Tarryn handed Breen a cup of wine and a plate of cheeses and bread. “Eat a bit. There’s plenty where that came from. The cheeses Harken and Aisling—and Keegan and myself when we’re about—make here on the farm.”
“It’s good,” Breen said after she tried a piece. “It’s really good.”
“Cheeses from the valley are the best in all of Talamh.”
Tarryn turned when Morena burst through the back door. “The kids have run me to the ground, so I’ll beg for wine. Mab and Bollocks are on them now, and a few of the growns as well.
“Hello to you, Breen,” she added as she grabbed for wine.
“You’re wearing a dress.”
“As are you. I’ve been known to don one on occasion.”
She’d donned one of violet, like her wings, that stopped just below her knees. She’d paired it with tall boots of deep purple, and left her hair long and wavy.
She spotted the cake.
“Is that Marco’s? I’m having some.” She cut a generous slice, ate the first bite out of her own hand. “Well gods, this is brilliant. Here.” She broke off a piece and, to Breen’s surprise, fed it to Tarryn from her fingers.
“It’s all of that. Ah, Minga,” she said as the door opened again. “Come meet Breen, and have a slice of Marco’s cake, as you’ve never had better.”
“I will. I’ve dragooned some of the older children into the washing up, as we’ll need more dishes.” She walked to Breen, pressed her gold-dust cheek to hers. “The traditional first greeting of my tribe,” she explained.
“Minga is my dearest friend. She came from the desert world of Largus to Talamh for love.”
“And my love is now out in the field playing dice and telling tall tales. They’ll be sending a runner before long for more food, so be warned.”
She took the slice of cake from Tarryn, still smiling at Breen. “I’ve never been to your world, but I know there are places in it not unlike my own of golden sands and heat, and cities rising from it.”
“Yes. I’ve never actually seen. That is, I’ve never been. I’ve never really been anywhere until I came to Ireland. And here.”
“Not a traveler then? I’m not one myself, or not very much. I’m glad Og was. I met my love when he traveled. I must meet the one who bakes like a god. Introduce me, won’t you?”
Smoothly, Minga guided Breen out of the kitchen. And sent Tarryn a quick wink over her shoulder.
“Minga will ease her into things. Now.” Tarryn whipped off the cloth. “We’ve done our duty here, again. So, Morena, pry that fiddle from Harken and get the boy to dance.”
“I’ll do just that. I’ll clear a chair for you, Aisling.”
“No need.” She hauled herself up. “I’ve rested enough, and since this one wants to dance, I’ll oblige.”
The woman from yet another world, in her bold red dress, introduced Breen to a dozen people so their names and faces and words rattled around in her head.
Marco joined the musicians, somehow catching the rhythm and notes of songs she’d never heard. Having the time of his life, she thought, and since everyone was so friendly, she didn’t feel awkward.
Then Marco called out to her. “Come on, Breen, let’s do one.”
“You’re doing fine.”
But Morena shoved her forward, and people started clapping and stomping. Marco just grinned when she sent him a you’ll-pay-later look.
“We don’t know any Talamhish songs yet,” Marco, the natural MC, announced. “We’ll do one from our world. Let’s do ‘Shallow.’”
She tried to think of something else—something fast and quick and easy—but he’d already found the opening notes on his guitar. The room had already hushed.
When he began to sing, she tuned herself to him as she had hundreds of times before. So when it came to her part, she slid into it, stopped thinking about anyone watching or listening.
She barely noticed when Harken picked up the violin again, filled in some notes, and the mandolin player did as well.
By the time she hit the key change, it was only the music, and the pleasure of making it.
When they finished, voices twined, eyes on each other as the song demanded, the hush held another moment.
Then the applause erupted, and shot her back into herself so a flush rose up into her cheeks. But she saw Marg standing with Tarryn, saw the tears in Marg’s eyes.
Her grandmother crossed her hands over heart and, her heart in her eyes, held them out as if giving it to Breen.