave Ronan a stern look, including the others in his sharp, sweeping glance. “As you probably already know, he’s as lethal as a pigmy rattlesnake and a thousand times meaner. All of you had better be on guard. His first order of business will be to take me out because he thinks to make the rest of you weaker. You’re not. Together, you can take him.”
Ruairí wasn’t so certain, but he didn’t intend to speak up and be the Negative Nelly of their group. “Let’s restore this place, or Bridget will do his job for him and murder us all. As it is, she’s likely to be salty about losing the night’s profits.”
CHAPTER15
Bridget pretended to survey the repairs with a discerning eye, hiding a pleased smile at how well Ruairí and his motley crew of warlocks restored Lucky O’Malley’s to its former glory after last night’s excitement.
“Well? Don’t be standing there like you’ve nothing to say,mo ghrá.You and I both know you’re itching to give me hell for something I’ve missed. Just show me what it is, and I’ll fix it to your likin’.”
Laughing, she stretched to kiss his cheek. “It’s grand, Ruairí. Simply grand.” Cupping his jaw, she smiled up into his surprised face. “Thank you.”
His brows snapped together, and he gave her a suspicious look. “Don’t be coddin’ me, Bridg. Tell me what needs done.”
“You’re too paranoid, ya are. There’s not a thing I can see wrong.” Her smile dropped and she gripped his hand and led him to a table. Once seated, she said, “You saved me. You saved the pub. And you put yourself in Loman’s path without a care for your own safety. Please, don’t do it again, yeah? You’ve no need to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not trying to prove a thing to you,mo ghrá, other than that I love you. I couldn’t walk away and let your business burn. Please don’t ask me to ignore anything that might make you happy. If I can make your life easier, I will.” He leaned forward and tipped up her chin. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you smile and the light come back to your eyes, Bridget,” he said softly.
It gave her an idea. “Anything?”
“And don’t I recognize that look.” Shaking his head, he said, “Go on, then. Lay it on me.”
“I want to find the Sword of Goibhniu.” When he opened his mouth, she suspected it was to argue, and she placed her fingers over his lips. “Hear me out. Yeah, and I’ve given this a lot of thought. If I can discover where that scrap o’ metal is hidden, I can end this thing once and for all. All I’ve to do is welcome the Enemy at the Gate, and I’ve an idea what that’s about.”
“Bridg—”
She winced at the warning tone and rose to her feet to pace. “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m not a green girl. I know it will be challenging, but I have to find it. I won’t only be restorin’ magic to myself, but to Eoin and Dubheasa, too.” She whirled back to look at him. His frustration was a palpable thing. “Will you help me, Ruairí? Please?”
“I’ve something to tell ya first.”
“If it will alter how I feel about you or impact my decision to restore the O’Malley magic, don’t,” she warned. “I don’t want to know if you’ve kissed a hundred Molly Maes in the last month.”
His lips twitched, and humor lit his handsome face. “A hundred? That’s ambitious, it is.”
She grabbed a pulpboard coaster off a nearby table and whipped it at his head. He caught it with a hearty laugh and rose to his feet to stalk her.
“Bridget O’Malley, you have a temper, you do.” The twinkle in his eye told her it didn’t disturb him in the least. “And I’ve a hankerin’ to tame the shrew.”
With a snort, she shoved a chair into his path and darted to her right. Anticipating her dodge, he went to his left, effectively cutting off her escape. He laughed as she grabbed a handful of coasters from the center of the closest table and flung them all in his direction as she made a break for it.
“Where do you intend to go now,mo ghrá?” His well-muscled arm slipped around her waist, stopping her flight and pressing her back to his front. Burying his nose against the sensitive part of her neck directly below her ear, he chuckled. “I’ve captured a wee faerie, and I intend to claim my prize.”
In their youth, he always likened her to one of the fae. Always teasing her about sneaking away from the faerie realm to tempt him. With a breathless laugh, she wiggled in an attempt to escape his embrace, and unable to break his firm hold, she asked, “And what prize will you be demanding of me, Ruairí O’Connor?”
Turning her to face him, he brushed her nose with his. “I’d request a kiss, but I fear you’re Niamh sent to tempt and trick me away. Maybe whisk me away toTír na nÓgon your white horse.”
“Hmm, and if I were? Would ya be comin’ willingly, then?” she asked with a husky whisper and a butterfly-light brush of her mouth across his. “Or would I have to find a way to tempt you further?”
