by Nora Roberts
“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
IONA 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.”
