"I wonder where the Saunier came from, then," Declan said idly.
Tara raised a finger to indicate she had the answer. "Her mom is French, so she uses her mother's maiden name professionally, probably because she thinks a French name is more fashionable."
"Ah, well, I'm not sure I can fault her for that," Declan admitted. "So she's a legitimate designer?"
"Seems to be, but not like a big name or anything. I'm not even sure she's a small name, honestly. I couldn't find anybody famous wearing her stuff, anyway. But boy does she have a real obsession with natural materials. Which, like, that would be fine if it was linen or something, but she's into real fur and feathersand things, but not reclaimed materials. She wants it new, and her site says 'only the best will do,' but it doesn't feel like that's what's driving her. It has a status symbol vibe, you know?"
"I do," Declan said thoughtfully. "Tell you what, when we get out there I'll text the lads and see if anyone can join us, but in the meantime—" He broke off, suddenly looking dismayed. "I'm going to have to spend half the day as a peacock again, aren't I? That's not how I want to spend my time with you!"
An odd combination of joy and dismay tangled through Tara. Shealsodidn't want to spend their time together with him as a bird, no matter how handsome a bird he might be. But the knowledge thathedidn't want to spend their time that way made her oddly happy, like it was verifying the attraction and even the affection she felt for him. Verifying that maybe he felt it too, although after those kisses he'd have to be a real cad not to feelsomething, and he really didn't seem like a cad.
"Maybe not the whole day," she said hopefully. "What are the Blarney grounds like? Maybe there are places you can shift without being seen?"
"There are, at that," Declan said, sounding happier. "Notrightaround the castle. It's mostly clear there. But loads of the grounds are wooded, and it's early in the day and off-season. Whatever made you decide to come to Ireland in early March? Not even St Patrick's Day?"
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly afford to visit around St Patrick's Day. Or even the summer. Early March was much more affordable, and," Tara said dubiously, "the calendar said Ireland says February is the start of spring."
They both looked out the car windows, not that it was much of a view as they drove through the outskirts of Cork City. But it didn't look terribly spring-like: the sky was grey, although the clouds were relatively pale in color, not like they were about to dump rain all over everybody, and Tara thought the temperaturewas in the mid-forties. Not warm, but not quite freezing. There certainly weren't any leaves on the trees now coming into view, and while there was a lot of green on the ground, a great deal of it had the tired look of last year's efforts.
After a pause in which they silently agreed it certainly didn'tlookvery spring-like, Declan agreed, "Imbolc. St. Brigid's Day. First of February is the first day of spring here, by our old calendar. Absolute rubbish, the weather is dire, we're all shivering in our pants for another couple of months. But look here, had you not visited in right now we might never have met, and that would have been a travesty. And," he said, apparently remembering what had prompted the conversational thread and dragging himself back to it, "it means not half as many tourists anywhere, so shifting is safer, yeh. We'll have fun," he said, sounding determined. "And we'll catch a baddie in the act."
He paused, glanced at her, and twisted his mouth as Tara tried not to giggle. "All right, we already caught her in the act, but we weren't prepared to do anything about it yet!"
"Whatarewe going to do? Make sure she's got peacock feathers with her and then call the cops?"
"If we have to," Declan said slowly, thoughtfully. "I'd rather find some way to convince her this is a really bad idea and she should never do it again."
"A flock of peacocks ganging up on her and chasing her all over Blarney castle, screaming thathorriblescream of theirs?"
Declan laughed. "In that case I definitely need to ask the lads to come help, because I don't know that I can get true peacocks to be that cooperative. But yeh, something like that!"
Tara pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and nibbled on the end, thinking. "Food. Maybe if—" A giggle burst through her speech. "Maybe if I tied a bag of birdseed to your fluffy tail and sent you running, the rest of the peacocks would follow for the food?"
They pulled up to a stoplight just then, which was good, because Declan turned a look of positively tragic betrayal on her. Those green eyes of his were dark and sad and also, just possibly, sparkling deep inside with laughter. "My peacock can't believe you evensuggestedthat." He pitched his voice higher, somehow making it sound thinner: "Tie food to mytail? My beautiful tail? If she does that I won't be able to ge—" He broke off suddenly, heat flushing his cheeks and laughter brightening his eyes. "Um, won't be able to show off properly for you."
Tara eyed him suspiciously. "Were you just quoting what it was saying? That's not what it said, was it?"
"No," Declan said. "No, it wasn't. Which is to say, I was quoting it, but not all of it. It..." He cleared his throat. "Doesn't understand human innuendo."
"Oh." Tara paused, thinking about what he'd said, and where he'd broken off. "Oh. Oh no. It said it wouldn't be able to get it up, didn't it?"
Declan looked like he might die of mortification as he put the car back into drive and pulled away from the stoplight, so Tara figured she was right. She dissolved into laughter, hands clapped over her cheeks. "Oh my God. That must be very awkward in day to day conversation, having that kind of misunderstood running commentary in the back of your mind all the time."
"It's not usually that bad," Declan said faintly. "It doesn't usually want to show off for people quite as much as it wants to show off for you, so it's generally less concerned with, um, getting it up."
Tara laughed again, then tipped toward Declan, brushing her shoulder against his lightly, so she wouldn't disturb his driving. "I've only been here two days and none of it has been what I expected and it's the best vacation I could ever imagine. Oh, isn't thispretty!" She sat up again, watching a street side of small, brightly-painted houses and businesses crop up around themas they approached Blarney. Many of them were Tudor style, with dark supporting timbers set against lighter-colored paint, or stone that looked like it had been hewn out of the land nearby and set to survive the centuries. There was a business with a huge sign announcingBlarney Woollen Mills,and she eyed it with delight. "That's where I go to spend all my money, right?"
"It is," Declan agreed. "That, and the gift shops along the street outside the castle, and a hundred other places besides. I've a few shops I like. I'll bring you to them, if you like."
"I would love that." Declan pulled them into a parking lot surrounded by greenery, even if the trees didn't have leaves. A lot of the hedges still did, and Tara felt like Blarney was putting on a special show just for her.
She did twist and look back at the street they'd left, as they got out of the car. "Is Blarney that small? Basically just a street?"
"No! I didn't take you into town centre, that's all. C'mere to me, I've an annual pass, but it doesn't let me bring other people in the way Anavee does, so let me buy your ticket like."
Pleasure and confusion bumped through Tara. "I thought you were a starving artist."
Declan winked, which she thought could undo whatever weak defenses she might have. "I didn't say a word about starving, now, did I? Does this," he gestured at himself, "look like I'm starving?"
