and handsome, from dreams.
“Odran didn’t send his best.” Then he shifted his gaze to Breen with the same look of mild disdain. “Her?”
“I’m grateful to you, Keegan, so don’t be a git and spoil it. My girl’s had a shock and a spill, and I’m keen aware it would’ve been worse if you hadn’t come when you did. Breen, this is Keegan O’Broin.”
“You have a dragon.”
“We have each other. Can you stand?”
She wasn’t altogether sure, but when he held out a hand, she decided she’d feel less idiotic on her feet than sitting on the ground with the dog making worried whines and licking her face.
He hauled her up, then gave Bollocks a kinder look than he’d given her.
“And who’s this then? One of Clancy’s litter?”
“He is, and Breen’s now.”
“You failed at guarding.” But he gave Bollocks a quick, careless rub. “You’ll have to do better next time.” He looked back at Marg. “So will she.”
“The girl’s had no time,” Marg began.
“I’m standing right here, but I can walk over that way if you’d both like to talk behind my back awhile.”
“Well, some spine anyway, so we’ll see.” Dismissing Breen again, he looked up. “Mahon shouldn’t be far behind me, and he’ll see you safely home. This one was likely an opportunist, as Odran wouldn’t send such a poor swordsman. I’ll take care of what’s left of him.”
“You’ve been gone more than a fortnight. Will you be staying for a time?”
“As long as I can. I’ve missed the homeplace. And here’s Mahon now.”
“Ah, Aisling and the children will be happy to have him home.”
With wings the color of aged mahogany and hair of the same hue in dozens of braids, the faerie glided through the sky.
“Will you need help getting this one back in the cart?” Keegan asked Marg.
“Oh, for—” Insult completely overrode lingering fear and continuing wonder. “Bollocks!” Breen snapped, and started for the cart. Her ankle twinged, but she refused to limp.
“Bollocks?” Keegan repeated with a hint of humor.
“That would be the dog’s name, and leave off poking at the girl, Keegan. What happened here is my fault. It’s mine.”
She walked after Breen before Mahon dropped lightly to his feet.
“You flew off like a gale and nearly sent me into a spin,” Mahon complained. “And more, it looks as if I’ve missed the fun. A dark faerie, was he?”
“One of Odran’s, as he had Marg’s granddaughter a foot or two off the ground when I got to them. And her, kicking and screaming like a tot having a tantrum.”
“The message Aisling sent said she’d come through.”
“And nearly had herself taken off again. See them home safe, will you, Mahon, before you take yourself home.”
“I will, of course.”
Keegan stepped over, picked up the head by the hair, tossed it beside the body. “Cróga! Lasair,” he said to the dragon.
With a rumbling roar, Cróga spewed fire. And the power of it turned the remains to blackened ash. At the sound, Breen looked back, and he realized by the way the color drained from her cheeks, he should have waited until they were out of sight.
Well, no help for it now.
“You might’ve been more delicate,” Mahon commented, then strolled over to the cart. “My lady.” Despite the formal term, he leaned in to kiss Marg’s cheek. “I’m sorry you had trouble, and here, at a holy place. And I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“You’re a one, Mahon. Breen’s my granddaughter, as you well know. And, Breen, here’s Mahon Hannigan.”
“I’ve met your family.” Because she could smell the smoke, Breen spoke carefully so her voice didn’t shake. “Your children are adorable.”
“And a handful with it. Are you well enough to travel, my lady?”
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I’ll be seeing you safely home again, so not to worry.”
His wings spread, and up he went. Breen forgot to be astonished.
After Marg clicked to the horse, after they’d gone beyond the stench of burning and smoke, Breen turned to her. “I need answers.”
“You do, aye, you do. This, what happened, it’s my fault.”
“Before we get to that, I want to get this out so I can stop thinking about it. That man was riding a dragon.”
“Such creatures are lore and legend in your world, but a part of this one. I asked none come near for a while, as I thought you . . . You had so much coming at you, and I thought . . . I was wrong. I’ve been wrong, and you might have paid dearly for it.”
“He’s Aisling