by Darby Kaye
Keeping his bloodied hand away from the child, he laughed when she grabbed hold of his torc and tried to pull it off. “You just let that be, missy. Time and enough for you to earn your own.”
After Shay cleaned and bandaged his hand, they headed downstairs. Meggie insisted that Bann bear her. Carrying her on his hip with her legs wrapped around his waist, he marveled at the delicateness of her small body. Was Cor like this? So fragile? Or it is just little girls?
Walking on the other side, Shay nudged him. “Well, you got the official Doyle seal of approval. Meggie is usually shy around strangers.”
He hoisted her higher. “I think I would enjoy having a daughter. A sweet, sunny girl.”
“Wait until that sweet, sunny girl turns fifteen.”
“I imagine she’ll be no more difficult than a son at that age.” Bann sighed as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Ye gods. Can you imagine Cor at fifteen?”
“Oh, he’s going to be a hellion of a teenager.” Shay sighed, too. “That’s when he goes from being our son to your son, you know.”
“Fleeing that bog already, eh?”
“Just planning ahead.”
Reaching the kitchen, they paused in the doorway. The spacious room was packed almost shoulder to shoulder. The clink of glasses accompanied raucous voices and bursts of laughter, as well as a few snarled insults, and the shriek of a baby protesting an overdue nap. The sound of more voices wafted through the open back door, along with the aroma of smoke.
Isobel appeared out of the crowd. “I see you’ve met my granddaughter.” She held out her arms.
“She’s a sweet colleen.” Bann handed the child to her grandmother.
The woman’s eyes softened as she took the girl. “Spoiled, you are, Meggie Doyle. Have your feet even touched the ground since we arrived?”
“Probably not.” A young woman, about Shay’s age, but shorter and more finely built, joined them as Isobel walked away with her precious burden. “Hi. I’m Jenny. Sean’s wife.” Wisps of glossy nut-brown hair, cut short, framed her delicate face. “I can’t tell you,” she said, taking Bann’s un-bandaged hand in both of hers, “how happy I am for you and Shay. Ann and Hugh can’t stop singing your praise. And I met your son just now. Neill was beyond excited to have another boy his age here at these clan gatherings—”
“Now, there’s a tall glass of why, hell yes.”
He glanced over Jenny’s head at the new voice. An auburn-haired beauty sauntered toward him, working her curves with each step.
“Laney.” Next to him, he could almost feel Shay grinding her teeth at the sight of her cousin, whose family nickname, Fast Laney, had become apparent two minutes after Bann had first met her.
Curling a lock of her hair around one finger, she tilted her head. “I hear congratulations are in order.” She looked Shay up and down. “I guess that love potion worked after all.” When Shay started to sputter, Laney laughed and moved on, making sure to swing her hips.
“Bitch,” Shay muttered under her breath.
“Pfftt.” Jenny flicked her fingers at the retreating woman. “She’s just jealous of you. She always has been, ever since she found out her cup size and IQ are the same.” Jenny gave them a nudge. “Okay, you guys go mingle—after all, this party is about you two. There’s more food and drinks are in the back yard. I’ll come find you shortly. And save me a seat for some girl time.” She took Shay’s hand and studied the rings. “I want to hear all the details about his proposal.”
“You seem very close,” Bann said as they began edging their way through the crowd.
“We are. She’s got a wicked sense of humor. Nice to have another girl in the family, since we Doyles tend to birth more boys than girls. Meggie is one of only a few girls in her generation.”
“Then we must do our best to produce daughters.”
“Might want to wait until we’re alone, big guy.”
“Killjoy.”
“Exhibitionist.”
They continued, being stopped by every other person to accept congratulations, or for another Doyle to shake Bann’s hand. After fifteen minutes, they finally made it to the back door.
More of the clan was milling about, most of them circled around a bonfire in the middle of the yard. Smoke swirled with each breath of wind. Near the fire, folding tables held an assortment of drinks and snacks. In the far corner of the spacious yard was a pig-sized patch of ground cleared of sod. Dirt was heaped in a flattened mound. Steam curled languidly from its top like a baby volcano getting ready for its first eruption. On the other end of the yard, half a dozen or so younger children played on the jungle gym. Bann spied his son and Neill engaged in a game of tug-of-war with Sam, using the leash as the rope.
Off to one side of the bonfire and away from the crowd, Bann saw Hugh handing a beer to another man with hair as black as a crow’s wing. Lean of face and with a whipcord build, the man wore a beat-to-Mordor-and-back-again jacket. A familiar greenish-gray dust covered the front of it, as well as his faded jeans. A hunting knife hung from his belt. At a word and a tap on the elbow from the clan leader, the man turned.
“Whoa.” Shay peered at the man. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who is that?”
“Gideon Lir. He rarely has anything to do with the rest of us Fey. He’s kind of a recluse—lives for only the hunt. He’s also one hell of a tracker. Ann told me once that years ago, Lir tracked down a pack of Amandán who had killed another Knight and his apprentice, all the way over the mountains and into Cripple Creek in the middle of a blizzard. He got every one of them, too.”
“That’s Gideon Lir? The Black Hand?” Bann studied the man, who was eyeing him right back. “The one you called an ‘arrogant son of a bitch.’”
“In a totally respectful way. And, um, let’s just keep that between us, shall we?”
“Bann. Shay.” Hugh waved them over. His smile split his beard as they approached. “Now, here’s a rare moment.” He beamed from one man to the other.
“Bannerman Boru.” Gideon’s lilt was as rich and green as a summer meadow in Éireann. “A right fine honor.” Sunlight winked off the gold torc around his throat as he held out his hand.
“More for me, Gideon Lir.” They clasped forearms, each taking the other’s measure before letting go. The faint gleam of approval in Lir’s blue eyes both pleased Bann and pissed him off at the same time. Who is he to judge me?
A voice replied in his head. Why, he’s the direct descendent of the legendary Gideon Black Hand. So deal with it. The last part sounded suspiciously like Shay’s voice.
Gideon turned to Shay. “Healer.” The Knight inclined his head, an old-fashioned gesture that Bann could tell charmed Shay.
“Céad mile fáilte, Gideon Lir. It’s been a long time.” Shay offered her hand.
“’Tis a pleasure to see you again.” His lean face lost its stern expression as he and Shay clasped arms, holding on a bit longer than Bann thought necessary.
“Lir was hunting a pair of Amandán,” Hugh said, “and those goblins led him to our neck of the woods. He smelled the smoke and came a-spying.”
“Hey, Hugh!” James shouted from the pig pit. “I think it’s ready.”
“I’m needed, it appears. Shay, Bann, do not let our fine Knight leave without sharing a meal with us.” He hurried away.
Shay touched Bann’s jacket sleeve. “I’ll get us some drinks. Coors okay?” At Bann’s nod, she walked over to the cooler sitting on the ground next to one of the tables and began shifting through the ice.
Gideon took a sip from his bottle. His eyes scanned the rest of the yard, taking in the other Knights, the children playing, then paused briefly—and appreciatively—at Shay bending over the ice chest. At Bann’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged an apology. “Sorry. Though you cannot blame a man.”
Bann started to protest, then barked a short laugh. “I suppose I best get used to it.”
“Aye, you best.” The Knight’s eyes danced with amuse
ment. “And Hugh said you are to wed?”
“Late November. On the last full moon.”
“May the Goddess bless your union. I understand you have a son, as well?”
Bann turned toward the group of children. “The dark-haired one with the pup. Cor? Come to me.” Handing the leash to Neill, Cor trotted over with a look of curiosity.
Laying a hand on Cor’s shoulder, he presented the boy to the other Knight. “My first-born, Cormac. Son, this is Knight Gideon Lir.”
Cor’s eyes widened as he sucked in a breath. “The Knight who made the Spear? The Spear of the Tuatha Dé Danaan?”
One corner of Gideon’s mouth quirked up. “Sorry to disappoint, but I am merely a descendent of that legendary blacksmith.”
“Oh.” Cor thought for a moment. “But do you have it?”
“The Spear? Nay, lad.”
“But I thought it belonged to you. Isn’t it also called Gideon’s Spear?”
“It is sometimes known by that name, but the Spear was lost centuries ago. Now, we must battle the goblins with only our wits and our blades and the strength of the Song. No magical weapons for us.”
Cor nodded, then added. “I know the Song. Dad taught it to me.” He pointed at the greenish ash powdering Gideon’s jacket. “Is that from goblins?”
“’Tis. A pair of troublesome Amandán will be troublesome no more.”
“I’m going to be a Knight and learn to hunt them, too.”
“Why, are you not one already?” Gideon tapped the boy on his right shoulder. “Perhaps hiding the mark of Knighthood under your clothing?”
Giggling, Cor shook his head, grinning up at Gideon, who smiled down at the young face.
“Run along now, son.” Bann watched as Cor sprinted away. His heart tumbled after the boy, as it always did.
“A fine lad,” Gideon said.
“Aye, he is. Do you have any—”
“I heard he killed the shapeshifter. A remarkable feat for one so young. A true Boru, eh?”
Sensing that he had touched upon a matter best left alone, Bann played along. “More than myself. Cernunnos caught me flatfooted. If it were not for my son and for Shay’s hound, I would be sleeping under stones right now. And, unfortunately, the shapeshifter has returned.” At Gideon’s look, he described the dog’s sacrificial defense of him and Cor, and the subsequent discovery that Max’s corpse had been possessed by the shapeshifter and was now hunting the surrounding area and killing members of the Tully clan.
“So. That would explain it,” Gideon said softly, as if to himself.
“Explain what?”
“I’ve hunted these foothills since the late eighteen-hundreds and have come to know these woods well. During the last week or so, I’ve noticed prints in areas where dogs rarely venture. And too large for fox or coyote.”
“Wolf, perhaps?”
“Doubtful, unless a pack has migrated south from Wyoming, which is highly unlikely. Now, I’m thinking from your tale that it must be Cernunnos. A fearsome adversary. More so than the Amandán.”
“It gets worse.” Shay joined them, a dripping bottle in each hand. She handed one to Bann. “The Tully clan has practically declared war on us Doyles, with Bann and Cor as their primary targets. They think he brought Cernunnos into our midst, which, as Bann said, led to three of their members being killed recently.”
Gideon’s face hardened. “The Tullys have been a blackthorn clan for centuries. And they bear me little affection. In fact, one member would drink and dance in celebration upon my burial cairn, then piss on it afterwards.” He shook his head. “You may have gained a foe as dangerous as Cernunnos. Weston Tully has a reputation as a leader who holds a grudge tighter than any lover.”
“No kidding.” Shay took a swig. “Three of them already tried something yesterday.” She told him about the episode with Sam. “We think they were actually checking out our home,” she finished.
“To test your defenses?”
“Could be. We’ve got some fierce wards up all around the property, though. So whatever they had planned, it wasn’t going to work.”
“Not while you’re safe behind those walls, Healer,” Gideon said. “But you cannot live your life locked away. Nor looking over your shoulder watching for the enemy.”
Shay’s very words, Bann thought. “Enemies. Meaning Cernunnos? Or Tully?”
“Unfortunately, both. However, I would suggest…” Gideon’s voice trailed off. He gave a short laugh. “Now, would you look at me? Offering counsel when I have, as the expression goes, no skin in the game.”
“You’ve more years of battle experience than this entire clan put together.” Bann swept his arm around the yard. “I would welcome your advice.”
“Then I would advise you to do as you did earlier—take the fight to the enemy.”
“Cernunnos?” Shay asked.
Gideon nodded. “You said, Boru, that the god himself acknowledged an inability to shapeshift. Which means he may be weaker at the moment. His death would solve a multitude of problems, eh?”
“Well, well. Wonders never cease.” They turned. Ann was sauntering toward them, her eyes fixed on Gideon.
“Annwen Doyle.” The black-haired Knight inclined his head.
“Gideon Lir.” She took his hands in hers.
“The years touch you not at all, Lady,” Gideon said in Gaelic.
Ann laughed. Releasing the Knight, she smiled up at him. “You are hopelessly old-fashioned, my friend,” she replied in English. “‘Lady’ is a title no longer used for a clan leader, you know. But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.” Her eyes twinkled. “Now, what were you saying about hunting down that monster?”
12
TRAILING A STRING OF “pardon me” and “sorry” behind him, Bann edged through the crowd of Doyles still packing the living room, even though the sun had set several hours ago. He broke free and stepped into the entryway, ears ringing from the din of voices behind him, all arguing at once. He glanced around. A half-dozen or so younger Knights, a mix of men and women, were seated on the wide stairs, drinks in their hands, talking. He noticed Rory and James, as well as Laney, among the stair-sitters.
Catching James’s attention, he called. “Have you seen Cor?”
James pointed up with his beer bottle. “Jenny took him and Neill to the upstairs den to watch television when she put Meggie to bed,” he called back. Rising, he murmured something to the young man sitting next to him, clapped him on the shoulder, then wound his way around the others and joined Bann. He nodded toward the living room. “They still can’t make up their minds, I take it?”
“A difficult decision.” Bann frowned. His head throbbed from trying to match Rory boilermaker to boilermaker earlier.
“Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, even after what those douchebags tried to do to Cor’s puppy. Look how many of them didn’t want to face the Stag Lord last month.” He grinned. “They missed out on all the fun. Oh, sorry.” Chagrin replaced the look of amusement. “Well, except for you getting gored. And what happened to poor Max. That wasn’t so fun.”
“It was not.”
“And now the Tullys seem to be gunning for the rest of us as well.” James shook his head. “Tribal warfare. It’s so…so medieval.”
“Which is why they’re still discussing it. There are enough older Knights here who had parents and grandparents who lived through the horrors of clan conflict and what it did to our people century after century.”
James shrugged. “We’ll just have to be more covert about it this time. Of course, the death of the shapeshifter would solve everything. If the bastard would stay dead this time.”
Nodding absently, Bann thought back to something Gideon Lir had said just before he left to chase the sun home, in spite of Ann and Hugh’s insistence he share a meal with them.
“Be mindful if you and the Tully clan do begin a war,” the Knight had cautioned them. “’Twas our warfare that brought our existence to the notice of
the mortals in Éireann, which led, in part, to our exile from our homeland. You would not want a repeat here in Colorado.” He had paused, then offered his phone number to Shay. “Ring me if there be a need.”
“Not that we’re ungrateful for the offer, but why?” Shay had asked as she entered his number into her phone.
Gideon had shrugged. “I have my reasons.”
“Dad?”
Bann looked up at the boyish voice. Cor fidgeted on the top tread, jacket on and Sam in his arms. The leash dangled from the puppy’s harness.
“Sam needs to pee.”
“Come along, then.”
Cor put a squirming Sam by his feet. The Knights grinned as they all shifted to either side, letting boy and pup hurry down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, Cor grabbed the trailing leash, then he and Sam raced to the kitchen.
“Fiona and I’ll watch them if you want, Bann.” Rory rose and offered his hand to the young woman from the porch earlier.
“Boru!” Hugh hollered from the living room.
Bann noticed the voices had quieted. “Thank you, Rory.” With a nod, he walked back, James on his heels.
Waiting by the back door, Cor locked and unlocked the deadbolt in a rhythmic series of click-clunks. Still on the lead line, Sam circled, winding the leash around the boy’s ankles and sniffing the floor in a manner that told Cor his pup—it was always his pup when Sam did something wrong—was one minute away from release. “Hold on, Sammy. Dad’s coming.”
Stepping free of the coil, he looked up in surprise when Rory and a woman appeared, both wearing jackets. The woman’s hair was a brown mane of curls held away from her face with a wide headband. It reminded Cor of the hairstyle worn by the Irish step dancers his father always made him watch whenever they appeared on television. He never told his dad that the reason he had broken the lamp in his old bedroom was that he had tried dancing like that once in the privacy of his room. A high kick had sent the nightstand and the lamp crashing to the floor. Cor had never tried again. His biggest fear was that Dad might actually make Cor take dance lessons. He shuddered at the thought.