She laughed, ridiculously pleased, when she turned the tiny corded bow into an elaborate one.
Marco picked up the box. “My BFF’s an honest-to-God witch. We gonna ride your broomstick to the party?”
“Clichéd much? Let’s go, Bollocks. I’m actually in the mood for a party.”
She brought light to guide them through the woods, with owls calling and Bollocks racing ahead.
“When I’m ready to go, you don’t have to. They can put you up at the farm—or in my room at Nan’s—if you want. Or someone will bring you back over.”
“We’ll see how it goes. No point thinking about leaving before you even get there.”
“Give me the cake,” she said when they reached the tree. “Go ahead, Bollocks, we’re right behind you.”
When they passed through, Marco put a hand on her shoulder to balance himself, then left it there as he looked across the road.
Light gleamed in every window of the sprawling farmhouse, and campfires dotted the field where the tents stood. Music poured through the air—from the house, from the field.
She could see movement behind the windows. People danced there, and on the grass. Others sat on the stone walls or on bales of hay with plates of food or cups or tankards.
“Now, that looks like a party. Sounds like a party.” Marco tugged her down the steps. “Let’s go get us some of that.”
It didn’t matter how many people （so many!） would be there, she told herself. Nan would be there, and Morena, and others she knew. All she had to do was find a safe spot, drink some wine with a friend, listen to the music.
Those seated on the wall shouted greetings as they walked to the door. Marco started to knock.
“They won’t hear it anyway,” he decided, and opened the door.
Warmth rushed out. The fire crackled, Harken sawed something lively on a fiddle while others played an accordion, a mandolin, a bodhrán drum. Kids sat on laps, babies bounced on them. People danced as if their feet could fly.
Through the melee, Finola hurried up to them. “There’s my handsome Marco. I’ll have a dance with you before the night’s over.”
“Only one?”
She laughed, patted his cheek. “And how pretty you are, Breen. Ah, Marg will be so pleased the dress suited you.”
“It’s wonderful. Is she here?”
“She is indeed, in the back now helping Tarryn with the food. Enough for two armies we have, and it’s good we do, as we’ve at least that.”
“I’ll take the cake back and give them a hand.” Having tasks generally put her at ease at a party. “Dance with Finola.”
As she walked away, Breen heard Finola ask, “And are you going to play for us, my darling boy?”
Try to stop him, Breen thought.
On her way to the back, Breen spotted a few familiar faces, and that helped, too.
In the kitchen she found Tarryn and Marg setting out yet more food, there and in the dining room, on tables already groaning under pots and plates and bowls and dishes.
Aisling sat, one hand on her growing belly.
“And here’s Breen now, bearing gifts. I haven’t seen enough of you since you came back.”
“I’ve been selfish with her.” Nan walked over, took Breen’s shoulders. “I’m so pleased the dress suits you.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” she said to Tarryn. “Marco baked a cake. I’m not sure where to put it.”
“Well then, hand it over.” Tarryn, looking resplendent in russet despite the cloth tied around her waist, came over to take the box. “Marco’s kitchen skills are already far-famed, so let’s see what we have here.”
Tarryn made room on a table and opened the box. “Sweet Brigid, the scent alone! And see how lovely.” She lifted the cake out to show it off. “If it tastes half so good, it won’t last more than a minute.”
“From personal experience, I can promise it tastes even better. He’s dancing with Finola now, but if we could save a slice for her and Seamus? He used their apples.”
“We’ll see to that. Marg, why don’t you tuck two slices away safe?”
“What can I do to help?”
“You can have some wine to start. No, no, you sit awhile longer,” Tarryn told Aisling. “The baby likes the music, it seems, and has been dancing in there all evening.”
“This one will be musical, I’m thinking.” Aisling smiled as she stroked her belly.