by Nora Roberts
She lifted a hand to her hair, found it still tousled. “I don’t suppose I could have a brush.”
“I like your hair this way” was his answer, as he drew her back so he could sniff it. “It’s easier to get my hands into it.”
“Hmm.” As her system began to level, she could smell the flowers. Wild roses, heliotrope, lilies. She shifted and scanned the beams of sunlight, the cool pockets of shade. Arbors buried under triumphant blooms, sweeps of color, spears of shape with little stone paths winding through, seemingly at will.
“It’s beautiful. Wonderful. Oh, I wish I knew how to make something as magical as this.” She drew away to turn, to take in the trees sculpted by wind into bent, eerie shapes. Then she beamed as a gray wolf walked majestically down the path toward them. “Oh, is that—”
“A wolf,” Liam said, anticipating her. “Not a relative. He’s Morgana’s.” A child with dark hair and eyes as blue as lapis darted over the stones, then stopped with a keen and curious look in those striking eyes. “And so is he. Blessed be, cousin.”
Liam felt the tug on his mind, stronger than he’d have expected from a boy of no more than five, and lifted a brow. “It’s rude to look so deep, or attempt to, without permission.”
“You’re in my garden,” the boy said simply, but his lips curved in a sweet smile. “You’re cousin Liam.”
“And you’re Donovan. Blessed be, cousin.” Liam stepped forward and offered a hand with great formality. “I’ve brought a friend. This is Rowan. And she prefers to keep her thoughts to herself.”
Young Donovan Kirkland tilted his head, but minding his manners did no more than study her face. “She has good eyes. You can come in. Mama’s in the kitchen.”
Then the intense look faded from his face and he was just a normal little boy skipping ahead of them on the path with a dog prancing beside him, rushing to tell his mother they had company.
“He’s a—he’s a witch?” The full force of it struck her then. He was a child, astonishingly pretty even with a missing front tooth, but he had power.
“Yes, of course. His father isn’t, but blood runs strong in my family.”
“I bet.” Rowan let out a long breath. Witches or not, she thought, this was still a home and Liam hadn’t bothered to, well, call ahead. “We shouldn’t just … drop in like this on your cousin. She might be busy.”
“We’ll be welcome.”
“It’s just like a man to assume—” Then every thought ran out of her head as she caught her first glimpse of the house. It was tall, rambling, glinting in the sunlight. Towers and turrets speared up to that blue bowl that was the sky over Monterey. “Oh! It’s like something out of a book. What a marvelous place to live.”
Then the back door opened and Rowan was struck dumb with a combination of awe and pure female envy.
It was obvious where the boy got his looks. She’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Black hair cascaded over slim, strong shoulders; eyes of cobalt were heavily fringed by inky lashes. Her skin was creamy and smooth, her features fine and graceful. She stood, one hand on her son’s shoulder, the other on the fierce head of the wolf, while a large white cat ribboned between her legs.
And she smiled.
“Blessed be, cousin. You’re welcome here.” She moved to them, kissed Liam on both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you. And you, Rowan.”
“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Rowan began.
“Family is always welcome. Come in—we’ll have something cool to drink. Donovan, run up and tell your father we have company.” As she spoke, she turned and gave her son a narrow glance. “Don’t be lazy, now. Go upstairs and tell him properly.”
With a weary shrug of his shoulders, the boy dashed back in, shouting for his father.
“Well, close enough,” Morgana murmured.
“He has a strong gift of sight.”
“And he’ll learn to use it well.” Her voice took on the edge of an experienced and somewhat exasperated mother. “We’ll have some iced tea,” she said as they went into the large, airy kitchen. “Pan, sit.”
“I don’t mind him,” Rowan said quickly, rubbing his ears as he sniffed at her. “He’s gorgeous.”
“I suppose you’d be used to handsome wolves, wouldn’t you?” Sending Liam an amused look, she took out a clear pitcher filled with golden tea. “It’s still your favorite form, isn’t it, Liam?”
“It suits me.”
“That it does.” She glanced over as Donovan rushed in, side by side with his double.
“He’s coming,” Donovan said. “He has to kill somebody first.”
“With a really big, sharp knife,” said the twin, with relish.
“That’s nice.” After the absent comment, Morgana caught the look of shock on Rowan’s face and laughed. “Nash writes screenplays,” she explained. “He often murders gruesomely on paper.”
“Oh, yes.” She accepted the glass of tea. “Of course.”
“Can we have cookies?” the twins asked in unison.
“Yes. But sit down and behave.” She only sighed as a tall glass jar filled with frosted cookies soared off the counter and landed on the table with a small crash and a wild wobble. “Allysia, you’ll wait until I serve our company.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But she grinned mischievously as her brother giggled.
“I’ll just sit, too … if you don’t mind.” Her legs had gone weak and Rowan dropped into a chair. “I’m sorry, I just can’t—I’m not really used to all this.”
“You’re not …” Morgana cut herself off, reevaluating, and offered an easy smile. “My children definitely take some getting used to.”
She reached for plates and opened her mind to her cousin. You haven’t told her yet, you dolt?
It’s my business. She’s not ready.
Omission is kin to deceit.
I know what I’m doing. Serve your tea and cookies, Morgana, and let me handle this in my own way.
Stubborn mule.
Liam smiled a little, remembering she’d threatened to turn him into one during some scrap during their childhood. She might have managed it, he mused. She had a great deal of power in that particular area.
“I’m Ally. Who are you?”
“I’m Rowan.” Steadier, she smiled at the girl. A girl, she realized, she’d initially taken for a boy because of the scrappy little body and scraped knees. “I’m a friend of your cousin.”
“You wouldn’t remember me.” Liam walked over to take a seat at the table. “But I remember you, young Allysia, and your brother, and the night you were born. In a storm it was, here in this house, as your mother had been born in a storm in that same room. And in the hills of home there was starlight and singing to celebrate it.”
“Sometimes we go to Ireland to visit Granda and Grand-mama in our castle,” Donovan told him. “One day I’ll have a castle of my own on a high cliff by the sea.”
“I hope you manage to figure out how to clean up your room first.” This came from a man who stepped in with a rosy-cheeked girl tucked into each arm.
“My husband, Nash, and our daughters Eryn and Moira. This is my cousin Liam, Nash, and his friend Rowan.”
“Nice to meet you. The girls woke up from their naps smelling cookies.”
He set the girls down. One toddled to the wolf, who was sitting by the table hoping for crumbs. She fell adoringly on his neck. The other went directly to Rowan, crawled into her lap and kissed both of her cheeks, much as her mother had kissed Liam in greeting.
Charmed, Rowan hugged her and rubbed a cheek on the soft golden hair. “Oh, you have such beautiful children.”
Like, Liam thought as Moira settled cozily on Rowan’s lap, often recognizes like.
“We’ve decided to keep them.” Nash reached out to tickle the ribs of the older twins. “Until something better comes along.”
“Daddy.” Allysia sent him an adoring look, then nimbly snatched up her cookie before he could make the grab.
“Y
ou’re quick.” Nash tickled her again, and nipped the cookie out of her fingers. “But I’m smarter.”
“Greedier,” Morgana corrected. “Mind your cookies, Rowan. He’s not to be trusted around sweets.”
“What man is?” Liam stole one from Rowan’s plate and had Donovan snickering. “How are Anastasia and Sebastian, their families?”
“You can judge for yourself.” Morgana decided on the spot to invite her two cousins and their spouses and families over. “We’ll have a family cookout tonight to welcome you—and your friend.”
* * *
Magic could be confusing, and it could be casual, Rowan discovered. It could be stunning or as natural as rain. Surrounded by the Donovans, flooded by the scents from Morgana’s garden, she began to believe there could be little in this world that was more natural or more normal.
Morgana’s husband, Nash, her cousin Sebastian and Anastasia’s husband, Boone, bickered over the proper way to fire the grill. Ana sat comfortably in a wicker chair nursing her infant son while her three toddlers raced around the yard with the other children and the dogs, all to the clashing sympathy of laughter, shouts and wild barks.
At ease, Morgana nibbled on canapés and talked lazily with Sebastian’s wife, Mel—about children, work, men, the weather, all the usual sorts of subjects friends and family speak of on summer afternoons.
Rowan thought Liam held himself a bit aloof, and wondered why. But when Ana’s little sunshine-haired daughter held up her arms to him, she saw him smile, pluck her up and fit her with casual skill on his hip.
She watched with some surprise as he walked with her and apparently listened with great interest as she babbled on to him.
He likes children, she realized, and the inner flutter of longing nearly made her sigh.
This was a home, she thought. Whatever power lived here, it was a home where children laughed and squabbled, where they tumbled and whined just like children everywhere. And men argued and talked of sports, women sat and spoke of babies.
And they were all so striking, she mused. Physically stunning. Morgana with her dazzling dark beauty, Anastasia so delicate and lovely, Mel sharp and sexy, her long body made only more compelling with its belly swollen with child.
Then the men. Just look at them, she thought. Gorgeous. Nash was dashing, golden, movie-star handsome; Sebastian as romantic as a storybook prince with just an edge of wicked. And Boone tall and rugged.
And Liam, of course. Always Liam, dark and brooding with those wonderful flashes of amusement that glinted in his gold eyes.
Could she have stopped herself from falling in love with him? she wondered. No, not in a million years, not with all the power in heaven and earth in her hands.
“Ladies.” Sebastian strolled over. Though he smiled at Rowan there was an intense look in his eyes that had her nerves dancing lightly. “The men require beer in order to accomplish such manly work.”
Mel snorted. “Then you should be man enough to get it out of the cooler yourself.”
“It’s so much more fun being served.” He stroked a hand over the slope of her belly. “She’s restless,” he murmured. “Do you want to lie down?”
“We’re fine.” She patted his hand. “Don’t hover.”
But when he leaned down, murmured something soft in her ear, her smile turned into a quiet glow. “Get your beer, Donovan, and go play with your little friends.”
“You know how excited I get when you insult me.” He nipped her ear, making her laugh, before he plucked four bottles from the cooler and strolled off.
“The man gets mushy around babies,” Mel commented, shifting herself so that she could reach the platter of finger food. “When Aiden was born, Sebastian walked around as if he’d accomplished the whole deal by himself.”
She watched their son wrap his arms around Sebastian’s leg, then observed her elegant husband’s limping, playful progress back to the men with Aiden in tow.
“He’s a wonderful father.” Ana lifted the heavy-eyed baby to her shoulder, gently rubbed his back. She smiled when her stepdaughter hurried over, glossy brown hair bouncing.
“Can I hold him now? I’ll walk him until he’s asleep, then put him in the daybed in the shade. Please, Mama. I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will, Jessie. Here. Take your brother.”
Rowan watched, studying the girl of ten. Since she was Ana’s stepdaughter and Boone wasn’t … then neither was Jessie. Yet the girl didn’t appear to feel out of place among her cousins. In fact, Rowan had seen her speak with the sharp impatience an older child often had for a younger one when Donovan had beaned her with a rubber ball.
“Would you like some wine, Rowan?” Without waiting for an answer, Morgana poured delicate straw-colored liquid into a glass.
“Thanks. It’s so nice of you to have us here, to go to all this trouble without a bit of notice.”
“It’s our pleasure. Liam so rarely visits.” Her eyes were warm and friendly as they met Rowan’s. “Now why don’t you tell us how you managed to get him here?”
“I just asked to meet some of his family.”
“Just asked.” Morgana exchanged a meaningful look with Ana. “Isn’t that … interesting?”
“I hope you’ll stay for a few days.” Ana gave her cousin a warning pinch under the table. “I’ve kept my old house next door to where we live for family and friends when they visit. You’re welcome to stay there.”
“Thank you, but I didn’t bring anything with me.” She glanced down at the trim cotton blouse and slacks, reminding herself she’d left Oregon in nothing but a robe and popped into Monterey neatly outfitted. “I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“You’ll get used to it.” Mel laughed and bit into a carrot stick. “Mostly.”
Rowan wasn’t sure about that, but she did know she was comfortable here, with these people. Sipping her wine, she glanced over to where Liam stood with Sebastian. It was so nice for him, she thought, to have family to talk with, who understood and supported him.
* * *
“You’re a moron,” Sebastian said coolly.
“It’s my business.”
“So you always say.” Tipping back his beer, Sebastian eyed his cousin out of amused gray eyes. “You don’t change, Liam.”
“Why should I?” He knew it was a childish response, but Sebastian often made him feel defensive and annoyed.
“What are you trying to accomplish? What do you need to prove? She’s meant for you.”
A chilly line he refused to recognize as fear snaked up Liam’s spine. “It’s still my decision.”
Sebastian would have laughed, but he caught the flicker of unease in Liam’s eyes, felt the shimmer of it in his mind. “More fool you,” he murmured, but with some sympathy. “And if you feel that way, cousin, why haven’t you told her?”
“I told her who I am.” Liam spoke evenly, determined not to sound defensive. “Shown her. She nearly fainted.” He remembered that moment, and the fury, the guilt, he’d felt. “She’s been raised not to believe.”
“But she does believe. What she is has always been there. Until you tell her, she has no choice. And isn’t choice your most prized possession?”
Liam studied Sebastian’s smug smile with the active dislike only family could feel. When they’d been boys, Liam had competed ruthlessly against his older cousin, determined to be as fast, as clever, as smart. Under that competitive streak had been a secret layer of hero worship.
Even now, as a grown man, he wanted Sebastian’s respect.
“When she’s ready, she’ll have the choice. And she’ll make it.”
“When you’re ready,” Sebastian corrected. “Is it arrogance, Liam, or fear?”
“It’s sense,” Liam shot back, and fought not to let his teeth go on edge. “She’s barely had time to absorb what I’ve told her already, much less to fully understand. Her own heritage is buried so deep there’s hardly a glimmer of it in her mind. She’s just begun to di
scover herself as a woman—how can I ask her to accept her gifts?”
Or me. But he didn’t say that, infuriated himself that he would even think it.
He’s in love with her, Sebastian realized as Liam turned to scowl down at the beach. In love and too hardheaded to admit it. For a second time, a smile trembled on his lips, with laughter just beneath. So the mighty fall, he mused, fighting all the way.
“It may be, Liam, you don’t give the woman enough credit.” He glanced back to where Rowan sat with his wife at the table. “She’s lovely.”
“She sees herself as plain, as simple. As ordinary. She’s none of those things.” Liam didn’t look around. He could see her in his mind’s eye clearly enough if he chose. “But she is tender. I may end up asking her for a great deal more than she’s prepared to give.”
Lovesick, Sebastian thought, though not without sympathy. He’d been similarly afflicted when he’d met Mel. And had very likely made similar stupid mistakes because of it.
“Living with you’s more than any woman could be prepared for.” He grinned when Liam turned his head and shot him a look with those hard gold eyes. “I pity her at the thought of seeing that ugly, scowling face of yours day after day.”
Liam’s smile was sharp as a blade. “And how does your wife tolerate yours, cousin?”
“She’s crazy about me.”
“She strikes me as a smart woman.”
“Her mind’s like a dagger,” Sebastian said, with a grinning glance at his wife.
“So how much time did it take you to weave the spell into her mind for that?”
This time Sebastian did laugh and in a quick move grabbed Liam in a snug headlock. “A much shorter time than it’ll take you to make your pretty lady believe you’re a prize to look at.”
“Kiss my—” He could only curse, struggle against laughter, as Sebastian kissed him full on the mouth. “I’ll have to kill you for that,” he began, then lifted a brow as little Aiden dashed over to throw his arms around his father’s legs. “Later,” Liam decided, and plucked the child up himself.
* * *
It was late when Liam left Rowan sleeping in the house Ana kept by the sea. He was restless, unsettled, and baffled by the ache around his heart that refused to ease.
He thought of running along the water, or flying over it. Racing until he was settled again.
And he thought of Rowan, sweetly sleeping in the quiet house.
He walked through the shadows and scents of Ana’s garden, searching for peace of mind. He stepped through the hedge of fairy roses, crossed the lawn and stepped up on the deck of the house where Ana lived with her family.
He’d known she was there.
“You should be asleep.”
Ana simply held out a hand. “I thought you’d want to talk.”
But, taking her hand, he sat beside her and contented himself with silence. He knew of no one more comfortable to sit with, to be with, than Anastasia.
Overhead the moon winked in and out of clouds, the stars glimmered. The house where Rowan slept was dark and full of dreams.
“I didn’t know how much I missed you, all of you, until I saw you again.”
Ana gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “You needed to be alone for a while.”
“Aye. It wasn’t because you didn’t matter that I blocked you all out for a time.” He touched her hair. “It was because you did.”
“I know that, Liam.” She brushed her fingers over his cheek, felt his conflict in her own heart. “Your mind’s so troubled.” Her quiet gray eyes looked into his and her lips curved gently. “Must you always think so hard?”
“It’s the only way I know.” Still, he felt the strain ease as he sat with her, sliding away knot by knot. That was Ana’s gift. “You’ve a lovely family, Ana, and have made a lovely home here. Your mate is your match. Your children your joy. I can see how happy you are.”
“Just as I can see how unhappy you are. Isn’t a family and a home what you want, Liam? What would make you happy?”
He studied their linked fingers, knowing he could and would say things to her he wouldn’t to another. “I might not be good at it.”
Ah, she realized, of course. Liam’s standards for himself were always higher
