Shadow Spell by Nora Roberts Page A

inside and have some wine and stew, and we’ll be together.”
    They came, as Connor knew they always would. So the kitchen filled with voices, the warmth of friends with Kathel stretched in front of the little hearth, and good, rich stew simmering on the stove.
    As he’d get his Guinness in the stew, Connor opted for wine himself. Drinking it, he watched his besotted friend grin as Iona, once again, replayed her moment of victory.
    Who would have thought Boyle McGraff would fall so hard, so fully? A man who said little, and in general paid more mind to his horses than the ladies. As loyal and true a friend as they came, and a brawler under the self-taught control.
    And here was Boyle of the scarred knuckles and fast temper starry-eyed over the little witch who talked to horses.
    â€œYou’re looking sly and satisfied,” Meara commented.
    â€œI’m enjoying seeing Boyle resemble an overgrown puppy when he looks at Iona.”
    â€œThey fit well, and they’ll make a good life together. Most don’t.”
    â€œAh now, not most.” It pinched his heart to hear her say it, know she felt it. “The world needs lovers who fit, or how would we go on? To be only one of one for a life? That’s a lonely life.”
    â€œBeing one of one means being able to go as you please, and not facing being one of two, then ending up the one of one when it all goes to hell.”
    â€œYou’re a cynical one, Meara.”
    â€œAnd fine with it.” She shot him a look under arched brows. “You’re a romantic one, Connor.”
    â€œAnd fine with it.”
    She laughed, quick and easy, as she set the napkins she held on the table. “Branna says it’s serve yourself from the pot on the stove, so you’d best get in line.”
    â€œThat I will.”
    He fetched wine for the table first to give himself a moment to open a bit, to test the air for any sense or sign before they sat and ate, and talked of magicks. Light and dark.
    The stew was a bit of magick itself, but then Branna had a way.
    â€œGod, this is good!” Iona spooned up more. “I have to learn how to cook like this.”
    â€œYou’re doing well with the side dishes,” Branna told her. “And Boyle’s a steady cook. He can handle that, and you’ll do the sword fighting.”
    â€œMaybe so. After all, I did knock Meara on her ass.”
    â€œWill she never tire of saying it?” Meara wondered. “I see now I’ll have to knock her on her own a dozen times to dim her victory light.”
    â€œEven that won’t.” Iona smiled, then sat back. “You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?”
    â€œI didn’t, no, and I’m wishing I had so we could all pity you.”
    â€œWe’ll have a toast then.” Fin lifted his glass. “To you,
deifiúr bheag
, a warrior to be reckoned with. And to you,
dubheasa
,” he said to Meara, “who made her one.”
    â€œThat was smoothly done,” Branna murmured, and drank.
    â€œSometimes the truth is smooth. Sometimes it’s not.”
    â€œSmooth or not, the truth’s what’s needed.”
    â€œThen I’ll give you what I have, though it’s but little. You hurt him,” he said to Connor. “You and the boy, Eamon. But he heals. And you, the three, you feel that, as I do.”
    â€œHe gathers,” Connor said.
    â€œHe does. Gathers the dark and the black around him, and into him. I can’t say how, or we might find a way to stop it, and him.”
    â€œThe red stone. The source.”
    Fin nodded at Iona. “Yes, but how did it come to him? How was it imbued, how can it be taken and destroyed? What price did he pay for it? Only he knows the answers, and I can’t get through to find them, or him.”
    â€œAcross the river. How far I can’t say,” Connor added, “but he’s not on our side of it, for