Spindrift (Exit Unicorns Series) by Brandner Cindy

Spindrift (Exit Unicorns Series) by Brandner Cindy

Author:Brandner, Cindy [Brandner, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Starry Night Press
Published: 2013-11-26T16:00:00+00:00

“He was right, of course, sometimes I thought the man had a bit of the Sight an’ that he saw down the road of his own life to the end, an’ knew it wasn’t as far away as he hoped.”

“He did know,” Brian said quietly, “he made sure everything was settled in the weeks before he was shot. Mam said as much afterward, for he’d been doing all the repairs about the house an’ land that she’d asked him to do an’ made certain she knew where everything was an’ that all of it was in her name, so that there would be no legal problems. She was fair angry with him durin’ that time because I think she understood what all the preparation was about. I don’t think he had any idea they would kill my brothers too, but I think he knew they were comin’ for him.”

“Aye, Brendan was like that an’ even if he knew he wouldn’t run to avoid his own fate. The man was a stubborn bastard, if ever there was one.” Terry sighed. “I’m feelin’ dreadful nostalgic now. I miss yer da every day of my life. Things were never the same between him an’ me, after I went into the priesthood. Truth be told, maybe the change dated back to the night we met Peg.”

“Ye loved her?” Brian asked gently.

“Aye, I did, whatever that might mean comin’ from a man who chose a life of celibacy. I loved yer da too, he was the brother I never had, as they say.”

“I know ye did. He loved ye too. He said ye were the stubbornest mule of a man he’d ever known, but also one of the finest.”

“Aye, he was right about that—the stubborn part leastwise.”

“I’m for bed,” Brian said, “I’m all done in. Thank ye, Father Terry, for sharin’ yer history an’ my da’s—I needed it, some small part of it.”

“Yer welcome, Brian,” he said softly. “I think I’ll go outside for a wee bit, I’m not tired yet.”

The night had turned cold while he had been snugged up by the fire, telling tales. There was just a hint of frost in it, so that come morning there would be chill dew upon the grass and leaves. He wandered down the slope away from the hut, the stone looming up against a sky shot full with stars.

Speaking of his past, of Brendan’s past—the two things being inseparable up to the day he had entered the priesthood, had made his heart heavy in his chest. Memory was an odd thing; these days he couldn’t always remember what he’d had for breakfast, but events from years past were clear as though held in a drop of water, magnified by time and emotion. Something so small and simple—a whiff of smoke on the air, three notes of an old melody, the curve of a woman’s smile—and the past swept him back into its embrace. The Celts had believed time to be cyclical, as curved and round as the world itself.


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