by Nora Roberts
“And we’ve just had someone else ring up to book another four-group for noon. This wedding’s bringing them along.”
“I can take that as well.” She had energy enough to ride and muck and groom all day and half the night. “I owe you for taking so much time away yesterday.”
“We won’t start owing around here,” he said, “but it would help if you could as Iona’s got two at half ten, Mick’s doing a lesson at eleven, and with Patty at the dentist this morning, and Deborah booked for one o’clock, we’re a bit squeezed. Still, I could do it myself.”
“You hate doing the guideds, and I don’t mind at all.” She gave him a pat on the cheek, had him giving her a hard stare.
“You’re a cheerful sort this morning.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” she asked as four people strolled toward the stables. “It’s a bright day at last, my mother’s going for a long visit with a strong potential of a permanent move to Maureen’s, and I had hot and brilliant sex with Connor last night.”
“It’s good your mother’s having a visit with— What?”
Meara had to smother a snort at the way Boyle’s mouth hung open. “I had sex with Connor last night, and this morning as well.”
“You . . .” He trailed off, shoved his hands in his pockets, so absolutely Boyle she couldn’t resist patting his cheek again.
“I suspect he’s cheerful himself, but you can ask him yourself at the first opportunity. It’s the McKinnons, is it?” Meara called out as she went, smiling all the way, to meet her morning group.
In short order, with the paperwork done, and her ignoring Boyle’s questioning stares, she had her group outfitted and mounted.
“Well now, I can see you all know what you’re about,” she said when they’d walked and trotted around the paddock. She opened the gate for them, mounted Queen Bee.
“You’ve picked a fine morning, and there’s no better way to see what you’ll see than on the back of a horse. And how are you enjoying your stay at Ashford?” she began, sliding into easy small talk as she led them away from the stables.
She answered questions, let them chat among themselves, turned in the saddle now and again just to check—and to let them know they had her attention.
It was lovely, she thought, to ride through the woods with the sky blue overhead, with the earthy perfumes of autumn wafting on the soft and pretty breeze. The scents reminded her of Connor, had her smile brightening.
Then there he was, out and about with his own group on a hawk walk. He wore a work vest but no cap so his hair danced around his face, teased by that soft and pretty breeze. He shot her a grin as he baited his client’s glove, and the wife readied her camera.
“Family of yours?” Meara asked as her group and Connor’s called out to each other.
“Cousins—our husbands’.” The woman—Deirdre—moved up to ride beside Meara for a moment. “We talked about trying the hawk walk ourselves.”
“Sure and you should. It’s a wonderful experience to take back with you.”
“Do all the falconers look like that one?”
“Oh, that would be Connor who runs the school. And he’s one of a kind.” I had sex with him before breakfast, she thought, and shot a grin of her own back at him as she led her group on.
“Connor,” she heard the woman say as she fell in behind Meara. “Jack, we should all book that hawk walk.”
Under the circumstances, Meara couldn’t blame her.
She led them along the river, enjoyed them, enjoyed the ride. She took them deep into the green where the shadows thickened, and out again where that blue sky shone over the trees.
When she began to circle them back, she saw the wolf.
Just a shadow in the shadows, with its paws sunk into mist. The stone around its neck gleamed like an eye even as the wolf itself seemed to waver like a vapor.
Her horse trembled under her. “Steady now,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the wolf as she stroked Queen Bee’s neck. “You be steady now and the rest will follow your lead. You’re the queen, remember.”
The wolf paced them, coming no closer.
Birds no longer sang in the woods; squirrels no longer raced busily along the branches.
Meara took the necklace Connor had given her from under her sweater, held it out a little so the stones caught the light.
Behind her, her group chatted away, oblivious.
The wolf showed its fangs; Meara put a hand on the knife she wore on her belt. If it came, she would fight. Protect the people she guided, the horses, herself.
She would fight.
The hawk dived—from the blue, through the green.
Meara no more than blinked, and the shadow of the wolf was gone.
“Oh, there’s one of the hawks!” Deidre pointed to the branch where the bird perched now, wings folded. “Did he get loose?”
“No, not at all.” Meara steadied herself, put her smile back in place as she turned in the saddle. “That’s Connor’s own Roibeard, having a bit of fun before going back to the school.”
She lifted her hand to the necklace again, and rode easily out of the woods.
11
THE MINUTE HE COULD GET AWAY, CONNOR DROVE around to the stables. Too many people about to talk, he decided immediately, but with Meara chatting with a group she’d just guided back, at least he knew just where she was and what she was doing.
He tracked Boyle down in the stalls, giving Caesar a rubdown.
“Busy days,” Boyle said. “This wedding’s brought in as much business as we can handle.”
“And the same for us. We’ve our last two hawk walks of the day going now.”
“We’ve two out ourselves, though Meara should be back anytime.”
“She’s just back.” Absently, Connor stroked the big gelding as Boyle brushed him out. “Can you set her loose, or do you need her longer today?”
“We’ve the evening feedings yet, and Iona’s at the big stables on a lesson.”
“You’ll keep her close then? I’ll run back and settle my own business for the evening. Is Fin with Iona?”
“He’s home if that’s what you’re meaning, and set to take her to your place when they’re both done.” Connor’s tone had Boyle setting the currycomb aside. “There’s a worry. What is it?”
“Cabhan. He was out today, stalking Meara on her guided. And myself a bit. Nothing came of it,” Connor said when Boyle cursed. “And he wasn’t quite there—not fully physically.”
“Was he there or wasn’t he?” Boyle demanded.
“He was, but more a shadow. It’s a new thing, and something to discuss tonight when we’re all together. But I’d feel easier if I knew you were with her until I’m done.”
“I’ll keep her with me.” Boyle pulled out his phone. “And be sure Fin does the same with Iona. And Branna?”
“Roibeard’s keeping a watch on all, and Merlin’s with him. But I’ll be happier altogether when the six of us are together at home.”
* * *
IT TOOK NEAR AN HOUR TO SETTLE THE BIRDS FOR THE night, and clear up some paperwork Kyra left meaningfully on his desk. He took more time to add yet another layer of protection around the school. Cabhan had gotten into the stables once. He might try for the hawks.
By the time he’d done all that needed doing, locked up tight, the brightness had gone out of the day. Just shorter days, he thought as he stood a moment, opened himself. He felt no threat, no watchful presence. He let himself reach out to Roibeard, join with the hawk—and saw clearly the stables, the woods, the cottage, peaceful below, through his hawk’s eyes.
There was Mick, squat as a spark plug, climbing into his lorry, giving a wave out the window to Patti as the girl swung onto her bike.
And there, spread below him, Fin’s grand stone house, and the fields and paddocks. Iona soaring over a jump with Alastar.
A short glide, soaring on the wind and, below, Branna picking herbs in her kitchen garden. She straightened, looked up
, looked, it seemed, right into his eyes.
And she smiled, lifted a hand before taking her herbs inside with her.
All’s well, Connor told himself, and though there was always just a hint of regret, came fully back to earth. Satisfied, he climbed into the lorry.
He drove around to the stables—and felt a warm hum in his blood as he watched Meara come out with Boyle. She was a beauty for certain, he thought, an earthy one in a rough jacket and work pants, and boots that had likely seen hundreds of kilometers, on the ground and on horseback.
Later, he’d have the pleasure of removing those worn boots, those riding pants. And unwinding that thick braid so he could surround himself with waves of brown hair.
“Boyle, are you wanting a lift?” he called through the open window.
“Thanks, but no. I’ll follow you over.”
So he leaned left, shoved the door open for Meara.
She jumped in, smelling of horses and grain and saddle soap. “Christ Jesus, this was a day and a half shoved into one. The McKinnon party is leaving no stone unturned. We’ve got groups of them coming tomorrow up through two o’clock, with the wedding, I’m told, at five.”
“The same for us.”
Since she made no move, he put a hand on the back of her head, drew her over for a kiss. “Good evening to you.”
“And to you.” Her lips curved. “I wondered if you’d feel a little off center after thinking it over for a day.”
“Not much time to think, but I’m balanced well and good.”
He turned the lorry, headed away from the stables with Boyle falling in behind.
“Did you see the wolf?” he asked her.
“I did, yes. Boyle couldn’t say much as we had the crew about nearly till you came, but he said you did as well. But as with me, it was more a shadow.”
She shifted to face him, frowned. “Still, not only a shadow, as he bared his fangs, and I saw them clear, and the red stone. Did you send Roibeard?”
“I didn’t have to; he went to you on his own. But I knew from him the wolf only kept pace with you for a minute or two.”
“Enough for the horses to sense it. My biggest worry, to tell the truth, was that the horses would spook. Which they might have done, but I had a group of experienced riders. And they themselves? They saw and sensed nothing.”
“I’ve been thinking on the whys and hows of that. I want to see what Branna and Fin and Iona have to say. And I want to ask you to stay tonight at the cottage.”
“I don’t have my things,” she began.
“You have things at the cottage, enough to get you through. You can think of it as us taking turns. Stay tonight, Meara. Share my bed.”
“Are you asking because you want me to share your bed, or because you’re worried about me being on my own?”
“It would be both, but if you won’t stay, I’ll be sharing your bed.”
“That’s a fine answer,” she decided. “It works well for me. I’ll stay tonight.”
He took her hand, leaned toward her when he stopped the lorry in front of the cottage. And could already feel the kiss moving through him before their mouths met.
The lorry shook as if from a quake, jolted as the wolf pounced.
It snarled, eyes and stone gleaming red, then with a howl echoing with triumph, leaped off. And was gone.
“Holy Jesus!” Meara managed an instant before Connor shoved out of the lorry. “Wait, wait. It might still be out there.” She yanked at her own door, shoved, but it held firm against her.
“Goddamn it, Connor. Goddamn it, let me out.”
He only flicked her a glance as Roibeard landed light as down on his shoulder.
In that moment, in that glance, it was like looking at a stranger, one sparking with power and rage. Light swirled around him, like a current that would surely shock to the touch.
She’d known him the whole of her life, she thought as her breath backed up in her lungs, but she’d never seen him truly, fully until that moment when the full force and fury of what ran in his blood revealed itself.
Then Branna rushed from the house, with Kathel thundering out with her. Her hair, raven black, flew behind her. She had a short sword in one hand, a ball of hot blue fire forming in the other.
Meara saw their eyes meet, hold. In that exchange she saw a bond she could never share, never really know. Not just of power and magick, but of blood and purpose and knowledge.
There she saw a kinship that ran deeper, wider even than love.
Before she’d caught her breath again, Fin’s fancy car spun up. He and Iona bolted from either side. So the four of them stood, united, forming a circle, one where the light undulated and spread until it stung her eyes.
It died away, and it was only her friends, her lover, standing in front of the pretty cottage with its blaze of flowers.
Now when she pushed at the door, it sprang open—and she sprang out.
She marched straight to Connor, shoved him hard enough to knock him back a step. “Don’t you ever lock me in or out again. I won’t be closed off or tucked away like someone helpless.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clear. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry for it.”
“You’ve no right, no right to close me out of it.”
“Or me,” Boyle said, his face ripe with fury, when he strode up beside her. “Be grateful I don’t break your head for it.”
“It’s grateful I am, and sorry as well.”
Meara saw for the first time Alastar had come—he must have all but flown from the stables. So there was horse, hawk, and hound; the dark witches three; and the blood of Cabhan, with his own hawk standing now with Roibeard on the branch of a nearby tree.
And there was herself and Boyle.
“We’re a circle or we’re not.”
“We are.” Connor took her hands, gripped them only tighter when she started to yank them free. “We are. It was wrong of me. I jumped straight into the fury of it, and that was wrong as well. And foolish. I shut you out of it, both of you, and that showed you no respect. I’ll say again, I’m sorry for it.”
“All right then.” Boyle shoved at his hair. “Bloody hell I could do with a beer.”
“Go on in,” Branna told him, glanced around at the others. “Help yourself to what you want. I need a moment with Meara. A moment with Meara,” she repeated when Connor continued to grip Meara’s hands. “Go, have a beer and open the wine Fin should’ve brought with him.”
“And so I did.”
Fin went to his car, fetched out three bottles. “Come on then, Connor. We could all do with a drink after this day.”
“Yeah.” With some reluctance Connor released Meara’s hands, went inside with his friends.
“I’ve every right to be pissed,” Meara began, and found her hands taken again.
“You do, yes, you do, but not only with Connor. I need to tell you that when I ran outside, I knew at once what he’d done, and I was relieved. I’m sorry for it, but I can’t let him take full blame.”
Stunned, and wounded to the core, Meara stared at Branna. “Do you think because Boyle and I don’t have what you have, aren’t what you are, we can’t fight with you?”
“I think nothing of the kind, nor does Connor. Or Iona, and I imagine she’ll be making this same confession to Boyle.” When Branna let out a breath, the sound of it was regret.
“It was a moment, Meara, and the weakness was on our part, not yours. You fought with us on the solstice, and I don’t want to think what might have happened without you, without Boyle. But for a moment, in the rush of it, I only thought, ah, they’ll be safe. That was my weakness. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m still mad about it.”
“I don’t blame you a bit for that. But come inside, we’ll have some wine and talk about all of it.”
“There was nothing weak about the four of you,” Meara said, but she started inside with Branna. “The power of you together was blinding. And Connor alone, b
efore you came . . . I saw him on the solstice, but that was a blur of fear and action and violence all at once. I’ve never seen him as he was for that moment you speak of. Alone, with the hawk on his shoulder, and so full of what he is . . . radiant I suppose is the word, though it seems too soft and benign for it. I thought if I touched him now it would burn.”
“He’s slow to anger, our Connor, as you know. When he reaches it, it’s fierce—but never brutal.”
Before Branna shut the door she took a long last look at the woods, at the road, at the blaze of flowers along her cottage skirts. She went with Meara back to the kitchen where the wine was open, and the air smelled of the rich, silky sauce she’d spent a good chunk of her day preparing.
“It’s near to ready,” she announced and took the wine Fin poured her. “So the lot of you can make yourself useful getting the table set.”
“It smells amazing,” Iona commented.
“Because it is. We can talk about all of this while we feast. Connor, there’s bread wrapped in the cloth there.”
He got it, set it out, turned to Meara. “Am I to be forgiven?”
“I haven’t gotten there yet. But I’m moving in that general direction.”
“Then I’ll be grateful for that.”
Branna served the beef bourguignon on a long platter showcasing the herbed beef and vegetables in the dark sauce, surrounded by roasted new potatoes and garnished with sprigs of rosemary.
“It really is a feast,” Iona marveled. “It must have taken hours.”
“It did, so no one’s allowed to bolt it down.” Branna ladled it herself into her pretty shallow bowls before she sat. “And so, all of us have had a day or two.” She spread her napkin across her lap before spooning up the first sample. “Meara, you should begin.”
“Well, I suppose we all know where we were before this morning, but we’ve not been together to talk over today. I was guiding a group of four, and in fact, we rode by Connor, who had a group of his own. I took them around the longest route we use, even let them have a bit of a trot here and there, as they were all solid horsemen. It was when we’d circled back, and were coming through the woods, the narrow trail now. I saw the wolf in the trees, watching, keeping pace. But . . .”
She searched for the words. “He was like the shadows that play there, when the sun dapples through the leaves. More formed than that, but not formed. I felt I could almost see through him, though I couldn’t. The horses saw or sensed, I couldn’t say which, but the riders behind me, they didn’t. They kept on talking together, even laughing. It was no more than a minute, and Roibeard flew in. The wolf, it didn’t run away so much as fade away.”
“A projection,” Fin suggested.
“Not in the usual way.” As he ate, Connor shook his head. “As I saw it as well. A shadow’s close. My sense was of something not quite here, not quite there. Not as he was outside here, not a thing with weight and full form, but with power nonetheless.”
“Something new then,” Fin considered. “Balancing between two planes, or shifting between them, as he can shift time at Sorcha’s cabin.”
“It pulls from him though. If you watch the stone, his power source, it ebbs and flows.” Meara glanced at Connor for confirmation.
“That’s true enough, but as with any skill, the power of it grows as you hone it.”
“The McKinnons, the people I guided,” Meara continued, “they saw nothing.”
“To them he was a shadow,” Fin said. “Nothing more.”
“A shadow spell.” Branna considered it. “I’ve seen a thing or two in Sorcha’s book that might be useful.”
