Breathless, she rolled to hunker over Marco. He sprawled, limp and still, with eyes wide and shocked.
“Are you okay? Let me see. Marco, you idiot!” Searching, she ran her hands over him. “Nothing’s broken.”
Now she stroked her hand over Marco’s face as she whipped her head around to snarl at Keegan.
“What the hell was that? Even the first time I came through, it wasn’t like that.”
He shoved his hand through his hair. “I didn’t account for the extra passenger. Or all your bloody luggage. And still I got us back, didn’t I?”
“What the actual fuck?”
As Marco stirred, she turned back to him. “Don’t try to get up yet. You’re going to be dizzy and shaky, but you’re okay.”
He just stared at her, his brown eyes huge and glassy with shock. “Did all this crazy make you a doctor, too?”
“Not exactly. Just catch your breath. What the hell do we do now?” she shot at Keegan.
“Get out of the fecking rain, to start.” He pushed to his feet, a tall, irritated man with dark hair curling in the damp. “I aimed to bring us back in the dooryard of the farmhouse.” He gestured. “And wasn’t far off, considering what came with us.”
She could see the stone house now, the silhouette of it a few yards away and across the road.
“Marco isn’t a what.”
Keegan just strode over, crouched down. “All right now, brother, sit yourself up. Take it slow.”
“My laptop!” When Breen spotted it on the road, she scrambled up, sprinted over to grab the case.
“Well now, she will have her priorities.”
In the road, in the rain, she clutched it to her. “This is as important to me as your sword is to you.”
“If it got banged up, you’ll fix it. That’s the way,” he said to Marco, “slow and easy.”
The way he spoke to Marco—slow and easy—reminded Breen that Keegan could be kind. When he wanted to be.
She strapped on the laptop case cross-body, hurried back to them.
“You’re going to feel dizzy and weird. The first time I came through I fainted.”
“Guys don’t faint.” But Marco dropped his spinning head to his updrawn knees. “We can pass out, we can get knocked out, but we don’t faint.”
“That’s the way,” Keegan said cheerfully. “Let’s get you on your feet. We could use a hand here, Breen.”
“Just let me get my suitcase.”
“Women, by the gods!” Keegan whipped out a hand, and the suitcase vanished.
“Where did it go?” Marco’s voice hitched, this time his eyes rolled. “Where’d it go?”
“Not to worry, it’s all fine. Up you come now. Lean on me, and we’ll get you there.”
“I can’t feel my knees. Are they here?”
“Right where they should be.”
Breen hurried over to wrap an arm around Marco from the other side. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s not far, see? We’re going right there.”
He managed a few shaky steps. “Men don’t faint, but they do puke. I might.”
Breen pressed a hand to his stomach, pulled out some of the churning. It made her feel a little queasy, but she told herself she’d handle it. “Better?”
“Yeah, I guess. I think I’m having a really weird dream. Breen has weird dreams,” he told Keegan in a voice that sounded a little drunk. “Scary weird sometimes. This one’s just weird.”
Keegan flicked a hand, and the gate of the dooryard swung open.
“Like that kind of weird. Smells good anyway. Like Ireland. Right, Breen?”
“Yes, but it’s not.”
“That would be way weird if we’re standing in our apartment in Philly one minute and going splat on a road in Ireland the next. ‘Beam me up, Scotty’ time.”
“Those are good stories.” Keegan flicked the door open. “Here we are now. You’ll have a lie down on the divan here.”
“Lying down’s good. Hey, Breen, there’s your suitcase. It’s real homey in here. Old-timey homey. It’s nice. Oh, thank Christ,” he said when they laid him down on the couch.
“I didn’t faint, see. Didn’t puke either. Yet.”
“I’m going to make you some tea.”
He shook his head at Breen. “Rather have a beer.”
“And who wouldn’t? I’ll get that for you. Stay with him,” Keegan ordered. “Dry him up, smooth him out.”
“He should have the tea, what I had when I came through.”
“What goes in the tea can go in the ale.”
“Drugs, right?” Marco asked as Keegan strode out. “Because he slipped us lots and lots of drugs so we’re in this weird dream together.”
“No, Marco. It’s real.”
She held out a hand to the low, simmering fire in the hearth and had the flames rising and crackling. She lit the candles around the room from where she knelt beside the sofa.
She ran her hands down Marco’s sides to dry his clothes, then brushed them over his braids to dry his hair.
“I’m voting for crazy dream.”
“You know it’s real. Why did you jump with me, Marco? Why did you grab onto me and jump?”
“I wasn’t going to let you go without me into some hole of light in our damn living room. And you were all upset. You’d been crying. You—” He looked at the ceiling. “I hear something. Somebody else is in the house.”
“Harken—Keegan’s brother—lives here. He’s a farmer. This is their farm. It was my father’s. I was born in his house.”
Marco’s gaze tracked back to hers. “That’s what he told you, but—”
“My grandmother told me, and it’s the truth. I’m remembering things I didn’t. And I’ll explain everything, I promise, but—”
She broke off when Harken and Morena came down the stairs—in clothes obviously hastily dragged on, as Morena’s shirt was inside out.
“Welcome home!” Sunflower hair unbraided and tangled, Morena rushed down to drop beside Breen and grab her in a fierce hug. “We’re so happy to see you.” She beamed at Marco, blue eyes dancing. “And you brought a friend. Is this Marco then? My nan said you were a handsome one, and she’s never wrong.”
She grabbed his hand to shake. “That’s Finola McGill, my nan. I’m Morena.”
“Okay.”
“I’m Harken Byrne, and you’re welcome here. A rough come through, was it? We’ll fix you up.”
“I’ve got it.” Keegan came in with a tankard.
Marco darted his gaze back and forth. Brothers, sure, the resemblance was apparent in the strong cheekbones, the shape of the mouth.
“Ale, is it?” Harken considered. “Well then, as long as you remembered—”
“It’s a basic potion, Harken. I can handle the basics as well as any.”
“Potion?” Marco started to push up, and his rich, dark skin went a little gray at the edges. “I say no to potions.”
“It’s a kind of medicine,” Breen assured him. “You’ll feel better for it.”