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into
conversation.
    “Are you settling back in very well,
Quinlan?” she asked and speared a sweet meat with her knife from
the piled trencher.
    “Oh, I would say he’s
happy to be home,” Ryan said behind them. “Why , he’s been skipping around like a
little girl, that one.”
    Rose squealed in delight, jumped from her
seat and into her husband’s arms. She nearly knocked Breanne into
Quinlan’s lap in the process and they both went rigid with
embarrassment. Righting herself, as did he, Breanne waited for
another opportunity to make conversation.
    She decided that if she kept on neutral
subjects--warm but very unromantic and definitely not flirtatious
by any stretch-- that he would perceive the underlying message.
Could they please be friends and not become desperate with
lovesickness?
    “Have you decided whether you’ll hire onto
Niall’s guard or not?” she asked Quinlan while Ryan and Rose’s
reunion settled.
    Quinlan looked at her strangely and
immediately Breanne realized her mistake, an additional blunder.
Her father had been Niall’s first warrior, the most elite of his
hired warriors, assigned to fight for and protect the king. He had
died doing it. And as honorable a death as it might be, Breanne had
a hundred times already told Quinlan that his living would have
been better.
    Since childhood, she’d tried to dissuade
Quinlan of the idea and he, in turn, would press it on her. But,
that was before her feelings for him changed. Now, it seemed, since
he would not become her husband, any career should be a good choice
so long as he was happy.
    Quinlan stood.
    Breanne opened her mouth to try to take back
the callous sound her words took on in her mind and, so obviously,
in his, as well. But, what could she say? So sorry Quinlan, I
hadn’t thought that one out? I’m distracted with an ultimatum and
concern for my strangely behaving friend and mentor?
    He walked away before a reasonable apology
came to her.
    “What was all that, then?” Rose asked. Ryan
kept his arm around his wife, unhearing.
    “I’ve said the wrong thing.” She put her
forehead into her hands. “Oh, Rose, I’m mucking things up good
today. Promise me you’ll forget every last thing I say today?”
    Rose rubbed her back
sympathetically. “Always , Bree. Why, I’ll even forgive the pile of lies you
laid at my feet this afternoon.”
    Breanne gasped and looked up.
    “Don’t look so surprised. I have ears and
eyes.” Rose’s eyes twinkled and smiled reassuringly. “You don’t
have to tell me the truth of things unless you want. But, I’ve
known you too long to not smell a rotten fib when you spew
one.”
    Breanne shrank down in her seat. She felt
caught. Rose chuckled. She couldn’t help laughing, as well.
    “Am I truly so terrible at them?” Not for the
first time, she wished she could be so gay and forgiving as
Rose.
    “Aye. The whole Grianan, every woman in the
room, begins to look about at each other for whoever filled it with
stink when you’ve left a lie behind,” she laughed out.
    “ That’s my Rose. She can
make a warrior blush.” Ryan shook his head and let his arm fall to
eat.
    “Stop now, Rose,” Breanne said. “You’ll have
me crying if you don’t.” A tear slid out anyway.
    “And then I inevitably get the blame.” Rose
had tears, too. “But you’re my dearest friend and if that’s not
worth suffering a few prim glares, what is?”
    Breanne’s heart warmed. She hugged her friend
close to thank her. Leave it to Rose to remind her that life can’t
be taken so seriously.
    “And you no longer have the blameworthiness
of being with child right now,” Breanne said, “I had better stop
before they bar you from the Grianan.” Her stomach and cheeks ached
from the ongoing jest.
    “Ah, let them.” Rose waved her hand and
leaned back against Ryan. “Give me a reason to stay in bed.”
    Ryan responded with appropriately lewd hip
gyrations and soon the two were in their own secret jest that