Swordfights & Lullabies (2 page)

Family had bloomed here.

The core of three.  And a riotous garden was growing up around them, delighted in the new patterns of beauty.

She smiled over at Nan.  Old Irish grannies knew that not all families were good ones.  To see another one planted in sturdy soil was a blessing.

Lizzie, who had appointed herself Morgan’s big sister long ago, hopped down off her chair and popped a chunk of sweet potato into the squirmy babe’s mouth.  “Orange stuff is way better than green stuff, kiddo—I promise.”

Kevin just shook his head and quietly speared some of Lizzie’s broccoli.

Marcus watched it all and wisely kept his mouth shut.  A smart witch didn’t intervene when little ones were consuming vegetables, even if they were mostly eating someone else’s.

Cassidy scooped Morgan out of Moira’s lap, the washing done, and returned her to her booster seat.  “If you behave yourself,
a leanbh mo chroí
, I have fresh blueberries for dessert.”  She eyed the child and spoke firmly.  “Make a mess with your dinner again and I’ll feed your berries to the fishies.”

Moira didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would take a much sterner face than that to sway a child used to Marcus’s glowers.  It mattered not—Morgan would eat, and she would likely behave.  Most children eventually did, either from hunger or from love.

And grannies would sneak them a berry or two if they didn’t.  It was the way of things.

“Ah, and it’s the wee hours already for me.”  Their Irish guest hid a yawn.  “I believe I’ll need you to take me back home now, young man.”

Moira smiled.  Kevin had taken to escorting Nan through Realm transport personally.  A small gift that helped the old healer brave the technology she trusted not a whit.  “I’ve some tea in my bag for you to take back with you.”  Her gardens were in full bloom, and they’d been madly harvesting for weeks.

“And I’ve one of my chocolate-and-Guinness cakes for him to bring back,” said Nan, hugging Kevin’s shoulders.  “And one that’s nothing but chocolate for the little ones.”

Kevin’s eyes gleamed.  A wish, from a boy hoping he might not be little anymore.

Moira hid a chuckle and resolved to make sure someone slid the boy a taste of the cake he was trying to grow into.  He’d make a fine man one day, and a wee hint of Guinness along the way wouldn’t hurt him. 

She hugged the woman she’d become very accustomed to sharing a table with.  It was their last dinner together here in Charleston, and Irish nostalgia loomed large.  “Let us know when you’re ready for some good Nova Scotia lobster soup, and we’ll send Kevin across the waters to fetch you.”

Nan’s eyes twinkled.  “Oh, I imagine I’ll be seeing you again soon, and it won’t be lobster soup on the menu.”

Indeed.  Moira smiled at the canny old woman as she vanished into the ether, and ate the last of her broccoli, very well pleased.  They’d need a meeting of the Irish and Nova Scotia clans soon enough. 

She’d bet every cent in her possession that they had a wedding to plan.

June 18.  Just A Fiddler.

It was the right place.

Cass assessed her audience, eyes traveling the shadows of the pub.  Easygoing.  Attentions split between the music and the food and friendship that had brought them in for a beer on a Thursday night.

Very few faces that knew they listened to the great Cassidy Farrell. 

Perfect.

Cass glanced at Marcus, who scowled and patted a battered violin case.  He’d done as she asked, but he didn’t have to like it.

She smiled.  An apology, and a request unchanged.  It was her tour—and the last days were going to end on her terms.

Notes still flying off Rosie, she made eye contact with the quiet boy sitting next to Moira.  Kevin came often for her pub gigs, soaking in the music and the ambience of neighborhood gathering places in four different states.

Tonight he would learn the magic of playing in one.

She motioned with her head. 
Come on up.

His eyes turned the size of beer mugs.  Instantly.  Marcus must be doing his mind-boosting thing again.

Certainly.
 His familiar mindvoice was dry as dust.
 If you’re going to ambush the poor boy, at least I can make it clear what you’re wanting.

She wasn’t convinced it was necessary—the boy was shocked, not stupid—but the man she loved was cute, nonetheless. 
Kevin wants this.

Yes.
  Amusement now. 
In about a decade.

No time like the present—and tonight, Cassidy Farrell needed a distraction.  She eyed her student again. 
You can do this. 
He’d practiced all hours of the day and night—it was time to have some fun.

It pleased her greatly when Moira laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle push.

Kevin stumbled forward, eyes moderately panicky, Samantha clutched in his hands.

Cass brought her tune to a close and smiled as the volume of chat in the bar went up.  Not all pubs these days were used to their musicians taking a wee break.  This one would suit her purposes very well.  She patted the stool beside her.  “Want to play that duet we’ve been working on?” 

She’d been porting back to Fisher’s Cove twice a week without fail.  For Thai curry, Irish hugs, and a music lesson.

All that came out of her student was a squeak.

She smiled, assessing him one more time.  Kevin Murphy wasn’t destined for the road and the tour.  But he’d spent his whole life flying quietly under the radar, and she wasn’t convinced that was where he belonged.  She shrugged, entirely casual.  “Up to you—but you’ll probably never see any of these people again.”

Kevin gulped.  And looked around.  And set Samantha up on his shoulder, thin arms trembling.

Quiet courage.

Something she needed a gentle reminder of—it wasn’t only for Kevin that she did this.  Cass raised Rosie and readied her bow, holding her student’s gaze.  “I’ll start us off.  You pick it up where you usually do.”

Kevin’s hands were shaking like storm-tossed seaweed—but his first notes were strong and true, just like they’d practiced a hundred times.

As the chatter in the bar slowly died, Cass knew she’d picked the audience for this moment well. 

Kevin might never see any of these people again—but they would remember.

-o0o-

It wasn’t going to be a disaster.  Marcus heaved a sigh of relief.  To be complicit in meddling was bad enough—to have it end badly would have been a whole different magnitude of poor judgment.

The slow grin on Kevin’s face said he didn’t have to worry overmuch on that account.

“Silly man.”  Moira patted his hand, amused.  “Still learning to trust, I see.”

That ran uncomfortably close to something he didn’t want to think about.  “There’s a perfectly good parlor at the inn if she wanted him to have an audience.”

“Aye.”  His aunt watched the duo playing on the makeshift stage.  “And if this were just about Kevin, that might have done nicely.”

Warning bells sounded in Marcus’s head.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A gardener never waters only one flower when they’ve a whole bed that’s thirsty.”

Marcus scowled at the dregs of his beer.  He’d bloomed flowers in five states and they still mystified him.  “The only thing getting watered in this pub is a few throats.”  With a passably good stout.

Quiet laughter tinkled beside him.  “Ah, it’s good to know some things never change, nephew.  I see you’re still quite capable of sticking your head in the sand.”

Amusement snuck up on him far too often these days.  “And you’re still more than capable of showing me the error of my ways.”

“That I am.”  The lines of a life spent in laughter creased her face. 

He knew when to take his medicine.  Marcus studied the vibrant, headstrong woman he loved and the student at her side.  Kevin still looked punch-drunk—but he played his notes with a steady touch.  And pride.  It was good to see the boy shine.  “Perhaps it would have been more difficult in front of an audience who helped to change his diapers.”

“Yes.”  Moira patted his hand again and waited patiently for him to figure out the rest.

He sighed and let himself touch Cass’s mind.  Gently, not wanting to disturb.  He felt her small mental smile of welcome.

And then he felt more—and kicked himself for being so blind.  “She needs this.  To get through the last days.”

“I think so.”  Words full of empathy, from a witch who knew what it was to turn life’s big corners.  “A link from the old journey to what comes next.”

Marcus looked at his aunt with new eyes, and a brain starting to figure a few things out.  The steady stream of visitors from Fisher’s Cove had increased lately.  “That’s why you’re here.”

She smiled, old woman to dubiously bright student.  “That.  And to see my small girl.”  She picked up her glass.  “And a wee bit of Guinness doesn’t go amiss either.”

They were serenading Cassidy home.

Dammit, how had he missed that?  Marcus resisted the urge to kick the nearest table leg. 
He
should have figured it out.  He loved her.

He felt the gentle laughter in Cass’s mind.  And the love, returned.  All as she buoyed up a couple of Kevin’s squeaky notes and helped him shine.

And then Marcus knew the last piece.  “She does this for me, too.”  It would ease her parting from the life she loved.  Spare him from feeling her pain.

“Yes.  She finds her wisdom.  It will serve her very well, I think.”  Moira paused, eyes on the two on the stage.  “And she loves you very much.”

He might be the slowest student in the bar, but that, he already knew. 

And it still made his heart feel three sizes too big.

June 19.  Alanna. 

Her life had changed so very much.

Cass turned left onto the beach highway, loving the feel of the wind whipping her hair.  A small voice cooed from the back seat, Morgan entirely happy with the view from her chair, too.  Finding a snappy convertible that held a car seat hadn’t been an easy task.

Especially with Marcus Buchanan in tow.

Cass looked over at the man in question, heart overflowing with amused love.  He didn’t clutch the door handle when she drove any longer.  That was a good sign.

So much of the last three months had been about him learning to let go.

And about her learning to hold on.

She kept her eyes on the road and felt for his mind, pleased when the connection was ready and waiting for her.  That had been hard for him—he was so used to being alone.  “Just one more day.  One last show.”  An unassuming Irish pub in North Charleston.  She’d been convinced by their stew.  Tommy had rolled his eyes and set up the gig.

The last stop on the
Swordfights & Lullabies
tour.

Marcus’s fingers joined hers on the gearshift.  “You okay?”

A lot more than okay.  “I’ve had three months to say good-bye.”  And three months to say hello to her new life.  “Tommy and Gail just closed the deal on a house down the street from Nonna.”  She smelled babies in his future.  And lots of lasagna.

“He’s a fraud.”  Marcus chuckled over the sounds of blowing wind and ocean-faring seagulls.  “Puts on that sad face of his, but he can’t wait to settle down.”

Cass squeezed his fingers.  Tommy wasn’t the only one.  “We’ve been on the road together a long time.”  It had been a big day in her career when she’d been rich enough and disorganized enough to hire a manager.  “Almost fifteen years.”

“We can visit.”

They could.  And they would—Realm’s magic transport beams made that easy.  “I’m going to drag you over half the world, aren’t I?”  New Jersey, Margaree, Ireland.  And that was just the next six months.

He lifted one wry eyebrow.  “Worried I won’t survive?”

Hardly.  Survival was written in his bone marrow.  “You weren’t born to travel.”  It had taken him two months to stop walking into the wall of their beach house in the night.  And he still lost things on the bus.

“Well, you and Morgan were, so I guess I’d better get used to it.”  He leaned his head back, letting the sun shine down on his face.

Cass grinned.  Marcus Buchanan, sun worshipper.  Just one of the many little things she’d learned in the last three months that brought her quick, sneaking joy.  Maybe they could squeeze in a trip to somewhere warm and full of light, too.