“Sod it. If I hit ye and ye stay upright, ye can cut my hair. But ye can’t use magic.”
“I won’t need to.”
“Waaaait!” Tadhg spilled drink from the glass he apparently forgot was still in his hands. “Ruairi should get something if he wins.”
“He gets to hit me. Isn’t that enough?”
Ruairi and Tadhg exchanged grins before Tadhg said, “If Ruairi wins, he gets your boots.”
My boots wouldn’t fit him. Not that the observation would make a bit of difference once the pair of them had come to a decision. I inhaled slowly, the oaky notes from my wine tickling my tastebuds. There was really nothing to worry about because I was not going to fall. If anything, the idea of losing my boots only provided extra incentive. “Fine.” I took a sip from my glass, waiting for the warmth to spread down my throat.
Then I angled my body, braced my boots in the sand, and told Ruairi to hit me.
Ruairi’s fist became a blur. Lightning exploded behind my eyes. I stumbled back and back, my arms cartwheeling. It took every bit of strength I had, but I didn’t fall.
Once I’d regained my balance, I laughed so loud, it echoed off the cliffs surrounding us. Blood dripped from my undoubtedly broken nose, over my lips, down my chin, and splattered on the sand. “Did you do it yet?” I muttered.
Tadhg burst out laughing, doubling over and nearly falling off the settee. Ruairi cursed, cradling his fist in his chest.
I withdrew a handkerchief to clean my throbbing nose, then shifted a pair of sheep shears from the shed back at the castle and set them on the table between us.
Ruairi cursed and threw himself onto the chair, tugging his black hair free from its queue.
“Such a shame. It’s so pretty when it’s down.” I picked up the shears andsnip snippedthe air, drawing out the torture.
Ruairi’s massive shoulders curled as he hunched like a child about to get his tooth pulled. “Just get on with it.”
I kept opening and closing the shears right behind his head, stifling a laugh every time he shrank away. “If you don’t hold still, it’s going to be crooked.”Joke’s on you, it’s going to be crooked no matter what.
Tadhg sniggered, pouring an over-large glass of puítin and handing it to his mate. “When’s the last time you got a haircut?”
“The time Bromwen thought it’d be fun to use candles in the bedroom and damn near lit me on fire.”
For some reason, the mention of fire sent my mind racing back to Graystones and a woman whose skin had made my mouth burn. There was something there, like a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. “Say that again.”
Ruairi glanced over his shoulder, glowering at the shears. “Bromwen likes to use candles?”
“Not that. The second part.”
“She damn near lit me on fire?”
My fingers grazed my lips.
When I was little, I used to visit Tadhg in the castle one week a month. Before his mother was murdered by humans, she would read us stories from this hideous pink book. The title now eluded me, but I remembered a poem inside that I’d always loved. A nonsensical one about soulmates.
Tadhg and Ruairi started chatting about the kinky witch and her love of hot wax, and all their back and forth along with the infernal sloshing of waves made it hard to concentrate. “Both of you, shut up.”
Ruairi spun around in his chair, levelling a thick finger at my face. A finger he was about to lose if he didn’t move it in the next two seconds. “Don’t tell me to—”
All it took was a burst of magic to make the irritating pooka disappear into the bowels of the castle dungeon. I never saidwhenI would cut his hair. I’d catch him when he least expected it. “Tadhg, where’s that book your mam used to read us?”
He eased against the cushions and stretched his arm over the back of the settee. “Which one?”
“The pink one with the princess on the front.”
“How the hell should I know?”
Useless.