Page 51 of Beer & Broomsticks
Bridget bit her lip to conceal a smile, but Castor didn’t bother to hide his amusement, and his laughter boomed out as he clapped Ronan on the shoulder and gave him a little shake. They all treated it as if it were a cause for grand entertainment, but Ruairí knew well Ronan’s internal struggle to do the proper thing.
He’d been programmed at a young age to do dastardly deeds, and as an adult, he had to fight the influence of years of conditioning. It wasn’t to say he wasn’t naturally kind, but perhaps that was why he’d sought oblivion in the arms of Rebecca Walsh-Thorne, Hoyt Thorne’s beloved wife and the mother of Cian’s wife, Piper. As a gifted doctor and surgeon, Rebecca had likely recognized Ronan had a deeper wound that needed healing. She would’ve taken one look at his angelic face and battered soul and decided to be the balm his hurting spirit needed.
“You seem awfully contemplative of a sudden,” Bridget said in an aside. “What is it?”
“I’m worried about Ronan.” Ruairí nodded to the goddesses in deep conversation with his cousin and Damian.
“You don’t think he’ll do the right thing, then?”
“Oh, I do, to be sure, but he’s conflicted.”
“Loman’s influence, I’m assumin’.”
“Aye.”
Bridget’s thoughtful stare caused sweat to pool at his lower back.
“What?”
“You’ve never given in to the pressures of your family, Ruairí, or not that I’m aware of at any rate. Why?”
“I had you,mo ghrá.The memory of your smile, your laugh, your faith in me, yeah, those images got me through the worst of the abuse. I clung to every moment we’d spent, and I had hope for the future. Ronan had none.”
“Yeah, and that makes his deceit seventeen years ago more understandable, doesn’t it?” she said absently as she studied Ronan from across the distance. “He needed you as you needed me.”
“Yeah.”
She turned tear-bright eyes on him. “I’m sorry either of you ever had to go through what you did. No child should suffer so.”
And her caring for two men she should be happy to see the last of was what made Ruairí love her to the extent he did. One moment, she could easily put a man in his place, and in the next, her kindness to a stranger was humbling.
“No, they shouldn’t.” At the age of three, he’d been locked in a damp, dark closet after it had been discovered Ruairí had made friends with the girl next door. He’d been talking to her through the slats of the gate between their two properties when his da caught him. The memory of that dank hole made him shudder whenever he recalled it. “I still hate pitch-black nights and wake from dreams in a sweat. I can only imagine what Ronan suffered at the hands of his father, who was the worst of men.”
The shout of “Guardian!” drew their notice.
“Feck no! Keep your bleedin’ magic,” Ronan said, complete disgust heavy in his tone. “I’ll not guard a tomb.”
They all sucked in a collective breath at the blatant disrespect for the Goddesses’ gift, letting it out again only when Anu laughed and Isis smirked.
“It looks like I won that bet,” Anu said with smug satisfaction.
“Who knew he’d be so difficult?” Isis countered.
Hands went up around the room, and both deities laughed.
Ruairí and Bridget shared a relieved look.
“What’s he talkin’ about? Do you know?” he asked her. While Bridget didn’t have any magic of her own, she knew a lot of talented witches and had been a member of a coven for years until she stopped attending because of her overall sadness that she’d never be able to practice as they did. Ruairí trusted her knowledge.
“Guardians are one step below the Aether on the magical ladder,” she explained. “But they’re always tasked with the difficult jobs. The last two of their kind were to watch the tomb of Isolde de Thorne and take action should she waken.”
Ruairí’s brows shot up. “The Enchantress?”
“Yeah, one and the same, and wake she did. The male Guardian was killed in the process, and the other, his wife, followed him not long after.” She shrugged. “And as far as I know, there’s been none to take their place… until now.”
“But if she woke up, what tomb is Ronan to watch?”
Bridget gave him an exasperated glare. “Sure, and how am I to know that? I’m just learnin’ he’s to be a Guardian, aren’t I?”
