Dark Witch (13 page)

“That shut you up at least.”

“Ah—”

He hefted the cases again. “You want the ride, get yourself moving.”

“What?” She shoved her hands through her hair. “What
was
that?”

“You are an idiot. Of course I’m attracted to you. Any man with blood in him would be. That’s not the issue.”

“It’s not the issue. What is?”

“I’m not interested in doing anything about it. And if you ask one more question, I’m dumping these bags, and you can find your own way to Branna’s.”

“All I did was move in a little,” she said as she dragged on her jacket. “You’re the one who did the grabbing.” She snatched up her laptop case, and sailed out of the room.

“That I did,” he muttered. “And that’s made me an idiot as well.”

She kept her mouth firmly shut on the short drive. She wouldn’t say a word. It took bitter willpower, as she had plenty to say, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

Better to ignore him. More mature to say nothing.

No, she decided, more
powerful
to keep silent.

Even as she thought it, the truck jolted, as if it hit an invisible bump on the smooth road.

Boyle spared her one brief, hot look.

Had she done that? Iona gripped her hands together, fighting against a leap of glee. Had she actually lifted an entire truck? Unintentionally, but still a big jump from a pile of feathers.

She considered trying it again, just to see, but fortunately for all involved Boyle pulled up at Branna’s cottage.

She shoved out of the truck, started around to the bed to drag out her suitcases. Then thought the hell with it. He’d carted them out, so he could cart them in. She reversed, strode straight for the cottage door.

A sleepy-eyed Branna opened it before she knocked. “You’re timely.”

“He was early. Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“See if you’re thanking me after a week or two. Good morning to you, Boyle. If you’re after hauling those all the way, it’s the second on the left. I’ll show you your room,” Branna continued, and led the way up the narrow stairs. “Mine’s at the back, and Connor’s the front. I’ve my own bath, as when we added on, that was priority. Sharing a bath with him was a trial, and one you’ll now experience for yourself.”

“I don’t mind, not at all.”

“And if you’re saying the same after that week or two, you’re a liar. But that’s how it has to be.”

The bed with its simple headboard of iron slats painted creamy white faced a window where the view of the woods was framed in lace. The ceiling followed the slant of the roof and formed a cozy nook for a little desk and chair with a needlepointed seat.

The dresser, small scale again, bloomed with painted flowers against the same creamy white as the headboard. A little pot of shamrocks with their pretty white bells blooming sat on the dresser. The same rich green covered the walls and served as a backdrop for colorful prints of the hills, of the woods and gardens.

“Oh, Branna, it’s wonderful. It’s so pretty.” Iona brushed her fingers over the cloud-soft throw, an energetic pop of plums and purples and lavenders, folded at the foot of the bed. “I love it. I’m so grateful.”

This time Branna was a bit more prepared for the enthusiasm of the embrace, if not the quick bounce.

“You’re very welcome of course, and if you’ve a mind to change anything—”

“I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s perfect.”

“Where do you want these?” Boyle demanded from the doorway in a tone that took no trouble to hide aggravation.

Iona turned, and eyes that had gone misty dried cool. “Anywhere. Thank you.”

Taking her at her word, he dropped them just over the threshold, and kept the toes of his boots firmly on the other side. “Well, I’ll be off then.”

“You’ve time yet, don’t you?” Branna’s mind might have leapt with questions at the temper, the hot and cold of it, running in the room like open taps, but she kept her smile and tone easy. “I’ll fix you breakfast for your trouble.”

“Thanks for that, but I’ve things to do. Nine’s soon enough to come in this morning. Take time to settle.”

He left quickly, and with a clomp of boots on the stairs.

“So, what’s all this about?” Branna wondered, then noting the fire in Iona’s eyes, held up a hand. “Hold that in until we’re down in the kitchen. I’ve a feeling I’ll be wanting more coffee for this.”

She led the way, then poured two mugs. “Go on then, cut it loose.”

“He comes banging on the door. I’d been floating feathers. I’ve got it, Branna. I’ll show you. But he broke my focus, and there’s feathers everywhere, but I pulled it back, and I showed him. I was excited and happy, who wouldn’t be? But I’m not blind or stupid.”

She stomped around the kitchen as she spoke, one hand gesturing wildly. Branna kept her eye on the coffee in the mug in case it threatened to lap over.

“I know when a man’s thinking about making a move. I know that look. You know that look,” she said, pointing at Branna.

“I do indeed, and it’s a fine one under most circumstances.”

“Exactly, and since it felt fine, I went with it, or would have. I mean, for God’s sake, all I did was lean in a little, and he pulls back like I’d jabbed him with a burning stick.”

“Hmm,” Branna said and got down a skillet.

“I felt like an idiot. You know how that kind of thing makes you feel. Well, you probably don’t,” Iona reconsidered. “What man would pull back from you? But I felt hot, not in the good way. Embarrassed. So I apologized. Just read it wrong, that’s all, sorry about that. Okay, so maybe I babbled a little, but I felt awful and stupid, and completely flustered because I’d thought he and Meara were a thing, but she said no, so I let myself open that door, which I hadn’t because of Meara, and you don’t poach. Besides, he’s the boss, and you don’t want to step in it. And then I did, so it was worse. And I’m apologizing and trying to make it like no big thing, and he
grabs
me.”

Branna paused for a moment in her task of frying bacon and eggs. “Is that the truth of it?”

“He yanked me in, and kissed me until my brains leaked out of my ears and the top of my head blew clean off.” She made an exploding noise, threw her hands up, fountained them down. “And in like five seconds he just drops me, and makes some nasty comment about shutting me up, and says let’s get going.”

“A poet Boyle McGrath will never be.”

“Screw poetry. He didn’t have to slap me down that way.”

“He didn’t, no.” Sympathy twined around amusement. “He’s brusque, is Boyle, and sometimes that can be taken for unkindness, but he’s not unkind as a rule.”

“I guess he broke the rule with me.”

“I’d say he did, by kissing the brains from your ears. You work for him, so it’s an awkward sort of situation. He’d take that to heart, Boyle would.”

“But I—”

“Here, have this at the table.” She offered Iona a plate with the bacon and egg on a thick piece of toasted bread. “Morning drama stirs my appetite.” Branna carried her own, and her coffee, took a seat. “I’ll tell you, he’s a man of rules. You don’t cheat, steal, or lie. You don’t misuse animals or take advantage of those weaker than you. You don’t spoil for a fight—which is a rule come to be in the last few years—but you don’t walk away from one. You stand for your friends and for your round in the pub. You never touch a woman who belongs to another, and you don’t give your word unless you intend to keep it.”

“I wasn’t spoiling for a fight, and I don’t belong to anyone. I’m not weaker than he is. Physically, sure, but I have something more. I think I lifted his truck—lorry—just a little, like a good-sized bump in the road. On the way over here.”

More amused now, Branna enjoyed her breakfast. “Temper can spark power. You’ll want to learn how to control that. You said yourself, he’s your boss. He’d think of that, Iona. It would count with him, and yes, even though you could say you made the first move. So if he kissed the brains out of your ears, you can be sure he wanted to enough. It—like the bump of the lorry—wasn’t controlled.”

Thoughtfully now, Iona cut into the open-faced sandwich. “You don’t think he did it to teach me a lesson?”

“Oh no, not Boyle. No, he’d not think of such a thing. I’m saying—and it’s just my thought hearing only from you—he said what he did after only because he was mad at his own self. He gave you a look or two the other night at the pub.”

“He . . . Really?”

“Ah, what a position this is. My cousin and dark sister on one hand, and the man I’ve been friends with most of my life.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t put you in the middle.”

“Don’t be daft. Sisters weigh the scale. I’d say he’s had a thought about it, decided it’s against the rules. And now he’s pissed and frustrated, as he’s muddied the waters more than they were.”

“Good.” Iona cut another bite, decisively. “Then we can both be pissed and frustrated. But I feel better, talking to you. I know I throw most everything out there, and you . . . well, you don’t. But I want to say if you ever need to talk to anyone, I know when to shut up and listen.”

“We’ll have plenty to talk about. Now that you’re living here, we’ll need to put our time to good use. You’ve much yet to learn, and I don’t know how long you have to learn it. I can’t see it, and that worries me not a little.”

“I know it’s a small thing, but I floated all the feathers at once. I could direct them, change the speed, turn them. And it was like I didn’t have to think how once I understood. I just felt it.”

“It’s not a small thing. You’ve done well so far. If it was only a matter of bringing out what’s in you, we could take all the time, and there’d be more joy in it for both of us.” Branna looked out the windows toward the hills. “But I don’t know how or when he’ll come. I don’t know how it’s possible he can, as he was burned to ash by powerful magicks. But he will, cousin, when he believes he’s strong enough to defeat us all. We have to make certain he’s wrong.”

“There are four of us, so—”

“Three,” Branna said sharply. “We’re three. Fin isn’t part of the circle.”

“All right.” Dark territory, Iona thought. She’d try to steer clear of that until she had more light. “We’re three, he’s one. That’s a big advantage.”

“He can and will bring harm to all and any to win. We’re bound by our blood, by our art, by everything we are to harm none. He may not understand it, but he knows it.”

She rose, went to the back door. When she opened it, the dog padded in. Iona hadn’t heard a thing. “Kathel will walk with you to the stables when you’re ready.”

“My guard dog?”

“He enjoys the ramble. Cabhan will pay more mind to you as your power lights, so be aware of it.”

“I will. When will you take me to the place in the woods?”

“Soon enough. I need to get ready. I’ve work. Go on and get unpacked before you head out.”

“I’ll clear up here. You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

“Be sure I won’t unless I’m in the mood to,” Branna said in such an easy way it made Iona feel only more welcome. “And you’ll not clear today, but you and Connor will work that out between you from tonight. If I do the cooking, one or both of you does the clearing.”

“More than fair.”

“There’s a little washer and dryer—though in good weather, we hang out the wash—right in there. And we’ll be working out the marketing and the other chores. Come the spring, there’ll be gardening, and you won’t touch a blade of grass until I’m sure you know what you’re about.”

“Nan taught me. I’m pretty good.”

“We’ll see. You’ll want to go hawking with Connor.”

“I’d love to.”

“You’ll enjoy it, but it’s for more than that. We each of us have our guide, but we’re stronger when we connect with each, and they with all of us.”

“All right. Will you come see Alastar?”

“I will, soon enough. This is your home now, and ever will be.”

“You’ve always known where you belong. I don’t know if you can understand what it means to me to finally feel that.”

“Then go, put your things away. And when you come home, we’ll work. And for you.” Branna lifted a hand, closed it into a fist, then opened it again. A silver key lay in her palm. “We don’t always lock the doors, but in case, this will open them for you.”

“You have to show me how to do that,” Iona murmured, and took the key, still warm from Branna’s magick. “Thank you.”

“Sure, you’re welcome. I’ll be in my workshop when you’re done at the stables for the day. Come there, and come ready to learn.”

“I will.” Thrilled at the prospect, Iona all but danced out and up the stairs.

Her home now, Branna thought again. She’d tend to it, work for it, and one day, she’d have no choice but to fight for it.

9

I
ONA LED HER FIRST GROUP SOLO, MOUNTED ON ALASTAR.
She couldn’t be sure if she’d earned the responsibility, or if Boyle had tossed it at her to get her out of the way.

It didn’t matter.

She enjoyed the hour with the horse, and though she knew he’d have preferred a good gallop, sensed his pleasure in her companionship. Just as she gained pleasure from the easy conversation with the couple from Maine, and the pride of being confident on the paths, the directions, and most of the answers.

We’re earning our keep, she thought, giving Alastar a pat on the neck.

When she returned, Meara came out to greet her and her group. “I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind. Iona’s needed at the big stables.”

“I am?”

“And Alastar. Can you find your way?”

“Sure. You showed me, and I marked it on the map. But—”

“Fin’s orders, so you’d best go on. And how was your ride?” she asked the couple.

At a loss, Iona turned her mount, headed back the way she’d come.

Had Boyle complained about her? Was she about to be fired?

Her unsettled thoughts had Alastar turning his head to stare at her.

“I’m being stupid. Just overreacting, that’s all. Boyle’s pissy, but not petty.” Plus, she thought Fin liked her, at least a little.

She’d know when she got there. And thinking that, gave herself the pleasure of letting Alastar have his head.

“Let’s go,” she decided, and even before she could give him a light kick with heels, he flew. “Oh God, yes!” On a laugh, she lifted her face to the sky as Alastar thundered down the path.

Her thrill, his thrill—the same. Glorious and entwined. Power, she realized, his and hers, spurred them both so that for an instant, just an instant more, she felt them both lift above the ground. Flying truly now, the wind whipping her hair, his mane.

As she laughed, Alastar bugled in triumph.

He’d been born for this, she realized. So had she.

“Easy,” she murmured. “We should stick to the ground. For now.”

The moment of flight, and now the joy of the gallop with a gorgeous horse under her blew away any worries. She let him set the speed—the stallion could
move
—turned with the river, then away, down a narrow path through the thick trees, and into the clearing where the stables spread behind a big jumping paddock.

Slowed him now—easy, easy—so she could catch her breath and look.

The house rose, gray stone with two fanciful turrets and many glinting windows. A pretty stone courtyard backed by a garden wall separated it from the garage and the rooms—Boyle’s—over it.

A second paddock cocked to the right. A trio of horses stood at the fence, gazing toward the trees as if in deep contemplation.

She saw men, trailers, trucks—lorries, damn it—a husky black four-wheeler.

It all looked, she thought, prosperous, practical, and fanciful at the same time. Slowing Alastar to a dignified trot, she aimed for the stables, then him pulled up when she heard her name called.

She spotted Fin—jeans, boots, that enviable leather jacket—wave her over toward the jumping paddock as he walked to it himself.

He opened the gate, gestured her in.

“Meara said you wanted to see me.”

“That I do.” He cocked his head, studied her with those sharp green eyes. “You’ve had some fun.”

“I . . . What?”

“You’re glowing a bit, as is our boy here.”

“Oh. Well. We had a good gallop over.”

“I’ll wager you did, and likely more, but in any case,” he continued before she could think how to respond, “I want to see how you and Alastar handle the course here.”

Little could have surprised her more. “You want me to take him over the course?”

“As I said.” He shut the gate, slid his hands into his pockets. “Take it as you please.”

She sat for a moment, studying the course. She’d have called the current layout intermediate. A couple of doubles, nothing tricky, and plenty of room for the approach.

“You’re the boss.” She nudged Alastar forward, circled him around, kicked him up to an easy lope.

She never doubted him—after all, they’d flown together. She felt him gather for the first jump. They sailed over it, approached the next, glided up and over.

“What are you about?” Boyle muttered to Fin as he came out. His hands were in his pockets as well, but his fingers curled.

Fin barely glanced over as Boyle stepped up behind him. “I told you I wanted to see what she’s about. I need to know. Reverse it, take him around again,” he called out.

He skimmed his gaze toward the woods. No shadows now but trees, but that would change. So he needed to know.

“You don’t need me here for this,” Boyle began.

“I’ve business over in Galway, as you know. One of us has to stay with her until we’re sure she can handle the lesson.”

“No need to use her for it.”

“No need not to, is there? Jesus, they’re silk, the pair of them. That horse is already hers. I find I’m jealous of that. He likes me well enough, but he’ll never love me as he does her. Sure, another crack for my heart.”

He gave Boyle a slap on the shoulder. “Meet me at the pub, I should be well done and back by eight. We’ll have a pint and a meal, and you’ll tell me how she fared. And we’ll have a second pint where your tongue might loosen enough for you to tell me what happened between you and the blond witch to put that brood in your eyes.”

“Two pints doesn’t loosen my tongue, mate.”

“We’ll go for three then. Well done, Iona. You’re a picture, the pair of you.”

“He was born for it.” She rubbed Alastar’s neck as she walked him over. “I’m just ballast.”

“You’re a unit. We’ve a new student due in a few minutes. She’s eleven, and she’s a steady rider, but she’s decided she wants to learn to jump. You’ll take her.”

“Take her where?”

“On. As instructor. You’ll earn part of the fee for the lesson. If it works well for both of you. Boyle will stay on to supervise this first lesson out, as I’ve business elsewhere.”

Fin watched her eyes track over to Boyle, then flick away again. “All right. What’s her name, and what mount do you want for her?”

“She’s Sarah Hannigan, and her mother will be along as well—that’s Molly. They’ll be saddling up Winifred, Winnie we call her. She’s a veteran. It’s thirty minutes today, the lesson. We’ll see how she likes it. If it’s on, you’ll work out times and days among you.”

“Sounds good. This is fine for now, but I’d prefer a jumping saddle next time I instruct.”

“Sure, we’ll fix you up. I’m off then. At the pub, Boyle.”

As Fin strode off, Iona glanced down at Boyle, watched him shift his weight. “So?”

“I’ll see Winnie’s saddled.”

When he turned toward the stables, Alastar butted Boyle hard with his head.

“Alastar! Sorry,” she said immediately, and bit down hard on the gurgle of laughter that wanted to escape. “Don’t be rude,” she told the horse, and leaning over to his ear added, “even if it’s funny.”

She dismounted, looped the reins around the fence. “Wait here. Can I see your Darling?” she asked Boyle.

“My what?”

“The horse, Darling. The one you got from that asshole.”

“Ah.” He scowled a moment, then shrugged. “She’s inside.”

“You can just point the way. I should take a look at Winnie, to see what I’m working with.”

“All right then.”

He strode off, and after rolling her eyes at Alastar, she followed. With her mouth firmly shut.

He didn’t introduce her to the stable hands, or the black-and-white mutt with the wagging tail, so she introduced herself. And, ignoring Boyle’s obvious impatience, she shook hands with Kevin and Mooney, and scratched Bugs (because he ate them) between the ears.

She judged the operation to be at least half again the size of the other stable, but the smells, the sounds, the look felt the same.

He paused outside a stall and the good-looking bay mare. “This is Winnie.”

“She’s clever, isn’t she? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Winnie?” Compact, Iona judged as she stroked Winnie’s cheek. A good size for a young girl, and the steady look in her eyes boded well for a novice on the jump course.

“I can saddle her for the lesson if you show me the tack room.”

“Kevin will handle it. Kevin! We’ve young Sarah coming in for her first jumps. It’s Winnie for her.”

“I’ll get her ready then.”

Iona turned. And saw the white filly.

“Oh my God, look at you.”

Nearly pure white, sleek, regal—young, Iona thought as she approached—the filly watched her with eyes of gilded brown.

“That’s—”

“Aine,” Iona finished. “Fin’s faerie queen. Still a princess yet, but one day.” When Iona lifted a hand, Aine bent her head as if granting a great favor.

“She’s astonishingly beautiful, and knows it very well. She’s proud, and only waiting for her time to come. And it will.”

“We’ll wait, another year, I think, before breeding her.”

Not that time to come, Iona thought, but only nodded.

You’ll fly, she thought. And you’ll love.

“Fin knows his horses,” Iona commented as she stepped back.

“He does.”

She paused to greet other horses on the walk down the sloped concrete. Good, healthy animals, she judged, and some real beauties—though none reached the level of Alastar and Aine—housed in clean, roomy stalls. Then she came to the roan mare with the big, poignant eyes, the long white blaze down her nose, and knew without being told.

“You’re Darling, and that’s just what you are.”

Even before Boyle stepped up beside her, the mare turned her head, big eyes warming, body quivering. Not in fear, Iona thought, but simple delight.

She’d smelled him, sensed him, before he came into view. And it was love twined with utter devotion that had the mare stretching her neck so her head could bump his shoulder, light as a kiss.

“That’s the girl.” He all but crooned it, and Darling whickered, turned her head for his hand.

He opened the stall door, eased in. “I’ll just check the foreleg while I’m here.”

“It’s better,” Iona said. “But she remembers how much it hurt. She remembers being hungry. Being afraid. Until you.”

Saying nothing, he crouched to run his hands up the foreleg, down again as Darling nibbled playfully at his hair.

“Do you have an apple in your coat pocket? She’s pretty sure you do.”

It was . . . disconcerting, to have his horse’s thoughts translated to him, but he rose again, slid his hands along Darling’s flank.

Iona thought if a horse could purr, she would have.

While Aine had astonished her, so much beauty and grace, Darling tugged her heart with her simple, unabashed devotion.

They knew, she and Darling, what it was to yearn for love, or at least genuine understanding and acceptance. To wish so hard and deep for a place, for a purpose.

It seemed they’d both gotten that wish.

Then Boyle reached in his pocket for the apple, into another for his pocketknife. Iona felt Darling’s pleasure in the treat, and more, that it would be offered.

“You’re filling out well, my girl, but what’s a bit of an apple, after all?” She took it neatly, eyed the second half as she ate.

“This one’s for Winnie, if she behaves with her student.”

“You saved her.” Iona waited while he stepped out, closed the stall door. “She’ll never be anything but yours.”

Iona reached up to stroke; Darling stretched out her neck again.

“She’s not skittish with you,” Boyle noted. “That’s progress. She’s still a bit nervy with strangers.”

“We understand each other.”

When Darling angled her head so her cheek pressed to Boyle’s, and when he took the half apple out of his pocket, and fed it to her, Iona knew she was done.

“I’ll get another for Winnie. You haven’t had enough of them in your life.”

“That’s done it,” Iona muttered. “I’m good at getting mad, mostly when it’s justified. At least I think so. But I suck at staying mad. I just can’t hold on to it, it’s so heavy. Then add in me standing here watching this mutual love affair, and I can’t do it. So I’m finished being mad at you, if that matters.”

Boyle eyed her with some cautious speculation. “The day and the work go easier without having the mad weighing it down.”

“Agreed. So.” She held out a hand. “Peace?”

He frowned at her hand a moment, but he took it. He meant to let it go, right away. But he didn’t.

“You work for me.”

Iona nodded. “That’s true.”

“You’re cousin to one of my closest mates.”

Her pulse skipped lightly, but she nodded again. “I am.”

“And it’s barely a week since I first set eyes on you.”

“I can’t argue.”

“And what you are is . . . a matter.”

Now she frowned. “A matter of what?”

“A matter of, well, fact. And something you yourself are just getting acquainted with.”

“Okay. Is it the fact that’s a problem for you?”

“I wasn’t saying it was a problem.”

“Are you a witch bigot?”

Insult flew across his face so the green shimmered deeper over the tawny gold of his eyes. “That’s a softheaded thing to say, seeing as I’m friends with three of them, and one of those stands as my partner as well.”