whatever daze he was in. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the boar. “How do ye think we should do this?”
“I think we should get to the sides of the gate and swing it open.”
“Then what?”
That was a good question, because it wasn’t like he could fix broken plants. “I suppose we replant everything uprooted, throw away the ruined stuff, and hope she has bad eyesight.”
Ciaran was still shaking his head. “Nae, I mean how do ye think we should kill the boar.”
“What? Why?” Bannon winced at the shrillness of his voice, but he couldn’t help it.
Apparently the pig shared his horror, because it chose that moment to let out another one of its banshee squeals.
“Because we need the meat.” There was a sort of desperation in Ciaran’s voice.
Bannon glanced down at the pig, and his chest tightened.
If they needed the meat—
Nope, he cut Timothy off. “I can’t kill it. I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“I’m nae asking ye tae kill it. I’ll do that. I just need ye tae scare it toward me.”
Sucking in a breath, Bannon blew it out in a sigh that made his overlong bangs flutter against his forehead. “I just… I hate hunting. It’s… messy.”
“Ye are the one who volunteered us tae do this.” Ciaran pinched the bridge of his nose, then pulled his sword from the scabbard on his back and rested it by his side.
Bannon frowned at him. “Would you rather I let your aunt continue to cry?”
Ciaran shuddered. “Nae. Ye are right. Sorry.”
“And technically I volunteered us to get the boar out of the garden and to fix the damage it did.” He glanced back at the disaster that was the garden and sighed. As much as he hated hunting, it was probably going to be easier than fixing the damage.
“We have tae kill it first.”
“Do we really have to?” Yes, he was whining, but he couldn’t help it. The darn thing was ugly, but it was still a living creature. He was going to have nightmares about the time his sire took him hunting.
Both of Ciaran’s brows shot upward.
“Okay, okay. I just have to work up the nerve. People on my planet only hunt for sport.” Bannon shrugged. “At least everyone I know only hunts for sport. I don’t hunt at all.”
Those brows hiked up higher.
With a long-suffering sigh, Bannon gave in to the inevitable. “Okay, fine, let’s do this.”
Ciaran smirked at him, shook his head, and opened the gate.
Fortunately the boar seemed more interested in the turnips than them.
Bannon followed him inside and closed the gate behind him. Here goes nothing. “Now what?” he whispered.
“Honestly, I have nae idea. I’ve never killed a boar with my sword before.”
“I still think we should go get a bow and arrow.” Or someone else to come and help Ciaran kill the thing.
Ciaran shook his head and started around the side of the fence, trying to get in the boar’s blind side. “Nae time,” Ciaran whispered back and pointed toward the other side.
Taking the hint, Bannon sidled over, trying to flank the beast. Damn, those tusks looked sharp. That tightness in his chest slithered down to his stomach and turned into a riotous mass of butterflies. “Why does it matter so much that Maggie doesn’t know it was in her garden? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s kind of hard to miss.”
Ciaran shrugged and continued to ease around to the side. He got all the way to the row of lettuce, when the hog finally stopped chewing and turned toward him.
They all froze.
The hog snorted and lowered its head. He eyed Ciaran and turned his body, squaring off.
Uh-oh! Bannon didn’t think, he just started waving his arms and yelling. “Here, piggy piggy piggy!”
The boar whirled around, kicking up dirt. Its tail twitched back and forth, and it let out a loud squeal.
“Shit.” The butterflies in his stomach suddenly felt as though they weighed ten pounds each. He should get out of here. Like… now. He took a step back and stepped into a hole. His sore leg twinged, and pain shot up his thigh.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Ciaran said.
“Didn’t I already say that?”
“Nae, ye said ye dinna like hunting.” Ciaran hurried his steps, easing closer to the boar. He gripped his sword with both hands, putting it in front of him, then looked up at Bannon and frowned. “Ye dinna have a weapon.”
Bannon gawked at him. He was about to die, and now Ciaran realized he didn’t have a weapon?