“I might have to sit down. I don’t want to wimp out on you, girl, but my knees are going again.”
Before he could, right on the road, a joyful bark sounded. Bollocks, topknot and little beard bouncing, bounded toward Breen.
“There you are! There you are.” With a laugh, she stumbled back when he leaped on her, every part of him wagging, from that topknot to the skinny whip of his tail. “Oh, you’re bigger. You grew on me. I missed you, too. I missed you so much!”
She went down on the road with him for kisses and hugs and rubs. “It’s Bollocks.”
“I figured. Jeez, he’s sort of purple, like you said. Purple Haze so maybe you should’ve named him Hendrix. Aren’t you something, puppy! Aren’t you something else all over again.”
Dragon forgotten, Marco crouched down. Bollocks rewarded him with a lapping tongue and wags.
“He likes me!”
“He’s the sweetest dog ever. Nan knows I’m here. He knows, so she knows. Come on. Let’s go see Nan.”
Bollocks ran a few feet ahead, wagged, waited, ran back and forth.
“That’s one happy dog. So, your grandmother. She’s what now?”
“Of the Wise. A witch, with a little Sidhe. She was taoiseach once.”
“So it’s got, like, term limits.”
“No, she gave it up, so there was another. And then my father led. Now it’s Keegan. I’ll explain.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He’s not here, and we want to keep it that way. He’s the Big Bad.”
She took Marco’s hand, turned on the road that led to Mairghread’s cottage. “So much to tell you.”
“It’s sure piling up.”
“She let me go, though it hurt her. After my father died, she sent the money my mother hid from me. And for reasons I’ll explain, but one I can tell you now—because she knew I was unhappy—she worked it out so I found out about the money. After that, the choices were mine. To quit teaching, to come to Ireland. And she made me the cottage and sent me Bollocks. He led me here.
“She loves me, in a way I barely remembered my father loving me. The way you and Sally and Derrick love me. For me. And she opened my world.”
“Then I guess I’m going to love her, too.”
Flowers pooled and spread, spicing the air with autumn. The cottage stood, sturdy stone under its thatched roof with its bold blue door open.
Mairghread stepped out, wearing one of her long dresses in forest green. Her bright red hair crowned her head. And with her misty blue eyes going damp, she laid a hand on her heart.
“You look a lot like her,” Marco murmured. “And she don’t look like nobody’s granny.”
“I know. Nan!”
Marg stretched out her arms as Breen ran into them.
“Mo stór. Welcome home. Welcome. My sweet girl. You’re well.” She lifted Breen’s face in her hands. “I can feel it, and see it, too. My heart’s so full.”
She drew Breen to her again, and smiled at Marco over Breen’s shoulder. “And it’s Marco, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome here, always.” She stretched out a hand for his. “My door is open for you. You’ve had a strange journey.”
She held his hand a moment longer as she studied his face, the deep, dark eyes, the tidy goatee, the anxious smile.
“A good friend to my Breen Siobhan you are, and a good man as well. I can see this, and thank the gods for it. Come in and sit.”
She led them through the living room, with its simmering fire and sofa plumped with pretty needlepoint pillows, into the kitchen.
“Kitchens are for family. We’ll have some tea, and didn’t Sedric bake lemon biscuits just this morning?”
“Where is he?”
“Oh, around and about,” Marg told Breen.
“No, I’ll get the tea, Nan. You sit with Marco.”
“Then I will.” Marg sat at the small square table, patted her hand on it so Marco joined her. “And you’re a musician.”
“I try to be.” He saw Breen in her, and Breen’s dad—a man he’d loved. “I pay the rent tending bar.”
“At Sally’s. Breen told me all about Sally and Derrick and their place of business. Sedric says they have good craic.”
“He’s been there?”
“The silver-haired man you thought I imagined,” Breen said as she measured out tea leaves from one of the jars on a shelf.