“I broke a tree, didn’t I?”
He’d watched it shatter like brittle glass, into shards and splinters. “It could’ve been worse, entirely.”
“Yeah, it could’ve been. But I need more lessons, more practice.” More control, she thought, and more of the famous focus Branna continually harped on.
Then she looked at Boyle. The hard, handsome face, the scarred eyebrow, the tawny eyes with temper still simmering in them.
“You were going to fight it with a knife, with your hands.”
“It bleeds, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. Yes.” She let out one more cleansing breath. “It bleeds. It wasn’t expecting what I did, or could do. Neither was I.”
“I think neither of you will underestimate that again. Drink your whiskey. You’re pale yet.”
“Right.” She sipped at it.
“I think it’s not the night for dinner out with people.”
“Maybe not. But I’m starving. I think it’s something to do with expending all that energy.”
“I’ll throw you together something. I’ve a couple of chops, I think, and I’ll fry up some chips.”
“Are you taking care of me?”
“You could use it at the moment. Drink your whiskey,” he said again, then walked back to the kitchen.
Rattling pans, a thwack of a knife on wood, the sizzle of oil. Something about the sounds eased her frayed nerves. She sipped more whiskey, rose, and walked back to where he stood at the stove, frying pork chops in one skillet, chipped potatoes in another.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a fried chop, but wasn’t complaining.
“I can help. Keep my hands and head busy.”
“I’ve a couple of tomatoes in there Mick’s wife gave me from her little greenhouse. You could slice them up.”
So she worked beside him, and felt better for that, too.
He made some sort of thin gravy from the drippings, tossed some herbs in it, then poured it over the chops.
Seated at the counter, Iona sampled a bite. “It’s good.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t have a clue, but it’s good. And, God, I’m seriously starving.”
Her color came up well as she ate, he noted, and that slightly dazed look faded from her eyes.
She’d gone from glowing and fierce to pale and shaky in the blink of an eye. And now, it relieved him to see her slide back to just normal. Just Iona.
“He didn’t use the fog,” she said abruptly. “I just realized, he just—it just walked out of the trees. I don’t know what that means, but I have to remember to tell Branna and Connor—and Fin. And the jewel, the red jewel around its neck. It wasn’t as bright at the end. I don’t think. Was it?”
“I couldn’t say. I was more about its teeth, and the way you’d gone so white. I wondered if you’d slide right out of the saddle.”
“Never going to happen.” She laughed a little, closed her hand over his. And stilled when his turned under hers, gripped hard.
“You scared the life out of me. The fucking life.”
“I’m sorry.”
