“Not today.” Her ears still rang from her head slapping the ground; her arm still stung from phantom claws. “Marco has work he has to do from the cottage.”
“So he can go do it, sure and he knows the way by now. You have another hour of training.”
“I’ll make it up.”
“We’ve got to get our party on,” Marco reminded him. “Girl’s gotta change her duds.”
“Why? She’s fine. You’re fine,” Keegan insisted. “It’s a ceilidh, not a palace ball.”
“Dude,” Marco said, with pure pity.
“I’m filthy,” Breen snapped. “And I smell like demon dust. So do you. I’m going back, having a really big glass of wine and a really long, hot shower. Deal with it.”
She turned, realized she’d completely forgotten Tarryn stood right there. “I’m sorry, Ms. O’Broin.”
“No need for that, and Tarryn, if you will. We’re not formal in the valley as you’ve noticed. I’d apologize for my son, but the fact is, he’s a man. So there you have it. We look forward to seeing you tonight, and I hope for a song from both of you.”
“Thank you. I’ll make up the hour,” she said to Keegan, and walked away.
“Well now, it’s off I go,” Morena said brightly, and took Blue’s reins. “I’ll be back with my dancing shoes on. Tell Harken to be ready for it.”
“Be sure I will,” Tarryn said, and as Morena walked the horse to the road, turned to Keegan, grinned at him. “I like her.”
“She’s likable enough, but—”
“She trains hard, Keegan.”
“And needs all she can get. Another hour—”
“Makes little difference in the whole of it, as you know. She’s not a soldier, mo chroí.”
“All the more reason she needs to … And you’re right, as ever. An hour makes no change in it.”
“And she was right as well. You smell of demon dust.”
Frowning, he sniffed at his arm, then had to shrug in agreement.
“You’ll have a scrub. But first, you’ll have an ale by the fire while I fix my flowers, and I’ll tell you a story of her that Marco told me.”
* * *
Breen would not, no matter how Marco wheedled, wear the fancy green dress Sally and Derrick had given her before the first trip to Ireland. Or the fancy shoes that went with it.
Not appropriate, she insisted as she poured her wine and Marco put his apples on the stove to cook.
While he set up for his meeting, she took the wine outside to sit in the fresh air. She put her feet up, sighed with relief as she watched Bollocks splash in the bay.
She sat, even when the dog came back to rest his head on her leg. Sat, even as dusk settled, as it deepened.
She finally stirred, reminded herself Bollocks needed to be fed and she remained filthy and smelly.
When she walked in, Marco stood in the kitchen pouring batter into a Bundt pan.
“Girl, I thought you’d gone upstairs! You’ve got to get your ass up there, get that shower. We’re going to discuss wardrobe after I get this cake in the oven and get my own shower.”
“We can discuss, but I’m not wearing the sparkly dress.”
She filled the dog’s bowls, then accepted the beater Marco offered. Licked batter from it. “God, that’s good. Musical bakery or diner, Marco Polo. That’s the answer.”
Though parties where she didn’t know everyone made her anxious, she forbade herself another glass of wine before heading up to shower.
She dealt with bruises under the hot spray, and realized tending to bruises and scrapes equaled another return to the routine of her life here. Add blisters she just noticed.
Archery sucked, she concluded.
By the time she got out of the shower, she’d mired herself in self-pity. And felt entitled. Even as she wished she could just drag on pajamas, pull out a frozen pizza, drink more wine in front of the fire, she did her duty and started on her hair and makeup.
No point in looking tired and out of sorts, she told herself. She’d stay for an hour, be polite and friendly, then slip away. Party-hearty Marco could stay as long as he liked—someone would bring him back to the cottage, or he could just bunk at the farm for the night.
She stepped back, studied herself, and decided she’d pass Marco’s critical review. Maybe just, but she’d pass it.
Her good black pants, a sweater, boots, she decided as she cleaned up the hair and makeup debris. She’d put on some earrings, maybe a nice scarf.