Unholy Blue Read online

  “Go to sleep, short stuff. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  With a murmur of protest, the boy rolled over. Shay patted his leg, then rose and stepped aside. Pulling the covers higher, Bann pressed his forehead against Cor’s in their nightly ritual. He turned off the lamp and followed Shay out of the room, making sure to leave the door ajar.

  “Ye’re a marvel, ye know that, Shay Doyle?”

  “I know I am. And I’ve gotten pretty good at handling you Boru men.” She took his hand and tugged him back toward their room. “Although I think I need some more practice.”

  “Practice handling men?”

  “Exactly. Know any volunteers?”

  Bann smiled.

  4

  AT DAWN, SHAY WOKE up to the warmth of a body in her bed. “Cin a body meet a body; Comin’ thro’ the rye, Cin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?” The words of Robert Burns—while not a fellow Irishman, certainly a fellow Celt—wafted through her head.

  The tenderness between her legs reminded her of their second round of lovemaking last night. That one had been more intense, as if Bann had been trying to rid himself of the residual adrenaline rush brought on by Cor’s unexpected appearance.

  Rolling over, she held up her hand and examined the rings, then glanced at the form next to her. Bann was sprawled on his back, one arm curled over his head and the covers pushed down to his hips, clearly not bothered by the chill of the early morning air. His rugged features were softened by sleep; his lashes were dark fans on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. The position and expression was so much like Cor’s, she couldn’t help grinning.

  Her gaze traveled south. The mostly healed wounds on his stomach looked like dark, wet spots. I should apply more of that salve to reduce the scarring. The memory of that day pulled at her gut. That day when they had killed—well, mostly killed—the Stag Lord, then fought like crazy to keep Bann from bleeding to death after he had been impaled by the shapeshifter’s antlers.

  Shoving the memory aside, she slid out of bed and pulled on her shirt and pajama pants—for like the third time in eight hours—then slipped out the door on bare feet. Closing it behind her, she walked down the hall and paused by Cor’s room on the way to the kitchen. Head close to the door, she listened. No sound. Good. Still asleep. Not that she minded sharing the morning with father and child, but she relished a few minutes of solitude over that imperative first mug of coffee before the hurly-burly of a new day began.

  As she measured coffee into the filter, she breathed in the earthy aroma of her favorite dark roast blend, humming a rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” Dumping an additional spoonful into the basket for the extra caffeine kick, she made a note to add coffee to the grocery list. If the Vikings had brought bags of Gevalia with them when they first invaded our homeland, we would have surrendered to them from the get-go.

  After starting the machine brewing, she glanced at her cell phone sitting on the island. I should call Mom and tell her our news. Knowing her, she’s already up and puttering around, even though she got home from her annual trip to Ireland just two days ago. She made a face, thinking about their phone conversation last week, right after Bann had left for Pennsylvania, and her mother’s concern about the new man, with a son in tow, in her daughter’s life. Especially in light of the recent events.

  “If it wasn’t for Hugh and Ann,” her mother had grumbled, her voice fading in and out due to a storm on the west coast of County Clare. “I’d be on the next plane home. I’m still furious with you, and with them, for not letting me know what happened until after it was all over.”

  “Well, we were kind of too busy fighting for our lives to stop and make a call—”

  “You know quite well what I’m saying. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’m fine. The cousins are fine. We’re all fine.” Except for poor Max, she thought.

  A long pause. Then, her mother continued. “Look, m’girl. The gods know your father and I raised you to trust yourself, but are you certain about this man? I mean, he has a child already. Won’t that complicate things more than—”

  “You can’t be serious!” Shay had fought not to raise her voice. “Mom, he’s the long-son of the High King—he’s practically royalty! Plus, he’s one heck of a Knight, with the manners to boot. Ann and Hugh think the world of him. And of Cor.” And why the hell am I justifying all this to her, anyway?

  “I’ll reserve judgment until I meet the man.”

  Shay massaged her neck at the memory of the conversation. Gods, I hope I’m not like that with Cor. Waiting for the coffee maker to finish birthing its brew, she steeled herself, then picked up the cell phone and tapped the speed dial number two.

  “Morning, Mom,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You up already? No, no, nothing’s wrong. In fact, something’s pretty right.” She held up her hand and examined her rings again as she took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you. About Bann and me.”

  Sliding the back door open a few hours later, Shay stuck her head out. The mid-morning sun shone with an unexpected warmth for the first of November. Hammering from the far side of the fence assaulted her ears. She winced, then called, “Bann?”

  Cor, holding a post for his father on the inside of the yard, turned and yelled over the wall. “Dad? Shay wants you!” The banging ceased.

  Bann’s head and shoulders poked up. “Aye?” He rested an arm on the gate he was installing, a hammer in one hand. Earlier, the father and son team had cobbled a makeshift entrance on the east side of the house.

  “I’ve got to make a house call. A Knight hurt his shoulder in a fall. I should be home in less than two hours at the most.” She started to shut the door when Bann called her back.

  “Have you your phone?”

  “Yup.” She slapped her back pocket. “Okay, I’m out of here.” She rolled her eyes when he spoke again.

  “Shay?”

  “What?”

  “Who is the Knight, and where does he live?”

  Oh, for Danu’s sake. “I’ll leave the info on the counter. Gotta go.” This time, she ignored his next question and pulled the sliding glass door closed. Grabbing the backpack that served in place of a medical bag and her lightest-weight fleece jacket, she headed toward the front door. I see we’re going to have to have a little talk.

  After fixing the injured Knight’s dislocated shoulder, and swearing to keep the cause of said injury just between them, she climbed in her SUV. Still laughing over the fact that the Knight had tumbled off his roof while cleaning the rain gutters—yeah, I would keep that a secret, too—she started up the engine.

  Her cell phone chimed. Buckling up one-handed, she plucked it from the cup holder and checked the screen. Her heart skipped in place. Score! “Shay Doyle,” she answered. “Oh, that’s great news. And is it still okay for me to leave my car there for a few hours? Right. I’m on my way now.”

  Pulling out of the local Ford dealership forty-five minutes later, Shay inhaled the scent of shiny happy new truck as she drove through town toward home. The vehicle rolled along with a low, confident growl. I hope he likes the color, she thought. “They call it ‘Broadsword Gray,’” the salesman had told her; she had almost bought the truck based on that alone. She ran her hand along the steering wheel, admiring how well her rings looked against the leather trim. Sometimes, being me is just too fun. Stopping at a light, she glanced over when a horn beeped. Next to her, a grizzled man in a cowboy hat, driving a truck and trailer rig, nodded at her vehicle, then touched the brim of his hat in approval. She grinned back.

  I’m glad I splurged for a crew cab. More room for Cor. A realization flashed through her. This could be my betrothal gift to Bann. Ooh, double score! She hugged herself in anticipation.

  After rolling to a stop as quietly as she could in their driveway, she grabbed her Healer’s kit and jumped out. Unable to contain her excitement, she honked the horn, then stepped to one side, ready to do the honors. The thump
of the gate opening and closing sounded from the side of the house. Bann, with Cor on his heels, appeared a few moments later, both of them wide-eyed with curiosity.

  “Ta-da!” She swept her arm in a dramatic gesture. “A steed worthy of my Knight.”

  “You finally got it!” With a hoot of joy, Cor raced around to the back and clambered up and over the tailgate.

  Meanwhile, Bann stood a few feet away, wiping his hands on the tail of his flannel shirt, his face neutral. “For me?”

  Warning hoisted a red flag at his flat tone. She ignored it. “No, for Cor. I thought we’d start him early.” She held out the keys to him. “Yes, for you, you thick lug. This is my betrothal gift to you,” she added.

  He didn’t take the offering. In fact, his jaw was set in the way she had come to call his mule-eared expression. Cor wore the same expression when he didn’t want to do something.

  “Do you like it, Dad? I helped Shay pick it out.” Cor bounced around the bed, his feet clanging on the metal flooring. “And look!” He pressed his nose against the back window and peered inside. “It’s got a second seat. That’s my spot.” He swung down the side. Just as he started to open the passenger door, Bann walked over and stopped him.

  “We’re not keeping it.”

  Shay’s jaw dropped. “Why the hell not?”

  “I have a truck already.”

  “One that needs last rites. Besides, Cor and I wanted to do something special for you.”

  “Yeah, this was our surprise, Dad.” The boy grabbed his father’s hand and tried to tug him around to the driver’s side, his feet slipping on the driveway. Bann didn’t budge.

  “’Tis too dear.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t.” Shay fought the temptation to walk around behind him and boot him in the ass. “I got an incredible deal on it, and I had the money—”

  “My wife will not provide for me.”

  Oh. Realization slapped Shay upside the head. It was followed by annoyance. Annoyance at herself for not thinking through the ramifications of purchasing an expensive item for the proud Knight, and irritation at Bann for his streak, albeit a thin one, of old-fashioned chauvinism that had the habit of rearing its head at the worst times.

  “Can’t we at least talk about this?” Before you start dictating what I can and can’t do.

  “There is nothing to talk about. Return the vehicle immediately. I assume you can still get your money back?”

  Her mouth sagged. “Did you just give me an order?” She could feel her face and neck flush.

  Bann started to speak, then paused. “Cor. Go in the house.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything…” His voice faded when the man stabbed a finger at the house. Cor scurried away. The door closed with a thud.

  Standing a foot apart by the truck—the truck Shay now wished she had never bought—they locked eyes, both ready for battle. Buckling on her courage, she jumped into the fray.

  “This isn’t about the truck, is it? This is about your pride. Oh, no, you don’t.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “I get my say, then you can talk.” She squared her shoulders. “For your information, I have some pride in me, too. I’m as much a Knight of the Tuatha Dé Danaan as you. And I am a Healer. A damn good Healer. So, if I have extra cash gifted to me by some grateful patients, and I want to use that money to pamper my husband or my stepson,” she gestured toward the house, “then I’m going to do it without a certain Knight getting all clenched about it.” For some reason, her frustration grew as she spoke.

  “I told you I dinna want—”

  “Oh, and by the way, let me remind you—I’m your friend as well as your lover, and soon-to-be wife, so that makes us equals. In. Everything!” Her voice rose. “Which means you better get used to me doing crazy, outrageous stuff for you! Because I love you, dammit!” She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and braced herself. Right. Now, bring it, big guy.

  The muscle in Bann’s jaw jumped at the challenge. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and fisted his hands by his sides. A long minute passed, the tick-tick of the cooling engine counting off the time. Mouth working, he glanced at the vehicle.

  “So.” He ground out between his teeth. “A truck.”

  “Yes, a truck.”

  “V-6?”

  “V-8.”

  “Four-wheel drive?”

  Shay snorted. “Of course.”

  “Trailer hitch?”

  “Already installed.”

  “I, um…” He ran a hand along his jaw. “I like the color,” he said reluctantly.

  “I thought you might.”

  Huffing out a breath, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Ye gods, I hate giving in.” Opening one lid, he squinted at her. “A betrothal gift, you say?”

  “Yup.”

  “’Twould be small of me to not accept it in the spirit it is given.”

  “It would, indeed.” Shay could feel a smile starting to spread. She forced it back, allowing Bann room to capitulate with dignity. I’ve got to remember this in the future, she reminded herself. He’s a proud man. “Let’s do this. Take it for a drive. If you don’t like, I’ll return it. No harm. No foul.” She laid a hand on his arm and shook him gently. “And you know I don’t hold grudges, Bannerman Boru. We can walk away from this.”

  Bann shook his head. “Ye disarm me when ye do that, woman. Elizabeth would have—” He closed his jaw with a snap. “Never mind.” He held out his hand.

  She dropped the keys into them. “Cor’s going to bust a gut if he doesn’t get to go with you.”

  “We’ll go together. The three of us.” He gave a sharp whistle. “Cor! Out front, son!” he yelled.

  “Actually, that works for me. I left the SUV at the dealership.”

  After Bann dropped her off, she paused by his open window. “If you like, maybe we can take another drive this afternoon over to Ann and Hugh’s. They would love to hear our good news. That is, if you want to keep the truck.”

  “No pressure, eh?”

  “None whatsoever. And Cor?” She looked at the boy ensconced in the back seat, playing with every button within reach. “You did good, kiddo, keeping our secret. See how happy it made your dad?”

  Cor beamed at her.

  “Bleedin’ conspiracy,” Bann muttered. Shay noticed he was already programming the driver’s side seat for optimum comfort for his tall frame.

  “Two against one is how this family rolls.” She leaned in for a good-bye kiss. “The vehicle fits you, you know,” she whispered against his lips. “Big and tough, but classy.”

  He snorted, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face as he drove away, Cor waving at her. She waved back, waiting until they pulled out of the parking lot, then did a little dance as she opened the SUV’s door.

  Arriving back home, she busied herself with recording the day’s duties, including the patient, his injury and treatment, in her logbook. She took a moment to flip to the first page. It was dated almost four years ago when she had first become the clan’s Healer after her master had declared her more than ready, then left on a well-deserved rest, having ministered to the Doyles for over a hundred years. The older Healer, a big Viking of a woman with cropped white hair touched with silver and a booming voice that would have made even Bann step lively, had waved a cheerful farewell when Shay had dropped her off at the airport for a trip to the Old Country. It was just nine hours later that the clan had gotten word that the Aer Lingus flight had disappeared over the Atlantic. Only a few objects had been recovered.

  Forcing herself to think of the happy things—like Bann and Cor cruising the streets of High Springs—Shay put away her book, then tidied her apothecary storeroom. Hands on autopilot, she sorted through a fresh pile of sláinte nettle leaves. The plant, more commonly known to mortals as the deadnettle plant, had magical healing properties when used as a tea or salve or wash to cure almost any wound or illness. Almost. She recalled the times, blessedly only a few, where someone had been hurt
beyond her ability to heal them.

  She spread the leaves evenly on the drying rack that took up one entire shelf of her apothecary, making sure they were curing correctly. The scent, a mix of peppermint and coffee and sap rising in the pines, filled the tiny room. Being the clan’s only Healer was a full-time job, she recalled telling Bann a few weeks ago. I hope he understands that. We should probably sit down and discuss roles in our marriage sooner than later. Today would be a good time.

  The doorbell chimed. Frowning, she dusted her fingers on her jeans and hurried across the great room to the front door and peeked out the small window set high in the upper panel. She made a face, then swung it open.

  “Weston Tully.”

  “Hello, Shay.” The leader of the Tully clan stood near the lowest step, one hand resting on the haft of a hunting knife sheathed on his right hip. The same height and build as Bann, he wore his dark hair in a buzz cut. His blue eyes were as cold as ever. A Dukes of Hazzard sports car, sans the Confederate-flag paint job, sat idling at the curb and facing away from her house. For a quick getaway, she thought. The smell of exhaust assaulted her nose as she stepped outside.

  “Is Boru around?”

  “What do you want?” Her hand hovered over her own knife.

  “I just ran into your cousin downtown. Laney told me Boru has decided to stay here. Permanently.”

  I don’t know what’s bigger—Laney’s mouth or her boobs. “And?”

  Tully raised his chin. “And like I said before, we don’t want him here in High Springs. Hell, any part of Colorado.”

  “Tough shit. He’s staying.”

  “Because of him, I have two dead clan members already. Using your dog as a weapon.”

  “Cernunnos killed Quinn and Thomas. Not Bann. Not Max. As you well know. Although technically, Quinn got himself killed by being an asshole.”

  “None of this would have happened in the first place if it weren’t for Boru bringing the god into our midst.” Before Shay could speak, he leaned forward, crowding her personal space. “I told you Doyles before—we’re not letting any more Tullys get killed. If he chooses to stick around here, and if Cernunnos, in whatever form, shows up again, then we’re coming for Boru. And his kid.”