Dark Witch (29 page)

“They . . .” She paused as Fin’s truck, then Meara’s sped into the stable yard. “They all heard me. He couldn’t stop that. It couldn’t stop that from getting through.”

“What the bloody, buggering hell happened?” Boyle demanded.

“I’ll tell you. All of you,” she said, speaking to the group. “But we need to check the horses. He didn’t hurt them. I’d know if he did. But they’re afraid.”

She brought Alastar with her, felt the need to keep him close as she went back inside.

They would purify the ring, she thought. Branna would see to it.

She soothed the horses, one by one, and so doing soothed herself. By the time the stable hands arrived to see to the morning routine, she huddled with the rest, crowded in Boyle’s little office, and told the tale.

“There’s a sexuality, on the most elemental level,” she added. “He uses it like a weapon. It’s powerful, and it pulls. But more, he was stronger this time. Maybe he’s been storing it up somehow. I don’t know the answer, but I know when he hit the shield, it cracked. It wouldn’t hold him back.”

“So you removed it, took him straight out the doors. Clever,” Fin told her.

“That’s what he said. Right before he promised to spare all our lives if I gave him my power.”

“He’s a liar,” Branna reminded her.

“I know it. I know. But the blood on my hands.” Fighting a fresh shudder, she pressed her palms together. “It felt real, and it felt like yours. He knows I’m still the weak spot.”

“He’s wrong, and so are you if you believe it.” With the lack of space, Boyle couldn’t pace off the anger, so he just balled his fists into his pockets. “There’s nothing weak in you.”

“He wanted to scare me, and tempt me. He managed both.”

“And what did you do about it?”

She nodded. “I like to think I would have, could have kept doing it if all of you hadn’t come so quickly. But the point is I’m still his focus. Take what’s mine, and he believes he can take the rest.”

“So we’ll use that. We will,” Fin said before Boyle could object. “The slightest adjustment to the plan, and he’ll see her as vulnerable, see it as the time and place to close in, and have it done.”

“It’s more complicated,” Branna began.

“And since when have a few complications buggered you up?”

“More dangerous,” Connor added.

“If we’re in it, we’re in it.” Meara shrugged. “Today proves Iona can’t even come to work in the morning without a risk. Why should she live that way? Or any of us?”

“The next time he might hurt the horses,” Iona added. “To damage me, to distract me. I won’t have that. I couldn’t live with that. What adjustments?”

“He thinks you’ll go alone tomorrow, to the ruins.”

Iona stared at Boyle, saw the fury behind his eyes. “I’m bait. But bait with knowledge and power. And a very strong circle.”

Before Boyle could curse, Branna laid a hand on his arm. “She’s never alone, never will be. You’ve my word, and the word of all of us here.”

She gave his arm a rub, then considered. “It could be done. I think it could be done well enough.”

“You’ll work with me on just that today then?”

Branna looked at Fin, fought her nasty internal war. “I will, for Iona. For the circle.”

“We’ll get started. Keep in the company of others,” Fin added, tracing a finger over Iona’s cheek. “For the day, keep others close, will you, little sister?”

“No problem.”

It was easy enough, especially since Boyle or Meara hovered.

Boyle took her off guided rides for the day—a frustration to her—and stuck her on stable duties.

She groomed, fed, cleaned stalls, repaired tack, polished boots.

And the day dragged.

She rode Alastar to the big stables—Boyle on Spud beside her—to deal with the lesson she had scheduled for the end of the day.

This time tomorrow, she thought, she’d make the final preparations. And she’d take the next steps toward her destiny.

“We’re going to win this,” she said to Boyle.

“Cocksure’s a foolish thing.”

“It’s not cocksure, or not cocky.” She remembered Connor’s words, and her feeling with him, in the morning kitchen. “It’s faith, and faith’s a strong, positive thing.”

“I don’t care for you being the tip of the spear in this.”

“I sure didn’t plan to be, but because I am, he’s the one who’ll be cocksure and foolish. Think about that.”

“I’ve been thinking of it, and considerable else.”

At the stables he dismounted, waited for her to do the same. “I’ve something to show you.”

He started into the stables. Before one of the hands could speak, Boyle signaled him away, jerked a thumb and sent him out. Then led the way to the tack room with its scent of leather and oil.

“It’s that.”

She followed the gesture, hummed in pleasure at the gleam of the saddle sitting on its stand.

“That’s new, isn’t it?” She stepped to it, ran a hand over the curve, over the smooth black leather. “Beautifully made, and just look at the stirrups shine! It’s hand-tooled, isn’t it? It’s—”

“It’s yours.”

“What? Mine?”

“It’s made for you, specifically, and for Alastar. For the pair of you.”

“But—”

“Well, I didn’t know, did I, the others would be after buying the car for you, and this was meant for your birthday.”

If he’d offered her a pirate’s chest of gold and jewels she’d have been less stunned. “You . . . You had this made for me, for my birthday?”

His brows drew together, just short of a glower. “A horsewoman of your caliber should have her own saddle, and a fine one.”

When she said nothing, he lifted the saddle, turned it over. “See, it’s your name there.”

Gently, she brushed her fingers over her name. Just Iona, she thought. Just her first name, and a symbol of flames beside it—Alastar’s name, and a trinity knot, across from it.

“I know a man who does the work,” Boyle continued, flustered when the silence dragged out. “The leather work, and the . . . ah, well, it seemed fitting to me.”

“It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful gift.”

“You’d sold your own.”

“That’s right.” She looked at him then, just looked. “To come here.”

“So . . . sure now you have another. And if we’re to do this tomorrow, you should have it. You and Alastar should use it.” He started to turn it over again, secure it. Iona put a hand over his.

“It’s much more than another saddle. Much more to me.” She rose on her toes, brushed her lips over one of his cheeks, the other, then lightly over his lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, of course, and happy birthday again. I’ve things to see to now. Fin’ll be keeping an eye out, as he let me know he and Branna are done for today.”

“All right. Thank you, Boyle.”

“As you’ve said.”

She let him go. She had a lesson to prepare for. And decisions to make.

* * *

SHE WALKED OVER TO FIN WHEN HER STUDENT LEFT.
Gave a short sigh. “I didn’t give her my best today.”

“I wager she’d disagree. And if you’re a bit distracted today, there’s cause enough.”

“I guess.” She glanced toward the rooms over the garage. “And you and Branna?”

“Did what we set out to do, with little drama. That’s a blessing in itself. I’ll take you back to the stables if you’re wanting your car, then follow you home to be safe and sure.”

“Oh, thanks, but . . . I want to— I need to
 . . .
I have to talk to Boyle. About something. He can take me home, I think.”

“All right then.” With an easy smile rather than the laugh in his heart, Fin took Alastar’s reins. “I’ll just see to our boy here.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll enjoy it. And I’ll say he and I have things to discuss as well.”

“You do talk to him, and the other horses. The way I can.”

“I do, yes.”

“And the hawks—your own, Connor’s, the others. Kathel, our hound. Even Bugs. All of them.”

Fin moved his shoulders, a kind of half shrug that managed to be elegant and a little sad. “They’re all mine, and none of them mine. There’s no guide for me, as there is for you. No connection that intimate. But, well, we understand each other. Go on now, say what you need to say to Boyle.”

“Tomorrow . . .”

“You’ll shine, brighter than you ever have.” He cupped her chin a moment, tapped a finger on her jaw. “I believe it. Go see Boyle. I’ll be around and about if you need me.”

She took two steps, turned. “She loves you.”

Fin just stroked a hand over Alastar’s neck. “I know it.”

“It’s harder, isn’t it, knowing someone loves you and can’t let it just be love?”

“It is. Harder than anything else.”

With a nod, she walked over, then climbed the steps to Boyle’s room. Straightened her shoulders, knocked.

When he answered the door, she had her smile ready. “Hi. Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No. Maybe. It depends. I need to . . .” She closed her eyes, held her hands out to the side, palms out.

He saw something shimmer, caught the faintest change of the light, of the air.

“He’s focused on me,” Iona said. “So he might find ways to hear, to listen, to see, even when we’re inside. I don’t want him to hear what we talk about.”

“All right. Ah, do you want tea. Or a beer?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind some whiskey.”

“That’s easily done.” He crossed over to take a bottle down from a cupboard, then two short glasses. “This is about tomorrow.”

“In a way. I meant what I said before. I believe we’ll win. I believe we have to, that we’re meant to. And I know what blood feels like on my hands. I know, or I believe, the good, the light, defeats evil, the dark. But not without cost. Not without price, and sometimes the price is very high.”

“If you weren’t afraid, you’d be stupid.”

She took the glass he offered. “I’m not stupid,” she said, and tossed the whiskey back. “We can’t know what will happen tomorrow, or what the price may be. I think it’s important, tonight, to grab what good we have, what light we have, and hold on to it. I want to be with you tonight.”

He took a careful step back. “Iona.”

“It’s a lot to ask, considering I asked you exactly the opposite not so very long ago. You gave your word, and you kept it. Now I’m asking you to give me tonight. I want to be touched, to be held. I want to feel before tomorrow comes. I need you tonight. I hope you need me.”

“I never stopped wanting to touch you.” He set his whiskey aside. “I never stopped wishing to be with you.”

“We’d both have tonight, whatever comes. I think we’d be stronger for it. It’s not breaking a promise if I ask you to throw it away. Will you take me to bed? Will you let me stay till morning?”

There were things he wanted to say, yearned to say. But would she believe them, even with her shining faith, if he said them here and now?

The words would wait, he told himself, until the dawn after the longest day. Then she’d believe what he’d come to know.

Instead of speaking he simply stepped to her. Though they felt big, clumsy, he cupped her face with his hands, then lowered his mouth to hers.

She leaned into him, her arms wrapping, her lips heating.

“Thank God! Thank God you didn’t send me away. I’ve—”

“Quiet,” he murmured, and kissed her—soft, soft, tender as a bud just opened.

They had till morning, he thought. All those long hours, only that finite time. He would do what he’d never thought to do. He would take each minute, make it precious. Show her, somehow, she was precious.

“Come with me now.” Taking her hand, he led her to the bedroom. Then crossed over to pull the blinds down on the windows. The light went dim and dusky.

“I’ll be a moment,” he told her, left her there.

He had candles. For emergencies rather than atmosphere, but a candle was a candle, wasn’t it?

He might not be a romantic sort of man, but he knew what romance was.

He unearthed three candles, brought them in, set them around. Then remembered matches. He patted his pockets. “I’ll just find the matches, then . . .”

She trailed a finger through the air, and the candles flamed.

“Or we could do that.”

“I’m not sure what we’re doing, but you’re making me nervous.”

“Good.” He went back to her, ran his hands down, shoulder to wrist and back again. “I wouldn’t mind that. I’d like feeling you tremble,” he murmured, opening the buttons of her shirt. “I’d like looking in your eyes and seeing you can’t help yourself. That nervous or not, you want me to go on touching you.”

“I do.” She reached up, managed to open a button on his shirt before he stopped her.

“I want you to take what I give you tonight. Just take, just let me give. I’ve missed seeing the shape of you,” he continued, and drew her shirt off her shoulders. “Missed the feel of your skin under my hands.”

He circled her nipples with his thumbs, then gently brushed the pads over them, over them until the tremble came.

He took his hands over her, took her mouth with his—everything slow, everything dreamy, even the thick thud of her heart against him.

“Take what I give.” He backed her to the bed, brushing, stroking, eased her onto it. Watched her in the candlelight as he drew off her boots, set them down.

“Come lie with me.”

“Oh, I will. In time.”

He unbuttoned her jeans, drew the zipper down. Slow. Followed its path with his lips.

What was he doing to her? She found herself clutching at the bed covers one minute, going limp as water the next. He undressed her so slowly, inch-by-inch torture. And yet the pleasure was sumptuous, a banquet of exotic delicacies. The heat of it enervated. The weight of it left her arms too heavy to lift.

She knew nothing but the feel of his hands, his lips, the sound of his voice, his scent. Him. Him. Him.

Once, twice, a third time he guided her to the shuddering edge, held her there, poised, desperate for the leap, only to ease her back again until her breath sobbed with need, with the speechless desire for the next.

Then with lips, tongue, ruthlessly patient hands he slid her over that edge.

Not a leap, but a fall—breathless, endless, a tumble of senses and sensations. And the world revolved.