Bollocks let out a yip, and Morena came in. “What’s all this? Why is there crying?”
“Celebratory crying,” Marco told her. “Breen finished her book.”
“Oh, well now, that’s brilliant.” She met Breen’s anxious eyes. “And all’s well.”
“I just told Breen I know there’s stuff you can’t tell me. Bollocks and I can take a walk.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Morena told him. “But there’s no need. All’s as it was two days ago, as that’s how long it’s been since you’ve come. So I’ve come to you.”
“Good timing, because we’re having mimosas.”
Now she grinned at Marco. “I know that drink. It’s putting champagne in orange juice, and I’ll have one and lift it to our storyteller. Can I read it?”
“It’s not finished-finished. I have to—basically, I have to go through and make it better.”
“Then you will, and we’ll drink again when you do.” At home, Morena took off her cap and jacket. Then sniffed the air. “And what is that amazing smell?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs.” Marco moved to the kitchen to give the pot a stir before he went for the champagne. “You should come to dinner. Hell, I got enough for a small army. Bring Harken, and if Keegan gets back, it’s a party.”
“I wish I could, believe that, but it’s best Harken and I stay in Talamh for now.”
“Because of the stuff you can’t tell me.”
“Let me say this, as Breen would be more careful about it—”
“Morena.”
“I know what I’m about.” She walked into the kitchen as well to sniff at the sauce. “Oh gods, that’s a miracle in a pot. The taoiseach formed a council here in the valley, and Breen and I are on it, and we’re sworn not to speak of what’s what there unless given leave.”
“Okay.” With his bartender’s hands, Marco opened the champagne with a happy little pop. “You’ll tell me when I can help.”
“No question of it.”
“Something’s up with you, too.” Frowning, Breen studied Morena’s face. “I can feel it, but it’s not—it’s not what we can’t talk about.”
“Nothing about that, no, and I’ve been waiting for the pair of you to come over so I can tell you. And bloody talk to you, but you don’t.”
Marco paused in the act of shaking a bottle of orange juice. “Is it good or bad? I have to know these things.”
“Well, it’s good. It’s passing strange still, but good. I was ready, you see. It was the council meeting that had me realizing it.” She wandered back out of the kitchen, in again. “And he knew it, of course. He knows my moods better than I do half the time, which is annoying and, well, comforting, I suppose. So there you have it.”
“What?” Marco set down the bottle, threw up his hands as Breen smiled and started crying again. “Give me a freaking clue here.”
“We’re pledged, Harken and me. You’d say engaged on this side, though our way of it makes more sense, I’m thinking.”
Before Breen could move in to hug, Marco grabbed Morena off her feet. “Girl!” He swung her, as he had Breen—and started the dog up again. “A Christmas wedding? Man, I love Christmas weddings.”
“No, not winter,” she said as Breen wrapped her arms around both of them. “I want spring, and the light, and the blooms, and the promise. Ah, fuck me, I’ve lost my mind and I’ll be a farmer’s wife.”
“You’re perfect for each other. Just perfect,” Breen exclaimed. “And you’re right about spring, because that’s hope and promise, and it’s a sharp stick in Odran’s ugly eye.”
“I nearly went mad waiting to tell you. When I told Nan and Grandda, Grandda went straight to the farm, claiming he was going to grill Harken like a trout over keeping me happy. Which he didn’t, of course, as he loves Harken like his own. Nan cried, then flew into a flurry of talk about dresses and flowers and such, and now is in the mirror with my ma, or they’re sending falcons winging back and forth with plans. And I’ll leave all that to them, as they’ve earned it, and will be better at it than I could be.”
She took a breath. “Now I’m babbling, but I want to say if either of you, who’d be better as well, want to put your thoughts into it, you’re welcome to. And with tradition, when we wed, you have a friend or friends stand with you when you make your promise and join your lives. So you will, won’t you?” she said to Breen. “My oldest friend, and you, Marco, as Breen made you mine and me yours. You’ll both stand with me?”