“Yup.” She held out her hand, several shiny pebbles on her palm. “Jamie wants sparkly rocks for his next training session with Aervyn. I promised to collect some.”
Sadly, the beach tended to run to an excellent supply of pebbles. “There are no rocks in California?”
“When you get bigger,” Nell addressed herself to the happy girl in his arms, “perhaps you can teach your guardian here some social skills.”
The insult, he ignored. It was the “when you get bigger” part that sent pangs through Marcus’s heart. The fear lurked so damn close, every hour of every day.
“Sorry.” Nell spoke softly, voice full of empathy. “I know how hard it is.”
No one could know. And then Marcus realized, grudgingly, that of all the witches, on all the beaches, she might be the one who did. Mama to the mightiest witch in generations. “How do you live with it?” He hated the tremor in his voice-but for Morgan, he would ask.
“One day at a time.” Nell gazed out at the dancing waves. “And when that’s too much, one smile, or one minute, or one cookie at a time.” She reached down for a handful of sand, letting it run through her fingers. “Or in the words of my husband, ‘choose life unafraid.’”
“It hurts.” Marcus blanched, horrified those two words were his.
“Yup.” Nell picked up another shiny pebble. “And the more in love you fall, the more you let their sweetness tuck into all the dark, hidden corners of your heart, the more it hurts.”
He sighed. “She burps like a trucker.”
Nell’s chuckle rolled out over the water. “The reasons we fall in love never make sense.” She looked over, quiet for a moment. “You have to love a lot to do this.”
Naked honesty. Not what he’d expected. He looked down at his raspberry-blowing girl. “I thought you’d feed me some line about joy and happiness and finding the shiny, sparkly moments.”
“I will.” Nell’s smile held sadness-and challenge. “When you’re ready.”
He watched Morgan’s naked toes play with the wind. And thought that perhaps he might be closer than she thought.
Chapter 15
Marcus contemplated the long, skinny box in his hands. The contents were no mystery. And given the village grapevine, the fact that the UPS truck had pulled up in front of his cottage was likely to have Lizzie on his doorstep before the tea kettle whistled.
He looked over at Morgan, lying on a floor blanket doing her best imitation of a flipped-over crab. “You ready for sword-fighting lessons, baby girl?”
Happily flailing arms suggested it might be a long process. Marcus watched her bat at random bits of air above her head. Moira said babies played with the faeries. Dust motes, more likely-the cottage came complete with plenty of those. Housekeeping was a bit more of a challenge when you only had one arm available most of the day. And so far, he’d managed to resist offers from neighbors wielding mops and brooms-he had enough invaders as it was.
Running footsteps outside warned that the next one was about to arrive. Marcus pulled the door open. It wasn’t hospitality-the last time Lizzie had bolted through his door, she’d nearly given him a concussion.
“They’re here, they’re here!” She bounced off the walls like a dizzy human tornado.
He wondered briefly if a helmet might have been a good idea as well. “Slow down, girl-child. Swords come with rules. Let’s review them, shall we?”
She stopped, hands on hips and disgust plain on her face. “You never make Sean and Kevin do the rules.”
“That’s because boys’ ears aren’t attached to their brains.” Marcus tapped on the box. “First rule-swords are for outside only.”
Lizzie crossed her arms and glared. “Outside, no whacking, no leaving them on the floor for someone to trip on, and don’t poke anybody’s eye out.”
That seemed like a fairly complete list. “Well then, let’s unpack them and find the instructions, shall we?”
“Instructions?” Lizzie looked like he was speaking Mandarin Chinese. “They’re light sabers, Uncle Marcus. You hold them in your hands and fight.”
Marcus reached for a pair of scissors. “Ah, but these ones have sound effects.”
He was pretty sure Lizzie could make a career out of eye rolling. “You read the ’structions. I’ll just use my girl brains to figure that stuff out.”
He winced, pretty sure he was losing control of the conversation yet again. If Lizzie used a sword half as well as she used words, Sean and Kevin were in deep trouble.
When he opened the box, he expected the high-pitched squeal from the child bouncing beside him. What he didn’t expect was the pang of little-boy desire in his own heart. Even in plastic wrap, the sabers were… awesome.
Damn Star Wars propaganda.
And to hell with the instructions. With hands far too reverent for his own comfort, he lifted one of the sabers out of the box. And felt the handle accidentally slip into his hands. “En garde, evil invader!”
The witchling under attack looked at the sword tip three inches from the end of her nose and giggled. “That’s not outside, Uncle Marcus. And it’s pretty close to poking out my eye. Do you know how to use that thing?”
That kind of challenge to his manhood really couldn’t be tolerated. Marcus swiftly unwrapped both sabers and handed one over, hilt first. “To the back yard, miscreant!”
“I don’t know what a ’creant is.” Lizzie clutched her sword with maniacal glee. “But I won’t attack until you move Morgan.”
The baby. Hecate’s hells. Marcus looked around for a place to stash his saber-and decided baby slings were missing some key accessories. And it was lightly raining outside, which wouldn’t bother a Fisher’s Cove child in the slightest, but it probably meant you weren’t supposed to lie a baby on the ground.
The saber in his hand itched for freedom. And if Lizzie didn’t hit sword-friendly territory in the next five seconds, she was going to explode or break something.
Time for a change of plans. “To Realm, rabble rouser!”
Lizzie’s eyes got large. “To the castle? Can we fight on the drawbridge?”
As long as Jamie had done a thorough job cleaning up the fire-breathing dragons. “Possibly. I’ll need to find someone to watch over Morgan.” Sadly, the cat wasn’t an adequate babysitter.
His pint-sized fighter’s eyes gleamed with something deeper than mischief. “I’m pretty sure Sean and Kevin could do that job.”
He heard what she didn’t say loud and clear. She’d been relegated to some second-class role one too many times while swords clashed. And as he reached down for the purple-eyed girl lying on the floor, some part of Marcus was suddenly very eager to see that change. “Perhaps you can go ask Aunt Moira if she’d like to come watch Morgan for a bit.” He winked at Lizzie. “Tell her we’ll put a rocking chair out on the ramparts so they can watch.”
An excited sword narrowly missed his nose. “I’m going to feed you to the alligators, ’creant!”
Hopefully Jamie had taken care of those as well. “I fear that you just might, young warrior. So I propose a fight of a different kind.”
Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of different?”
Suspicious child. He pulled the sling tight around Morgan’s back and picked up his saber, voice as casual as he could make it. “I was thinking we might challenge Sean and Kevin to a duel.”
For several seconds, all Lizzie could do was stand and stare. And then she turned and ran, feet pelting his front walkway, six-year-old voice paging the twins at the top of her lungs.
Her mind beamed a single, blazing column of fierce, battle-ready joy.
Moira settled into her rocking chair with a view, enjoying the nice breeze on her face and the readying battle below. She reached over to check on the sleepy Morgan, tucked into a replica of Great Gran’s foot cradle. “Rest your eyes a bit, sweet girl, while our Lizzie trounces those boys.”