“Aren’t ye hungry?” Ruairi took an extra-large portion of veg but no meat.
“Starving, actually.”
He pointed at my plate with a dripping spoon. “And that’ll fill yer belly?”
Tadhg scooped out enough mash to cover most of his plate.
After too many years of judgemental glares and snide remarks from my father, I’d learned it was easier to keep my portions small.
My own meager helping would barely fill my mouth, let alone my belly. I’d be hungry again before bedtime.
Rían handed me back the plate of duck. “Eat what you want. Or don’t. It’s up to you.”
It was up to me.
My choice.
I did like duck . . .
And my father wasn’t here to make a comment about how a lady shouldn’t appear gluttonous.
Perhaps I could have a bit more.
All three men smiled and nodded when I took two extra slices.
Conversation remained light, centering around castle maintenance and the strength of the wards. Tadhg’s misery only surfaced when things went quiet. His eyes, growing glassier with each sip of wine, took on a faraway look every time he glanced at the empty chair beside Ruairi.
The only thing that flowed better than the conversation was the wine. Rían warned me not to drink too much, though there was little chance of that happening. Faerie wine tasted awful. But it also made me feel warm and giddy and weightless. Like I could float away on a cloud. A tingly, warm cloud.
Who would’ve thought when I first met Rían that I’d be sitting in his brother’s castle, sharing a meal with a pooka and the Gancanagh himself?
Rían flicked his wrist and eased back in his chair, cradling his glass against his chest. “You know what I think we should do?”
“The last time ye said that, Tadhg ended up killing”—Ruairi’s head swung toward the head of the table—“how many people?”
Tadhg’s eyes darted to me. He offered a sheepish smile. “Only two. But one wasn’t my fault.”
“I don’t know how I feel about my sister being married to a murderer,” I confessed. The man was starting to grow on me, but I still wasn’t sure if he was a flower or a weed.
Tadhg pointed an accusatory finger at Rían. “He killed seven.”
“Eight, actually,” Rían said with a smirk, not a hint of remorse. “And they were all my fault.”
“You have to stop killing people, Rían. It’s wrong.” How could I object to Keelynn being with Tadhg when I’d fallen for a monster as well? Rían needed to do better. Tobebetter. And that started with not killing people.
The men exchanged wide-eyed looks. Then burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry. But have you met my brother?” Tadhg asked between laughs, wiping tears from his eyes.
Rían’s dimples deepened. “For some reason, she insists on seeing the good in me.”
“What good?” Tadhg snorted, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “You’re not happy unless you’re murdering someone.”
Rían leaned against the table with a heavy sigh. “I do love a good murder.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Tadhg asked. “Is it the way the light fades from their eyes? Or the way they always look so surprised?”
“For me, it’s the coppery tang of blood.” Rían’s chest rose and fell when he inhaled an exaggerated breath. “Positively delectable. The bloodier the murder the better. Although the shite stains something awful. Just last week I ruined my favorite waistcoat.”