Shadow Spell by Nora Roberts Page A

pocket.”
    They passed the old abbey where tourists still wandered, snapping photos. “People always tell you things. Why is that?”
    â€œMaybe I like hearing things.”
    She shook her head. “No, it’s because you listen, whether you want to hear it or not. I too often just tune it all out.”
    He stuck his hand in her pocket to give hers a squeeze. “Together we probably come average on the graph of human nature.”
    No, she thought. No, indeed. Connor O’Dwyer would never be average on any graph.
    Then she let the worries and wondering go, walked with him into the warmth and clatter of the pub.
    It was Connor who was greeted first by those who knew them—which was most. A cheery call, a flirtatious smile, a quick salute. He was the sort always welcome, and always at home where his feet were planted.
    Good, easy qualities, she supposed, and something else she envied.
    â€œYou get us a table,” he told her, “and I’ll stand the first round.”
    She skirted through, found one big enough for six. Settling in, she took out her phone—Connor would be a bit of time due to conversing, she knew.
    She texted Branna first.
    Stop fussing with your hair. We’re already here.
    Then she checked her schedule for the next day. A lesson in the ring in the morning, three guideds—not to mention the daily mucking, feeding, grooming, and nagging of Boyle to make certain he’d seen to the paperwork. Then there was the marketing she’d neglected—for herself and her mother. Laundry she’d put off.
    She could do a bit of the wash tonight if she didn’t loiter overlong in the pub.
    She checked her calendar, saw her reminder for her older brother’s birthday, and added finding a gift to her schedule.
    And Iona was due for another lesson in swordplay. She was coming along well, Meara thought, but now that Cabhan had put in an appearance, they’d be wise to get back to regular practice.
    â€œPut that away now and stop working.” Connor set their pints on the table. “Workday’s done.”
    â€œI was checking on tomorrow’s workday.”
    â€œThat’s your burden, Meara darling, always looking forward to the next task.”
    â€œAnd you, always looking to the next recreation.”
    He lifted his glass, smiled. “Life’s a recreation if you live it right.” He nodded as he spotted Boyle and Iona. “Family’s coming.”
    Meara glanced around. And put away her phone.

5

    A GOOD DAY’S WORK, A PINT, AND FRIENDS TO DRINK IT with. In Connor’s estimation, there was little more to wish for. Unless it was a hot meal and a willing woman.
    Though he knew the pretty blonde—name of Alice—tossing him the occasional glance would be willing enough, he contented himself with the pint and the friends.
    â€œI’m thinking,” he said, “now that Fin’s joined us, you might consider combining the hawk and horse as Meara and I did today for the Yanks as a regular option.”
    Boyle frowned over it. “We’d need an experienced falconer as the guide, and that limits us to Meara.”
    â€œI could do it,” Iona protested.
    â€œYou’ve only hawked a few times,” Boyle pointed out. “And never on your own.”
    â€œI loved it. And you said I was a natural,” she reminded Connor.
    â€œYou have a fine way with it, but you’d want to have a few goes on horseback. Even on a bike, as we do when we’re giving the hawks some exercise in the winter.”
    â€œI’ll practice.”
    â€œYou need to be practicing more with a blade in your hand,” Meara told her.
    â€œYou always kick my ass.”
    â€œI do.” Meara smiled into her pint. “I do indeed.”
    â€œOur girl here’s a quick study,” Fin commented. “And it’s an interesting idea.”
    â€œIf we toyed with it . . .” Boyle sipped