Текст книги "Stars of Fortune"

Автор книги: Nora Roberts

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“Do you think I’m so weak?”

“I don’t think that at all.” He swayed, had to catch himself, grip the bed to sit upright. “It’s only that—”

Because she worried she was weak, she picked up the silver-handled knife. “How do I open it?”

“All right then, all right. I need to stand.” He gripped one of the bedposts, pulled himself up. Fresh sweat popped out on his skin. “The candles on the floor, they’re three points of a triangle.”

She set them out. “Do they need to be lighted? Should I get matches?”

“Yes, and no.” He stretched out a hand, and the wicks flickered to life. “Stand behind me, and hold the bowl under the wound in your left hand, the knife in your right. When I tell you, you’re to draw a circle around the two punctures.”

“With the knife?”

“Not deep, just enough to break the skin. And when I tell you, you’ll open each puncture by carving them with an X. Sharp and quick now, and if you feel you’d hesitate, get one of the men.”

“All right.”

He gripped the bedpost with both hands, and stared at the candles.

“Whatever you see or feel, do just as I’ve said.”

He took a moment to steady himself, center himself.

“Airmed, Brigid, Dian Cecht, hear your son and servant. This pure light I offer you, one by three.” As he spoke the flames speared up, shone white as the wax. “Banish the dark within my blood. Within this circle, draw it clear. Now, Sasha, the circle.”

His fingers whitened on the bedpost as the knife point scored over his inflamed flesh. “I call upon you, power to power and blood to blood, till the black runs clear, runs true.

“As you will, so mote it be.”

He braced himself. “Open them, catch all that comes in the bowl. Quick and sharp.”

It felt as if she scored him with a flaming blade, both burn and cut sliced deep, and hot.

Then the fire was in him, a burning-hot wire through his blood. His skin quivered; his knees shook and wanted to buckle.

Her voice came through the throbbing in his head.

“Just hold on. Hold on. It’s nearly done.”

He focused on her voice—it quivered as well, but she continued to talk him through.

“The redness is fading. How much more?”

“Not done. It’s better, not finished, but better.” He could breathe now, and as the dizziness passed, loosened his vise grip on the bedpost.

“It looks clear now.”

“Nearly,” he told her. “Very nearly.”

“How will I know when—” The three candle flames flashed, a quick, hard burst of light, then glowed quiet. “Oh.”

“That should do it.”

“Let me get a towel to– You’ve stopped bleeding. Just stopped.”

“Well, three healing deities should be able to staunch blood if they’ve a mind to. Especially with some fine assistance.” He turned, took the bowl from her.

“It’s black. It came out black until . . .” It made her stomach roil to look at the blood. “What should I do now?”

“If you can manage it, you could coat the punctures with the salve. I can reach the rest. And that should take care of things.”

She took it from the top of her dresser, coated her fingers, spread it as gently as she could on the punctures. Then moved on to the scoring along his ribs.

“You should take this,” she told him.

“I’ll make more.”

“How long does it take to make?”

“A bit of time.” She’d helped him, he reminded himself, so he owed her honesty. “And a day to cure.”

Nodding, she took more salve, coated her injured arm with it, closed the jar, and then to his amused surprise, dropped it in one of the pockets of his cargoes.

“If I need more, I’ll ask for it.”

“All right.”

She looked at the bowl, the way his healthy red blood lay over the sick and black. “What will you do with it?”

“I’ve some ideas to work out. For now, seal it up. You’ve a steady hand, Sasha. And I’m grateful.”

“Then don’t be careless again.” She bent down for the candles, handed them to him. “I’m going to finish Riley’s painting, then I’m really going to be ready for one of her famous margaritas.”

“I could do with one myself.” He set the candles down, slid the knife in his belt, then picked them up again. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He started to the door, stopped to turn back to her. “I’ve never thought you weak, not for a moment. I hope you’ve stopped thinking of yourself that way.”

“I have.”

“I’m glad of it.”

He took his knife, his candles, and the copper bowl with poisoned blood and clean mixed to his room, then went back for the herbs and plants.

A day to cure, he reminded himself when he considered putting off making the salve.

So he cleansed his knife, sealed the blood. And got to work on the housewifery.

CHAPTER TEN

Riley mixed margaritas on the terrace, and considered playing bartender her kitchen contribution for the day.

Along with the full pitcher and glasses, she brought out her maps.

She poured the first glass, held up a finger while she sampled, then smiled. “Definitely. More where this came from,” she said, and sat. “I got us an RIB,” she began.

“What is that?” Sasha asked.

“Rigid-hulled inflatable boat,” Doyle told her. “How big?” he demanded as Sasha murmured, “Inflatable?”

“Twenty-eight feet, with a wheelhouse. My contact says she’ll do seventy knots.”

Bran considered the pitcher, decided why the hell not, and poured out glasses. “The friend of a friend of an uncle?”

“Not this time. Cousin of a friend’s husband.”

“Outboard?” Doyle asked.

“Yeah. Can you handle an RIB?”

“I can, and have.”

“Good, that makes two of us.”

“When you say inflatable . . . ” Sasha began.

“Fast, open—stable. It’s a good dive boat,” Riley assured her. “I can score us diving equipment, but we’re going to have to shell out some.”

“I can get shells, all you need,” Annika said.

“Pay,” Riley explained. “I’ve worked us a deal, but it’s not free.”

“I don’t know how to dive.”

“You’ll stick with me when the time comes. I figure we start with the easier-accessed caves, work our way up—or down. Can you snorkel?”

“I haven’t in years.”

“It’ll come back to you.”

As they spoke Sawyer studied Riley’s maps. “I’ve done some research on some of these caves. The easier accessed won’t be a problem, which strikes me as the problem. I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re after somewhere anybody can get into.”

“That’s a good point. But we should eliminate in any case.” Bran glanced around the table for agreement. “And practice as well.”

“What about your compass?” Sasha tried a sip of the margarita and thought Riley was right. Definitely. “Would it help with location or direction?”

Obligingly, Sawyer took it out, laid it on the map. Where it sat, still and quiet.

“Battery low?” Riley suggested.

“Ha. Usually it means I can’t expect miracles until I put some work into it.”

“It’s fair.” Annika nodded. “To deserve miracles, you must work, and believe. This is very nice,” she said to Riley as she drank.

“World famous for a reason. Okay, I can outfit us, get us going for the cost of fuel, oxygen, and a hundred euro a day. If that works, we can pick up the boat in the morning.”

“More than a fair price.” Bran deliberated over the maps. “I’d say we could explore and/or eliminate several of these caves in a day or two. Then move on to the less accessible.”

“Works for me.”

“Will you be able to dive?” Sasha caught the flare of annoyance in Bran’s eyes, simply pushed forward. “He was hurt more seriously than he told us. And there’s no point being angry with me. We’re a team,” she reminded him. “So the health of one is of concern to all.”

“What the hell, Irish.”

“Sasha’s not being fully accurate. It was more serious than I realized, and since it’s been dealt with now, there was no reason to bring it up.”

“Let’s see.” Riley circled her finger in the air. “Come on, show and tell. Nobody dives if they’re not fit for it. That’s just common sense.”

“Bugger it.” He shoved up, tugged up his shirt.

Annika made a sound of sympathy, but Riley rose, gave the healing wounds a careful look. “Okay, bitch got you good, but you’re healing. Next time, ditch the stoic.”

“It’s true what he said. He missed treating the one on his back—and it got infected, badly. And fast,” Sasha added. “We should use a buddy system if . . . if and when this happens again. Any of us might not see how bad we’re hurt until it festers.”

“Good thinking. We can pick up the boat at nine tomorrow morning. Is everyone in?” Riley got nods or shrugs. “Done,” she declared, and poured herself another drink.

*   *   *

Sasha opted to make it an early night. Battling gods in the morning, boxing lessons in the afternoon, margaritas in the evening, followed by putting together a reasonable meal for six could wear a person out.

And she didn’t want to think about the idea of strapping on an oxygen tank and jumping off a damn inflatable boat.

She got into bed with her sketch pad, leaving the terrace doors open so she could hear the sea. And unwound her crowded thoughts by drawing the olive grove, then amused herself by adding Riley and herself in boxing shorts and gloves.

She did a study of the blooming prickly pear from memory, and considered the idea of doing a series—small, square canvases—of local flora.

She drifted off, lights on, before she’d finished her study of a mandarin tree.

*   *   *

In her own room, Riley worked on her laptop. She toggled between research and journal entries. Knowledge was a weapon to her mind, and the more you knew, the better armed.

She had maps tacked to the mirror for easy reference. Some books she’d downloaded to her tablet, but there were many, a great many, not available by that system. So she had a pile of old books nearby, and had already made arrangements to send for others from her library.

The experience in the cave told her they didn’t know nearly enough. Yet.

Like Sasha, she’d left her terrace doors open, and enjoyed the sound of the sea mixed with the quiet snores of Apollo, who sprawled sleeping by her chair.

She had her gun, loaded and unholstered, within easy reach. And she laid her hand on it when a new sound—feet padding quietly on stone—joined the others.

Her hand relaxed again when Sasha stepped up to the open doors.

“Hey. Thought you were conked.”

“Bran’s room is empty.”

“He’s probably still downstairs. I had some work I wanted to . . . ” She trailed off when she got a good look at Sasha’s eyes in the wash of moonlight. “Oh, okay. Dream-walking.” She got to her feet, and Apollo stirred himself with a heroic and noisy yawn.

“Do you need Bran?”

“He should know. You should all know.”

“Absolutely. Let’s go find him.” She walked up to Sasha, laid a hand on Apollo’s head to stop him from rubbing up against her dreaming friend. “We can go down this way.”

“Yes, we’ll go together.” She looked at Riley, then walking with her, up at the sky. “The moon will soon be full.”

“Yeah, it will. Did you dream about the moon?”

“Not yet.”

By its light they went down the terrace steps, and together turned toward the sound of voices.

The three men sat at the long table, each nursing a beer.

No Annika, Riley noted. A men-only deal, which stoked suspicion.

“You boys talking sports and the stock market?”

Doyle gave her a long look out of hooded eyes. “You girls having a slumber party?”

“Maybe we’ll braid Sasha’s hair—when she actually wakes up. Where’s Annika– Okay, here she comes.”

“She’s dream-walking.” Bran pushed away from the table. “Be careful with her.”

“She came to me, when she couldn’t find you. You’re wet,” Riley said to Annika.

“I had a swim. Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong.” Very gently, Bran touched Sasha’s shoulder. “Did you want me?”

“I do. I have. I will. There are secrets here, each holds them. I will keep them, even from myself, until . . . She can’t see them. Though she wonders, and she watches. She watches even now, in the Globe of All.”

“The Globe of All?” Bran repeated, glancing at the cupped hand Sasha held out.

“It is precious to her, but is not hers. What is taken in lies and through bloodshed cannot belong. But it serves her. And we are there.” She cupped one hand above the other. “Caught in the globe for her to see.”

“Then she should see this.” Doyle shot up a middle finger.

“She will come. Your sword is needed. It will take weapons and warriors, but it will take wile and will, faith and fortitude. Unity that only comes through trust and truth. She watches.” She laid a hand on Bran’s heart. “Will you draw the curtain?”

“I can try.”

“There is no try, only do. Sorry,” Sawyer said immediately.

“Yoda’s never wrong.” Riley patted his shoulder. “Where should we look, Sasha?”

“Where no one has. She watches, but it waits. Its fire cold under the blue light, it waits, the first of three in the willing heart. She cannot see, and would drain me to sharpen her sight.”

“She won’t.” Bran clasped her hand in his. “I swear it.”

“She destroys what loves because she does not. And when she comes, death marches with her.”

“When and where?” Doyle demanded. “Can you see that?”

“I . . .” On a choked gasp, Sasha clamped her head in her hands. “She claws at me. Inside my head. She tears and bites. Draw the curtain. Oh, God, draw the curtain.”

“Wake up.” Bran gripped her arms, shook her. “Sasha, wake up.”

“Locked in. She locks me in.”

“No, you have the key.” He pulled her to her toes so her eyes were level with his. “You are the key.” He kissed her, not gently. “Use what you are.” He kissed her again, and light snapped around them. “Wake up!”

She sucked in air like a swimmer surfacing from deep water. When her bones melted, Bran scooped her up, then sat cradling her.

“You’re all right.”

“My head.”

“You came out too fast, and you will fight it. Just breathe through it. Annika, would you get her some water?”

“What happened? Why—” She broke off when she realized she sat on Bran’s lap, outside, and in nothing but a night slip. “Oh, God. Again?”

When she tugged the slip down her thighs, Riley let out a bark of laughter that sounded like relief. “Relax, you’re covered. If I’d been the one wandering around dream-walking, I’d be standing here naked. I’ve got plenty of aspirin, and a couple Percocet I hold back for emergencies.”

“I can see to it. Breathe,” Bran repeated. “And relax.” He laid his hands on her head, stroked, ran his fingers through her hair, took them over her forehead, back, over her scalp to the back of her neck.

“Put it in my hands,” he murmured as Annika rushed back with a glass of water. “It’s only pain. I can ease it if you put it into my hands.”

“I remember.”

“Good. Remembering means you’re not fighting it. The less you fight it, the less of an opening you give her.”

“The Globe of All.” She sipped the water. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. But,” Riley vowed, “I’ll find out.”

“She had it, in the cave. In her hand. Did you see it?”

“A glass ball,” Sawyer said. “I didn’t get a good look—a little busy—but there was movement in it. You said it wasn’t hers.”

“I don’t know whose it was, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll find out,” Riley assured her. “It’s what I do. Now what’s this about a curtain?”

“What happens when you draw a curtain?” Bran continued to rub Sasha’s head. “You block or hide things. I’ll work on that. Draw curtains, you could say, around us, so we’re not as exposed to her.”

“It’s better now. Thanks.” When she tried to get up, Bran simply held her in place.

“You’re fine where you are.”

“I can’t add more to any of this, at least not right now. I don’t understand half of what I said, and I’m too tired to think. I need to sleep.”

“I’ll take you up.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I need a few things from my room.”

He walked her up, held her for a moment in the doorway. “I can protect you, at least to a point.”

“What?”

“Charms and spells,” he said, and drew her back. “I’d want your permission for that.”

“To block her out.”

“As much as I can. The rest is for you. You are the key, Sasha. You are the master of your own gift.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. Yes. Blocking her out doesn’t just help me, it helps all of us.”

“Go on to bed then, and I’ll start drawing the curtain.”

He went to his room, gathered what he needed, got out his book. He made up two charms specific to Sasha. By the time he went back to her room, she slept.

He slipped a charm under her pillow, then lifted her head to fasten the stones he’d fashioned into a necklace on a thin leather cord around her neck.

It would serve, for now, he thought.

“The rest is up to you,” he whispered, and laid his fingers on her temple, murmured the spell that would give her quiet, dreamless sleep until morning.

Then he left her to do the real work of the night.

He found the others still on the terrace.

“Is she okay?” Riley asked him.

“Sleeping.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“A bit of this, some of that.” He stepped back to scan the house. “Big, bloody house, and we’ll need to cloak every door and window.”

“We can help. We want to help,” Annika said.

“For more usual protection, there are basic spells, chants, charms. But when dealing with a god . . . Still, you could help. We’ll cast a circle, but first we could use a broom.”

“Seriously?” Sawyer grinned. “You’re not going to like—”

He made a whooshing motion with his hand.

“I’m absolutely not, no. Two brooms would save time if we have them, and as I doubt we’ve a cauldron handy—I’ll be rectifying that soon—a large pot of water, three bowls. Glass or metal.”

While the others went to get what he needed, Bran went down to the lawn, set out white candles in a large ring on the grass.

He set the pot Sawyer hauled out to him in the center, crossed the two brooms in front of it, set out the bowls. Carrying his bag, he walked inside the ring.

“We’ll form a circle in the circle,” he said, and set the bag down. “You’ll need to clear and open your minds as best you can. And don’t break the circle.”

He glanced up to Sasha’s doors. “She asked for trust, so I’m trusting it’s the right thing to share what’s mine.”

He flung out his arms, and the white candles flamed.

Annika applauded, then hunched, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m apol—sorry.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s serious.”

“It is, but there should always be joy.” Now he held his palms up, elbows bent at his waist. “On this night, in this hour, I call upon the ancient powers. We cast the circle within this light, and here we make magicks white. I am your servant, your soldier, your son. All you bid I have done. These hearts and minds the fates entwined join here with me and cast together our destiny. As you will, so mote it be.

“Fire bright, candlelight.” Under the pot, flames sparked and lit. And the candles shot up white spears of light.

“Earth lift, air drift.” The ground under the bowls rose into smooth mounds. The crossed brooms floated a foot above the ground.

“Water clear, simmer here.”

As the water in the pot bubbled and steamed, Bran took crystals from his bag, closed them in his fists. When he opened them, he flicked the powder they’d become into the simmering water.

Vapor and blue smoke rose.

“Here I brew, here I make the veil of white, and all within are blocked from sight. Safe in body, mind, and heart.” As he spoke he circled the pot, circled a hand in the air that stirred the wind. “No power can this curtain part. And so all within remain concealed, my blood forms the seal.”

He took the knife from his belt, scored it across his palm. Flicked his blood into the vapor.

For an instant it washed red, seemed to pulse. Then it rose thick and white.

“So it is done,” he stated. He frowned down at his palm, closed his fist over the shallow wound.

“I feel like applauding myself.” Riley studied the floating brooms, barely resisted tapping one just to see what happened. “You put on a hell of a show, Irish.”

“In the immortal words? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He smiled at her. “Take a broom.”

She did, ran her fingers over the handle. “Feels like a broom.”

“Because it is. If you’d take the other, Annika, and you’ll sweep over every door and window.”

“Every one?”

Laughing, he patted Riley’s shoulder. “As I said, big, bloody house. Doyle and Sawyer, you’ll take a bowl each, fill it from the pot. And you’ll sprinkle a bit of water along windowsills and thresholds. Think of it as the base layer.”

As Sawyer did, Doyle took a bowl, dipped it into the pot.

“What’s your second act?” he asked.

Bran took the last bowl, dipped it. Then, holding it in two hands, smiled again. “I’ll be bringing the curtain down from above.”

So saying, he levitated, rising up over the lawn, then the house.

“I hate to repeat myself, but holy shit. In any language,” Sawyer added.

“He’s got more than he let on.” Considering that, Riley propped the broom on her shoulder. “Okay, Anni, let’s get sweeping.”

*   *   *

Though it was barely dawn, Sasha made her way down to the kitchen. She thought she’d make breakfast, as she wanted to keep her hands busy—and hopefully keep everyone else’s mind off the fact that she’d paraded around half naked the night before.

Very first chance, she’d invest in some pajamas.

She found Riley already in the kitchen inhaling coffee.

“I thought I was the first up.”

Riley kept inhaling, shook her head. “Ended up researching late, conked a couple hours. Woke up restless and itchy. So coffee. Figured I’d break some eggs or whatever for breakfast, but now that you’re here . . . ”

“I’ll do it.”

“Even better. Nice necklace.”

Sasha lifted her hand to it as she walked to the refrigerator. “I was wearing it when I woke up. I assume it means something.”

“Closer look.” Riley slipped a finger under it, studied the stones and crystals. “Research mode tells me these are protective stones. To, like, ward off negative thoughts and intentions—against you. Since it’s easy money Bran put it on you, I’d say it’s potent and aimed at Nerezza. How’s your head this morning?”

“It’s fine. I need pajamas.”

On a hooting laugh, Riley walked back for more coffee. “I don’t think the little number you were almost wearing had the biggest impact. Not that you weren’t fetching.”

“Up yours, Riley.”

“That’s the way. Plus, as it turned out, you were only the warm-up act.”

“What?” Sasha nearly bobbled the eggs she’d pulled out. “What happened?”

“Bran happened.” She leaned against the counter, crossed her ankles. “You know, I’ve seen all sorts of rituals, ceremonies, and seen some wild stuff in my line, but he topped all of it. We got bacon?”

“Yes. For God’s sake, Riley.”

“I’m hungry. No reason you can’t do the breakfast thing while I talk.”

“Can you work a juicer?”

“I can figure it out.”

“Oranges.” She pointed to the bowl. “Juicer. Talk.”

While bacon sizzled and the juicer whirled, Riley filled in the details.

“He . . . flew?”

“More floated. Annika and I are on broom detail—I confess I straddled mine once, just to see if it would take off. No luck. But every once in a while, one of us would hit, like, this little pocket of . . . dark. Just something like a shadow, but more tangible, then we’d hit it with the broom, and poof. All gone. And the other guys are sprinkling water, and this white vapor would puff up for a second. Wild stuff. All the while Bran floating up there with his bowl, and the vapor’s drifting down over the house. Like the curtain you said we needed.”

Riley poured herself a short glass of juice to test. “Good stuff. You really missed it, Sash. And my take? He’s got a lot more than he’s shown us.”

Sasha hesitated, glanced toward the doorway. “I’ve dreamed about him.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“I didn’t . . . not everything.” She’d spoken—or prophesized—about the need for trust, then didn’t give her own. “Out there, on the cliff, Bran and I. Standing there, in a storm. Lightning, thunder, the wind, the sea crashing. He called the storm. He holds the lightning like reins. And we’re together. I don’t just mean on the cliff together.”

“I get what you mean. Why does that worry you? Being with him?”

“Because I’ve never been with anyone.”

“I admit it’ll give you a minute thinking about sex with a sorcerer but . . . Whoa.” Riley stopped herself, turned fully around. “Anyone? Ever? At all?”

“Every time I came close—had feelings, thought I was close to someone—I’d do or say something that ruined it, and they’d step back.”

“First lesson—like the jab. Why are you to blame? Some of the time, sure. We all screw up. But every time it’s you? That’s bullshit and it’s annoying.”

“I’d be the one saying or doing it. I’d forget to be careful, and something would slip. Then I’d be an oddity instead of a person. Or at least an oddity as well as a person. And I’d feel their feelings shift away.”

“That’s on them. I’d say picking the wrong guy’s on you, but you’ve got to try a few on to see what fits. So, maybe you should try him on. You’re no oddity to any of us, and certainly not to Bran.”

“This doesn’t seem like the time to . . . try anyone on.”

“More bullshit. We could lose. I don’t intend to, but you’ve got to factor it in. Do you want to go out not knowing? Think about it,” she said as she heard bootsteps approach. “And cut yourself—and from where I’m standing him—a break.”

*   *   *

She could think about it, Sasha decided. She wasn’t sure which brought more stress. Thinking about being with Bran or thinking about riding in an inflatable boat, then diving under the water. They both gave her the jitters.

After breakfast, eaten in shifts, she packed sunscreen, an extra shirt, her sketch pad. Then stopped stalling and went to Bran’s terrace doors.

He glanced up from studying the contents of one of his cases.

“Ready, are you? I’m nearly.”

“I wanted to—to thank you. I found the little bag, the charm, under my pillow. And this.” She touched the necklace.

“They helped?”

“They helped.”

“This.” He stepped over, tapped one of the stones on the necklace. “Cobbled together a bit hastily.”

“I like it. I wanted to give you this.” Taking the leap, she opened her bag, and the sketchbook, to take out the sketch she’d laid inside.

His easy smile faded; his eyes sharpened as he took it. “When did you draw this?”

“Before I met you. It was one of the strongest dreams, recurring. I even painted it, felt I had to. I know things can be changed. A different choice, a different outcome. At least some of the time. And I realized by not showing you, I wasn’t giving you that choice.”

“And what of your choice?”

“I made mine. I guess I made mine by giving that to you.” Gathering her courage, she framed his face with her hands, touched her lips to his. “They’ll be waiting for us,” she said, and turned for the doors.

He closed them with a thought before she reached them.

“Do you think I need a sketch to decide if I want you?”

“I thought you should know that, just like the six of us being here . . . It’s all part of it. And you shouldn’t be bound by that, not for something so personal.”

Nerves frayed, she reached behind her, twisted the knob. “Would you open the doors?”

“No.”

“They’ll be waiting for us.”

“They can bloody well wait.” He crossed to her, laid his hands on the glass on either side of her head. “Nervous, are you?”

“You’re deliberately making me nervous.”

“You should be nervous. Be a little afraid as well, of what the man you drew is able to do.”

“You won’t hurt me that way, and I’m not helpless. Not anymore.”

“You’ve never been. My choice? That’s what you’re asking?”

He took her mouth, hard and fast, trapping her against the door with his body, letting his hands mold hers. “That’s my choice. That’s been my choice since you came knocking on my door, eyes dream-struck. It’s not your dreams binding me. It’s you.”

His lips came back to hers, but this time she held on, this time she poured herself into the kiss. “I’ve wanted you since before I met you. I want—”

She broke off at the pounding on the door. “We’re rolling!” Doyle called.

“All right.” But he kissed her again. “We’ll be finishing what we’ve started here, fáidh.”

“Yes.” The laugh fluttered up from her heart. “We will. But now you have to open the doors.”