Moira put down the hood of her cloak, but didn't take it off. „I'm only staying a minute. I came to deliver a message. There's a big dinner up at the inn tonight. Lobster stew.”
His favorite—and in normal times, a very welcome invitation. A warm meal cooked by someone else and plenty of able-bodied volunteers to kepp Morgan out of the plant life.
These, however, were not normal times. They had a visitor. Suspicion raked the back of his neck. „And why might the inn suddenly be trying to serve me lobster stew?”
His aunt shrugged, rippling her cloak. „To welcome Cassidy, I assume.”
Even he wasn't addlebrained enough to believe it was that simple. Marcus shook his head. „Womenfolk and witches.” Meddlers, all of them.
Moira's eyes flashed. „It's Aaron who's issuing this invitation, and last time I checked, he was neither woman nor witch.”
That just meant the meddlers were pushing from the shadows. „And who planted the idea of a big supper in the first place, hmm?”
„I've no idea.” The innocence on his aunt's face could be easily faked—the honest sincerity in her mind, not so much. „I assumed Aaron had a whim, what with a new guest at the inn and all.”
Hecate's hells. Marcus took out his frustrations on the hapless egg. „In that case, I apologize for assuming you were trying to run my life yet again.”
The eyes that watched him were thoughtful now. „We've done rather a lot of that in the last year, I'll admit.”
He slowed his attack on the mess in his bowl. The last year had taught him much about his obligations in this continental dance of people through his hous and his life. It wasn't always right to dump surliness onto the nearest visitor—even if they deserved it. And sometimes, the best of them deserved honesty. Aunt Moira was the very best. „I was stuck. Sometimes it takes a push to get a body moving.”
„Aye.” One word, loaded with more empathy than most people received in their lifetime.