“Surprised?”
“Of course.” He forces a grin. “Is that why you agreed to stay for the week? To foster treason in unsuspecting Holidays?”
I don’t pick up his attempt at humor.
I’m here because someone has been stealing Christmas’s joy the same way we stole from other Holidays.
I thought it was you.
But it’s Malachy, isn’t it? It has to be Malachy.
I could say all of that. This is a natural opening. I’d know it’s Malachy for sure and I could pursue investigating him and maybe Loch would help.
But he has a helluva reason to steal from us, his uncle cutting him off like this. Just because Malachy’s an ass doesn’t make him guilty.
And just because things are shifting between me and Loch doesn’t absolve him.
As much as I know all that, I know even more that if I brought up the theft right now, I’d see the truth in Loch’s reaction.
This is the reason I’m in Ireland at all, the whole point of my visit here. Coal needs me to do this.Christmasneeds me to do this.
So why can’t I get my mouth to open?
I suck down more beer, but my throat is dry, each swallow an effort.
Loch frowns when I’m quiet too long. “Kris?”
I shake my head, hoping my face doesn’t give away everything reeling inside of me.
Do it. Ask him.
“How did Malachy convince you to give up the crown?” I hear myself ask. “He’s so villainous he’s almost a cartoon.”
It’s the vodka. It’s the beer. It’s—it’s notme.This can’t be me, this person who made a conscious choice tonotdo the thing my brother needs me to do.
I don’t want to know if Loch’s stealing from us.
Not tonight.
Guilt is tart and vile in my stomach and I take another drink to counter it.
Loch chuckles at my question, and I’m not sure where the tension is coming from, but it’s creeping over me like an inbound tide.
“My da had just died. I was vulnerable. Malachy convinced our court that I was too unstable, too insubordinate.” He swipes the vodka and chugs a mouthful. “Maybe he was right.”
“Like hell he was right.” The back of my neck burns.
He gives me a wry look, but doesn’t argue, and doesn’t agree.
“My dad passed Christmas to my brother,” I tell him without thinking. Is that something I can spread around yet, before Coal’s formal party announcement? Eh, add it to the list of my problems for tomorrow. “The woman who runs our Merry Measure said—”
Loch sputters a laugh. “Yourwhat?”
“Christmas’s joy meter. The Merry Measure.”
“Is everything in Christmas a pun?”
I grin. “If I have any say in it, yes. But when the woman in charge of our joy meter oversaw the transfer, she said it had to be willing and joyful to work. Maybe, because your transfer of power to Malachy wasn’t entirely willing or joyful, it didn’t take fully, and that’s why you still have access to St. Patrick’s Day’s joy.”
