Enchanted (21 page)

Her heart had bounded into her head to spin dreamily. “Yes, you said your mother was an O’Meara. We might even be distant relatives. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then in some convoluted way I might be connected to Morgana and the rest.”

He bit back a sigh; then, reaching for her hands, he took them firmly in his and leaned closer. “Rowan, I didn’t say we might be cousins, but that we
are
cousins. Distant, it’s true, but we share blood. A legacy.”

Puzzled by the sudden intensity she frowned at him. “I suppose we might be. Tenth cousins or something, however many times removed. I’m not entirely clear how that works. It’s interesting, but …”

This time her heart seemed to stop. “What do you mean?” she said slowly. “We share a legacy?”

“Your great-grandmother, Rowan O’Meara, was a witch. As I am. As you are.”

“That’s absurd.” She started to jerk her hands free, but he held them fast. “That’s absurd, Liam. I didn’t even know her, and you certainly didn’t.”

“I know of her.” He spoke calmly now. “Of Rowan O’Meara from Clare, who fell in love and married, and left her homeland, and abjured her gifts. She did this because the man she loved asked it of her. She did this freely, as was her right. And when she birthed her children, she said nothing of their heritage until they were grown.”

“You’re thinking of someone else” was all she could say.

“So they thought her eccentric, and perhaps a bit fey, but they didn’t believe. When they birthed children of their own, they only said Rowan O’Meara was odd. Kind and loving, but odd. And when the daughter of her daughter birthed a daughter, that child was raised not knowing what ran in her blood.”

“A person would have to know. How could you not know?” This time he released her hands so she could pull back, spring to her feet. “You’d feel it. You’d sense it.”

“And haven’t you?” He got to his feet as well, wishing he’d found a way to tell her without frightening her. “Haven’t you felt it, from time to time? Felt that stirring, that burn in the blood, wondered at it?”

“No.” That was a lie, she thought and backed away. “I don’t know. But you’re wrong, Liam. I’m just ordinary.”

“You saw pictures in the flames, dreamed your dreams as a child. Felt the tingle of power under your skin, in your mind.”

“Imagination,” she insisted. “Children have wonderful ones.” But she felt a tingle now, and part of it was fear.

“You said you weren’t afraid of me.” He said it softly, as he might to a deer startled in the woods. “Why would you be afraid of yourself?”

“I’m not afraid. I just know it’s not true.”

“Then you’d be willing to test it, to see which of us is right?”

“Test what? How?”

“The first skill learned and the last to leave is the making of fire. What’s inside you already knows how it’s done. I’ll just remind you.” He stepped to her, taking her hand before she could evade. “And you have my word that I won’t do it myself, just as I want your word that you won’t block what comes.”

It seemed even her soul was trembling now. “I don’t have to block anything because there isn’t anything.”

“Then come with me.”

“Where?” she demanded as he pulled her outside. But she already knew.

“The dance,” he said simply. “You won’t have control just yet, and it’s protected.”

“Liam, this is ridiculous. I’m just a normal woman, and in order to make a fire I need kindling and a match.”

He paused just long enough to glare at her. “You think I’m lying to you?”

“I think you’re mistaken.” She had to scramble to keep up with his ground-eating strides. “There probably was a Rowan O’Meara who was a witch. There probably was, Liam, but she wasn’t my great-grandmother. My great-grandmother was a sweet, slightly dotty old woman who painted beautifully and told fairy stories.”

“Dotty?” The insult of that brought him up short. “Who told you that?”

“My mother … That is …”

“So.” He nodded as if she’d just confirmed everything he’d said. “Dotty,” he muttered as he began to stride along again. “The woman gives up everything for love and they call her dotty. Aye, maybe she was at that. She’d have been better off staying in Ireland and mating with one of her own.”

Then he wouldn’t be stalking down this path with Rowan’s trembling hand in his, he thought.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was pleased or annoyed with that particular twist of fate.

When he reached the stone circle, he pulled her directly to the center. She was out of breath, from the quick walk and from what she could feel swimming in the air.

“The circle’s cast and so it begins. I ask that all be safe within. This woman comes that she may see. As I will, so mote it be.”

As the chant ended, the wind swept through the stones, wrapped like a warm caress around Rowan’s body. Startled, she crossed her arms over her breasts, gripped her own shoulders. “Liam—”

“You should be calm, but that will be hard for you. Nothing here will harm you, Rowan, I swear to you.” He laid his hands over hers and kissed her, gently but deeply, until the stiffness of her body softened. “If you won’t trust yourself, trust me.”

“I do trust you, but this—I’m afraid of this.”

He stroked a hand down her hair, and realized that in many ways what he was doing was like initiating a virgin to love. It should be done sweetly, patiently, and with thoughts only on her.

“Think of it as a game.” He smiled at her as he stepped back. “A more basic one than you imagine just now.” He drew her down to her knees. “Breathe deep and slow until you hear your heartbeat in your head. Close your eyes if it helps, until you’re steady.”

“You tell me I’m going to make fire out of nothing, and then ask me to be steady.” But she closed her eyes. The sooner she could prove to him he was mistaken, the sooner it would be over.

“A game,” she said on the first long breath. “All right, just a game, and when you see I’m no good at it, we’ll go home and finish breakfast.”

Remember what you weren’t told, but knew.
Liam’s voice was a quiet murmur inside her mind.
Feel what you always felt but never understood. Listen to your heart. Trust your blood.

“Open your eyes, Rowan.”

She wondered if this was like being hypnotized. To be so fully, almost painfully aware, yet to be somehow outside yourself. She opened her eyes, looked into his as sunlight streamed between them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you?” There was the faintest lilt of amusement in his voice now. “Open yourself, Rowan. Believe in yourself. Accept the gift that’s been waiting for you.”

A game, she thought again. Just a game. In it she was a hereditary witch, with power sleeping just under the surface. Waking it was only a matter of believing, of wanting, of accepting.

She stretched out her hands, stared at them as if they belonged to someone else who watched them tremble lightly. They were narrow hands, with long slender fingers. Ringless, strangely elegant. They cast twin shadows on the ground.

She heard her own heartbeat, just as he’d told her. And she heard the slow, deep sound of her own breathing, as if she were awake listening to herself sleep.

Fire, she thought. For light, for heat. For comfort. She could see it in her mind, pale gold flames just touched with deep red at the edges. Glowing low and simmering, rising up like torches to the sky. Smokeless and beautiful.

Fire, she thought again, for heat, for light. Fire that burns both day and night.

Dizzy, she swayed a little. Liam had to fight every instinct to keep from reaching out to her.

Then her head fell back and her eyes went violently blue. The air hushed. Waited. He watched as she lost a kind of innocence.

Power whipped through her like the wind that suddenly rose to send her hair flying. The sudden heat of it made her gasp, made her shudder. Then it streaked like a rocket down her arms, seemed to shoot from her fingers into a pool of light.

She saw with dazzled eyes the fire she’d made.

It sizzled on the ground, tiny dancing flames of gold edged with red. The heat of it warmed her knees, then her hands as she hesitantly stretched them over it. As she drew them back, the flames shot high.

“Oh. Oh, no!”

“Ease back, Rowan. You need a bit of control yet.”

He brought the thin column of fire down as she stared and stuttered.

“How did I— How could I—” She snapped her gaze to his. “You.”

“You know it wasn’t me. It’s your heritage, Rowan, and your choice whether you accept it or not.”

“It came from me.” She closed her eyes, inhaling, exhaling slowly until she could do so without her breath shuddering out. “It came from me,” she repeated, and looked at him. She couldn’t deny it now, what some part of her knew. Perhaps had always known.

“I felt it. I saw it. There were words in my head, like a chant. I don’t know what to think, or what to do.”

“What do you feel?”

“Amazed.” She let out a dazed laugh and stared at her own hands. “Thrilled. Terrified and delighted and wonderful. There’s magic in me.” It shimmered in her eyes, glowed on her face. This time her laugh was full and free as she sprang up to turn circles inside the ring of stones.

Grinning widely, Liam sat with his legs crossed and watched her embrace self-discovery. It made her beautiful, he realized. This sense of sheer joy gave her a rich and textured beauty.

“All my life I’ve been average. Pathetically ordinary, tediously normal.” She spun another circle, then collapsed on the ground beside him to throw her arms around his neck. “Now there’s magic in me.”

“There always was.”

She felt like a child with hundreds and hundreds of brightly wrapped presents waiting to be opened and explored. “You can teach me more.”

“Aye.” Understanding something of what was racing through her, he flicked a finger down her cheek. “I can. I will. But not just now. We’ve been here more than an hour, and I want my breakfast.”

“An hour.” She blinked as he rose and hauled her to her feet. “It seems like just a few minutes.”

“It took you a while to get down to things. It won’t take you so long the next time.” With a thought, he put out the fire. “We’ll see if we can find where your talents lie once I’ve had my meal.”

“Liam.” She turned to him for a moment, pressed her lips to his throat. “Thank you.”

*  *  *

She learned fast. Liam had never considered himself a good teacher, but he supposed it had something to do with the student.

This one was open and eager and quick.

It didn’t take long to determine that her talents channeled into magic, as Morgana’s did. Within a day or two, they determined she had no real gift for seeing. She could give him her thoughts, but could read his clearly only if he put them into her head.

And while she couldn’t, even after more than an hour of sweaty concentration, transform herself, she turned a footstool into a rosebush with laughing delight.

Show her the joy, Ana had told him. But he understood that she was showing
him
as she danced around the clearing, turning the early-summer flowers into a maze of color and shape. Rocks became jewel-colored crystals; infant blooms exploded into huge fireworks of brilliant hues. The little stream rose into an elegant
waterfall of luminous blue.

He didn’t rein her in. She deserved to ride on the wonder of it. Responsibilities, choices, he knew, would come soon enough.

She was creating her own fairy tale. It was so easy all at once to see it perfectly in her mind. And, in seeing it, to make it real. Here was her little cottage in the forest, with the stunning witch garden spread out, the sweep of water rising, the whip of the wind blowing free.

And the man.

She turned, unaware how devastating she looked just then with her hair streaming, glossy and wild, her arms flung out and the light of young power in her eyes.

“Just for today. I know it can’t stay like this, but just for today. I used to dream of being in a place just like this, with water and wind rushing, and flowers so huge and bright they dazzled your eyes. And the scent of them …”

She trailed off, realizing she had dreamed of this, exactly this. And of him, of Liam Donovan stepping off the porch of a pretty cottage and moving to her, walking under an arbor of flowers that rained pretty pink petals onto the ground.

He would pluck a rose, white as a snowflake, from a bush as tall as he. And offer it to her.

“I dreamed,” she said again. “When I was a little girl.”

He plucked a rose, white as a snowflake from a bush as tall as he. And offered it to her. “What did you dream, Rowan Murray?”

“Of this.” Of you. So often of you.

“Just for today, you can have your dream.”

She sighed as she traced the rose down her cheek. Just for today, she thought, would be enough. “I was wearing a long blue dress. A robe, really. And yours was black, with gold edgings.” She laughed, enchanted, as she felt the thin silk caress her skin. “Did I do that, or did you?”

“Does it matter? It’s your dream, Rowan, but I’m hoping I kissed you in it.”

“Yes.” She sighed again as she moved into his arms. “The kind of kiss dreams are made on.”

He touched his lips to hers, softly at first. Warming them, softening them, until they parted on a quiet breath. Then deeper, slowly deeper, while her arms came up to circle him, while her fingers slipped lazily into his hair.

As he did, something trembled in his memory as well. Something once seen or once wished for. When he gave himself to it, he began to float in dreams with her. And so drew her closer.

Together they circled, a graceful dance with hearts keeping the beat.

Her feet no longer touched the ground as they spun. The dreams of a romantic young girl shimmered and shaped into the needs of a woman. Warmth skimmed over her skin as she held him tighter, drew him into her heart. As she offered him more. Offered him everything.

There were candles in her dream. Dozens of them, fragrant and white and burning in tall silver stands with gilded leaves winding around them. And a bed, lit by them, draped in white and gold.

When he carried her to it, she was dizzy with love, washed in wonder.