"We can't burn the woods," Imogen protested. Setting a fire on Hammersly's land had to be illegal.
She glanced at Guaire, who turned to her mother-in-law and said, "Madam, it would be terrible unfair to burn them. The creatures there need them to survive."
Mother Hawkes pointed her fork at him. "You could drive them out, couldn't you? Warn them away? I only intend to burn that section."
"Fire's not so easy to control," Guaire said.
"It's one of the things I am good at," Mother Hawkes returned with absolute seriousness.
"Are you hell-spawned, then?" Guaire asked with a grin.
Imogen silently wondered why, when uttered with an Irish accent, that didn't sound nearly as offensive as it would have if she'd asked it.
"Don't take me lightly, boy," Mother Hawkes said. "While I've only a touch of the old blood, I more than make up for it in training."
Imogen stared.
"Oh, stop it, girl." Her mother-in-law shook her head. "Your mother never wanted you to hear of such things. Now I generally respected her wishes but she's gone and difficult times call for desperate measures." She turned back to Guaire. "I can keep the flames to that stand of trees, I assure you, if you do your part."
Guaire looked over at Imogen, apparently waiting for her verdict. She gathered her wits and weighed the consequences. "I don't want to start a war."
"You already are at war," Mother Hawkes said, punctuating her words with stabs of her fork, in Imogen's direction this time. "He had your prize two-year-old shot. He put your prize trainer into a sick bed. I know your mother raised you to be civilized, girl, but now is the time to let your other side loose."
Imogen met Guaire's eyes. He didn't disagree. "Then we'll do what we must."
***
Imogen sat on the ground in the darkened stable doorway with a blanket wrapped about her, watching trees burn in the pre-dawn darkness. It was less than an acre, and she was determined not to feel too guilty about it.
Since the land rose between Hammersly's stables and the trees, the fire wouldn't be visible from his house. His stable hands likely wouldn't even realize there'd been a fire until morning. That should keep them safely out of the flames' way.
And Guaire had done what he could to chase the wildlife from the area. He'd returned a couple of hours earlier, his coat covered in burrs and a scrape across his nose. That translated into several raw scratches in his human form, but they'd already stopped bleeding. He sat next to her now, looking exhausted. "Do you think she can stop it?" he asked.
"I hope so." Imogen peered upward but the sky was clear, removing any likelihood of rain. Fortunately, the winds were blowing away from her farm. "I do hope so."
Mother Hawkes was actually on the roof, having hoisted herself up through a little-used attic access. Imogen had never been up there; she preferred to keep her feet well on the ground.
"Would you want to learn what she does?" Guaire asked.
"Would you?" Imogen asked in turn.
"No," he said. "I'm not partial to fire."
"Me either." She glanced at him. "Could you teach me to unbind things, like you did with Paddy's laces?"
"'twould not be so hard," he said. "It's natural for you."
Imogen turned her head to look at him, laying her cheek on her knees. "What would you ask in return?"
He took some time to answer. "A kiss," he finally said.
That surprised her, given his previous requests. "That's all?"
"'tis my price," he said firmly, "although like with the horse, I can't guarantee how successful you'll be."
"Of course not."
His lips touched hers, warm and tasting of oats. It was a gentle kiss. Too soon he drew back, and said, "I'll teach you, then."
In the woods, the fire suddenly began to die away as if everything that could burn had done so.
"Thank heavens," Imogen said. Her land on the near side of that makeshift fence was safer now. One of the horses snorted loudly, and Dalmation kicked the wall of his stall in half-hearted response. Imogen wondered if they were as disturbed by the fire as she was. "Do you feel a tie to the land?" she asked Guaire.
"You mean like you and your farm?" When she nodded, he said, "I don't think so. Not in the way you do. I'm tied to the trees and the creatures of the forest, enough so that I hate what she's doing right now. But I understand the reason for it, and that gives me cause to fight my nature. I'll not let him keep after you like this."
Imogen buried her face against his neck.
His arms came around her. "I feel a tie to you," he said quietly.
The fire burned out completely, not even a line of embers visible. Guaire smiled, white teeth all she could see in the darkness. "Go to your bed, darling. Dream of me."
And given that she would go alone, it was all she would do.
***
The tract of ruined land looked ugly, and the morning wind carried an acrid hint of burnt wood. Imogen tried not to think about it as she did her morning chores in the stable yard. She knew she looked tired, but not nearly so much so as Mother Hawkes. Her mother-in-law had come down from the rooftop looking a decade older and hadn't emerged from her bedroom yet.
Save for the scrapes running across his nose, Guaire seemed normal. He took Faithful out to the track and left the stable hands to their chores. Fortunately, the horses hadn't been too overset by the fire the previous evening. The yearlings walked to their paddocks without incident.
"Ma'am," Tommy said, pointing toward the drive. "We've got a visitor."
An automobile rattled down her driveway, kicking up dust.
Imogen groaned. The only person nearby with an automobile was Hammersly. She'd known she would have to face him at some point, but hadn't thought it would be this soon. She handed off the last yearling's lead to Tommy. "Take her on to the paddock. Check the two-year-olds for me and make certain none of the other hands leads one out."
With an angry glance in Hammersly's direction, Tommy took the rope from her and led the horse away. Hammersly's surly-looking driver got out and then opened the door for his employer to step down. Hammersly strode over to the stable doors where Imogen waited, arms folded across her chest.
"Mr. Hammersly," she said evenly. "I saw you had a fire last night."
He tapped his gloves against his thigh. "And I'd like to know who set it. It was just on the other side of your fence. Do you know?"
"Set it?" Imogen looked him squarely in the eye. "Are you certain it was set? The police told me you had a problem with poachers."
His face went still, as if he'd not prepared a statement to refute that argument. "Poachers wouldn't benefit from setting my woods alight."
"Poachers wouldn't benefit from shooting one of my racers or my trainer, either." She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice any longer. "Is there anything else you need, Mr. Hammersly?"
Hammersly's jaw clenched, as if he were struggling with keeping his temper under control. "I would like to know if someone here was responsible for it."
Imogen couldn't imagine why he thought she would admit to it if someone was...and then realized that he must be expecting some charm to influence her. It must somehow be related to his ever-present gloves, she decided. They had affected her when he'd touched her leg a few days before, and now that she paid attention, she could sense that feeling of warmth and longing, but her irritation was far stronger. She gathered her years of self-control and regarded him with her coolest expression. "And I'd still like to know who shot my colt. You'll have to pardon me if I don't share your sorrow over the loss of some trees."
His nostrils flared. She decided he expected her to be so flustered that she would simply break down and confess. It must vex him terribly not to get what he wanted. He probably wasn't accustomed to it.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Hammersly?" she asked.
"Did you set the fire on my land?"
Imogen didn't even bother to answer that time.
Hammersly
cast an accusing glance back at his driver.
"Nice gloves," Guaire said from behind her then. "Is there anything I can help with, Mrs. Hawkes?"
Imogen didn't look at him, although she wanted to throw her arms around his neck in relief. "Mr. O'Donnell, I believe Mr. Hammersly is leaving now."
"And who is this?" Hammersly surveyed Guaire pointedly and then turned back to Imogen. "Are you still hiring Irish? How quaint of you."
Imogen ground her teeth together. Hammersly had picked the wrong target if he meant to make Guaire angry with that sort of insult. Paddy was the closest thing she'd ever had to a father. "I hire the most qualified people, Mr. Hammersly. I assure you, Mr. O'Donnell understands horses far better than any trainer you've ever met."
Hammersly slapped his gloves against his thigh, glanced down at them, and scowled.
"I believe you're done here," Imogen said again. She turned to Guaire. "Mr. O'Donnell, will you see Mr. Hammersly to his vehicle?"
"To be sure, ma'am," he said with a grin.
Imogen walked into the stable, leaving Guaire to watch Hammersly leave. The yearling stalls were empty, so she leaned back against one of the stall doors and gazed down at the tamped dirt of the center aisle while she listened for the sounds of the automobile driving away. After a moment, Guaire peeked around the corner of the stable door. "He's gone."
Imogen let loose a pent breath. "Thank heavens."
Guaire grinned. "Did you see those fancy doeskin gloves of his? They're charmed, I could feel it. Stronger than before."
Imogen pushed away from the stall door and went to join him outside in the sunshine. "I wondered."
"Don't know what they were meant to do," Guaire said, still staring at the cloud of dust left by the automobile. "But they didn't work on you, judging by his sour face."
That Hammersly had attempted to use any sort of 'charm' on her made Imogen feel a bit ill. "Was it something dangerous?"
"Depends on how a charm's used," Guaire said. "Someone can put a charm on a bullet to make it fly straight and not mean any harm. It could be used to hunt...or to shoot a neighbor's horse. Up to the person who uses them, to do good or ill."
Imogen pressed her lips together. "Well, I think it's clear his intentions are of the 'ill' sort."
Guaire stole a look at her face. "Then 'tis good you're not so easily charmed, isn't it?"
***
Mother Hawkes had spent the whole morning setting 'wards' about the stable yard, and then did the same in the house during the afternoon. Down in the office, Imogen reviewed her mother-in-law's sketchy map. "Will these wards keep out bullets?"
"No," Mother Hawkes said, settling back in one of the older leather chairs. She seemed tired, her normal energy dissipated. "They're just look-aways."
Imogen regarded her uncertainly.
"They're like what young Mr. O'Donnell does naturally, only constructed. He's not invisible, he just urges folk to look away from him. These are meant to confuse evil intentions. Bullets should go astray, hopefully to the ground or away from the stables, but it's also possible one could end up in a horse or a person. It's an art, girl, not a science."
Imogen took that to mean that she shouldn't blame any failure on her mother-in-law. "And they'll hold until the race, at least?"
The older woman nodded. "That's less than a week. Should be fine."
Imogen wondered how safe Guaire was, out in Paddy's apartment next to the stables. She told Mother Hawkes about the gloves Guaire had commented on, but her mother-in-law didn't have much to add to Guaire's assessment. "There are people who make a living at selling charmed items. Mostly harmless, but they can be used for evil purposes as well.
"Here in Saratoga Springs?" Imogen asked.
"Not that I know of," Mother Hawkes said with a frown. "But I can think of at least one person in Albany who's in that trade. I expect Hammersly goes down to Albany with fair regularity, so it's possible he purchased something there."
"Could he have made it himself?" Imogen asked.
"Oh, no," Mother Hawkes said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "The man has no native talent whatsoever. But money, he does have that, and money can buy many things. Now that I think about it, he has always been unusually successful with ladies. I wonder..."
Her voice trailed off, leaving Imogen to merely imagine what thoughts were running around in her unusual mind. "How many people know you can do things like...the wards, and such?"
"A few," Mother Hawkes said. "Your mother knew. And Mr. O'Donnell, of course."
"Paddy knew?" Imogen sighed, feeling foolishly left out.
Mother Hawkes cast an exasperated look at her, but didn't answer that. "Your mother didn't want you to learn this kind of thing, girl. She wanted you sheltered."
"Hasn't done me much good," she said.
"No, you've ended up with me warding your house and that horse in your bed."
Imogen went still.
"Oh, don't think I didn't guess," Mother Hawkes said. "You turn pink when he's within ten feet of you."
The ribbon slipped from Imogen's hair, and her braid began to unravel. "Are you angry with me?" she whispered.
Mother Hawkes shook her head. "Imogen, it's not my place to question your...romantic attachments. You're not a child, and I certainly have no moral high-ground on which to stand. My son's been dead for years now, and he was so idiotically hell-bent on making you into a copy of his first wife that you had no breathing room. I have to admit this fellow seems far better suited to you."
"But it's your farm," Imogen whispered.
Mother Hawkes sat up and looked at her, a surprised expression on her face. "Is that how you feel?"
"It shouldn't have passed to me, should it?" Imogen asked.
Mother Hawkes frowned at her. "Why do you think I urged Henry to marry you? I've always suspected you were a kindred spirit, girl, and Patrick thinks of you as a daughter. I wanted you to have this farm. You're a far better inheritor for my family's land than that silly Bella would have been. Never doubt that."
Imogen bit her lips, caught between relief and the urge to cry.
Mother Hawkes sat back and stared at her for a moment. "You've been under someone else's thumb all your life. First your mother's, and then Henry's. It's time you figured out what you want. I'll not interfere with any choice you make."
"Thank you, Mother."
Mother Hawkes seemed to be suppressing a smile. "Although I suspect I know which way you're leaning. He's not the sort to waste time, is he?"
Imogen felt that now-familiar feeling of heat on her cheeks. "It was a bargain."
"Is it still? Or have you fallen under his spell?"
"I don't think he uses spells," Imogen said tentatively.
Mother Hawkes gave her a dry look. "I meant that figuratively, girl."
"Oh," Imogen whispered. "I suspect I have."
"I knew your mother pretty well, for all she didn't approve of me. She had no one else she could tell her story to. You do know about her and your father, don't you?"
Imogen shook her head. "She never told me much. About my father, I mean."
Her mother had explained what her father was and constantly reminded Imogen that her parentage made her reckless by nature, but she'd never truly explained her relationship with a puca in the first place, something that seemed so foreign when compared with her stern behavior.
"Her family was visiting cousins in Ireland," Mother Hawkes said, "and she found your father lurking about the stables. He took her away, but she returned two months later pregnant with you. She told me he wasn't faithful to her." Mother Hawkes shrugged. "His kind is born to wander, so I don't know why she expected otherwise."
"I see," Imogen said faintly.
Mother Hawkes leaned forward and patted her hand. "If he'd made her a promise, then it would have been a different thing. He would no more have been able to go back on his word than you are. But from what she told me, he never did."
Imogen knew what Mother H
awkes was digging at. "You want me to remember that Guaire will leave eventually."
"Unless you get a promise out of him, girl." Mother Hawkes tapped the desk for emphasis. "Unless you get a promise out of him."
Imogen sighed. She was never going to force Guaire into a promise that would hold him against his will. It would be cruel, and she liked him too well to do such a thing.
***
Imogen sat on the bench in Paddy's office that evening after dinner and stared at a length of rope. Like everything else she'd ever tried to affect intentionally, it resisted her urging to unravel. She scowled at it and wished harder.
"Well, that isn't working," Guaire said. He set one hand on hers and said, "Try to picture what it would look like coming undone in your mind."
She closed her eyes and concentrated. The rope had many strands, and she wasn't sure how they would come unbraided. When she said so to Guaire, he took three leather strips, knotted and braided them together and handed them to her. "Try this instead, then. Rope is complicated."
Imogen pictured the leather coming apart, much as her braid had that afternoon. When she opened her eyes, the leather hadn't moved. She sighed. "It didn't work."
Guaire laughed. "Did you think it would be easy?"
"Well, I hoped so," she admitted.
"Ah, the good things in life never are, darling." He sat down on the edge of Paddy's desk, his brows drawn together. Then he rose and shut the office door.
For a second, she thought she should protest; no telling what the hands might think if they knew the two of them were alone in Paddy's office with the door closed. Then she realized how ridiculous such a protest would be. When he settled next to her on the bench, she did her best to meet his gaze squarely.
"I think I know why it's not working for you," he said. "You have to want it to work, Ginny. You have to have a reason, like Faithful."
"I don't understand," she admitted.
"That horse needs a reason to win. You need a reason for this to work."
She gazed down at the twined leather gripped in her fingers. "I can't think of one."
He slid the back of his hand down her braid. Her hair unraveled under his touch, the ribbon that tied it off fluttering down to the floor. "I want this to come undone," he said, "because I like seeing your hair loose."
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