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It matched the ones etched on their wedding rings.
“It’s gorgeous.” Sally trailed a finger over their names. “The craftsmanship… It’s just gorgeous.”
“Sedric—I told you about him—helped us design it, and Seamus, he’s an amazing craftsman, built it. It’s a memory box,” Breen added. “And a little more. You need to open it for the more.”
When they did, Sally let out a watery laugh. Music streamed out. “It’s our wedding song. We went with an old classic.” He turned to Derrick, kissed him. “I got you, babe.”
“I got you, babe.”
“I’ve either got to get him really drunk or play this song to get the man to sing with me.”
“I’ve got a voice like a sad trombone.” Derrick cleared his throat. “This is precious, kids. Really precious.”
“It gets just a little better. That’s Marco playing the song.”
“Get out! Child, that’s wonderful! How’d you do that?” Sally demanded.
“We’ll just call it magick.” Because it had been.
But then it was a night for magick, Breen thought as she walked toward Talamh with Marco and Bollocks.
At Marco’s insistence, Bollocks wore a Santa hat. To Breen’s surprise, he loved it.
People had already gathered on the road, in the fields, on the low stone walls when they stepped through.
Some played music, of course, while others handed out cups of wassail. Morena greeted them with a hug and a whistle. “Look at the lot of you. Aye, your hat’s most festive.”
She gave it a nod of approval before Bollocks raced off to play with swarms of children. “And such a coat. Soft as a baby’s arse,” she proclaimed after stroking it. “But of all, I have to say I envy those boots.”
“Who wouldn’t? Merry Christmas—or Blessed Night of Lights.”
“Either works. Well then, get yourself a cup of wassail, the sun sets soon.”
“I want to see the baby first.”
She made her way through the crowd, pleased she recognized faces and knew so many now by name. She found Tarryn beside Aisling, the baby swaddled in her arms.
“A Blessed Night of Lights to you, Breen Siobhan, and Merry Christmas with it. I see a bit of a wish in your eyes,” Tarryn added, and held out the baby.
“Thanks.” She breathed in the baby scent and cuddled. “You really do look like your da. When your wings come, green as the hills, you’ll fly over land and sea, your voice raised in song pure with joy.”
She blinked, looked up. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“No, no, it’s lovely to hear. I saw the light of the Sidhe in him, but not the rest. Musical he’ll be then.” Aisling trailed a finger over Kelly’s cheek. “It pleases me.”
“All right now, give him over.” Finola, in a bright, cherry-red cloak and matching boots, strutted up. “I need to practice, as I’m hoping Morena and Harken don’t make me wait so long for a babe as they did to wed. Ah, they smell of magicks, new babes do.”
“His brothers claim otherwise when he needs his nappy changed.” Aisling glanced around, saw her boys playing and watched by Mab. “Ah, I see Bridie’s got Marg in her clutches, and is surely bending her ear over her latest complaints. Breen, go save your nan—you could say I’m asking for her. New mothers get some indulgences.”
“I’ll do that.”
She exchanged greetings as she went, and felt the lift as the sun dripped color across the sky. Soon, she thought, the trees would light, and voices would raise in goodwill and unity into the cold, clear air.
“Merry Christmas, Breen Siobhan.”
She stopped, smiled at the woman. Young, pretty, soft brown hair in a thick braid, and face vaguely familiar. She dug for the name but couldn’t quite reach it.
“It’s the greeting on your side.”
