Chapter 12 #2
“I was just going to say how Sarah’s mother’s always there for her lessons and her father’s come by twice to watch her.
My mother would just drop me off, or more often I’d catch a ride to and from with one of the other students.
My father never came. Never once. Rarely to a competition either.
But Nan did, whenever she could. She’d drive to wherever they were, whenever she could.
Sometimes she’d just be there, and I wouldn’t know she’d planned to come.
She paid for the lessons, and the entry fees.
I didn’t know that until I was staying with her once, and heard a message on her machine about renewing the contract with the stables. ”
“She gave you what you loved.”
“I want her to be proud of me. I guess it’s a lot like Darling. I want to do well, so she can see she didn’t waste the time and effort.”
“Then you’re foolish as well.”
“I know. Can’t seem to help it.”
She looked out over the lake, away to the elegant rise of the castle, its gardens still caught in the last of winter’s bite. People strolled around, here to see and do and experience from wherever they’d traveled.
She understood it was like the photo of Sarah, a moment she wanted to have. So as they walked the horses along the water, she let everything else go, and took a page from Boyle’s book.
She embraced the silence.
“We should start back,” he said at length. “I don’t want to overwork her.”
“No, and Branna will be expecting me for my lesson.”
“Going well enough then?”
“Yes. Branna might have some quibbles, but I think it’s going just . . . grand.”
She glanced to him with a grin, saw him looking past her with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was . . . noticing the cottage there. They’ve a fine menu. Maybe after your lesson, you’d like to have some dinner there.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “With you?”
His frown only deepened. “Well, of course, with me. Who else?”
“There’s no one else,” she said simply. “I’d love to. I could be ready by seven or seven thirty.”
“Half-seven’s good. I’ll book it, and fetch you.”
“That sounds grand, too.”
As they slipped into the woods, into the dimmer light, she began a mental inventory of her wardrobe. What should she wear? Nothing too fancy, but not jeans or trousers. Maybe Branna could help her out there, as her options were limited.
Something simple, but pretty. Heels, not boots. Her legs were damn good if she said so herself. She’d like to dazzle him, at least a little, so—
Alastar shied; Darling reared.
And the wolf stepped across the path.
Her thoughts centered on the safety of the horses, Iona didn’t think, just acted. She streamed a line of fire across the path between them.
“It won’t hurt you. I won’t let it hurt you.”
Boyle drew a knife from a sheath on his belt she hadn’t noticed. “He bloody well won’t.”
“Don’t dismount!” Iona shouted, anticipating. “She’s terrified. She’ll bolt, and it might get to her. You have to hold her, Boyle.”
“Take her reins, talk her down, and get them safe. I’ll hold it off.”
“Separating us makes us easier prey.” It’s what it wanted, hoped for—she could feel it. “Trust me, please. Please.”
And struggling to focus, she murmured, her voice quiet, steady, an incantation she learned from the books. One still untried.
The wolf lunged at the line of fire, looking for an opening. With its fierce charge the flames dimmed, lowered.
Gripping the reins in one hand, Iona lifted the other high.
“From north and south, from east and west, bring on the wind for this contest. Strike up the power, bring on the fire until the tower whirls higher and higher. Blow strong, blow fierce, blow wild and free. As I will, so mote it be.
“You think I don’t have it,” she said between her teeth. “You’re wrong.”
Above, the sky churned, and with her lifted hand she balled a fist, as if pulling the flame-edged whirlwind that formed into her fingers.
She flung out her arm, sent a raging funnel of wind through the fire.
It lifted the wolf off its feet, threw it up as it screamed in rage. And she hoped, in fear. It spun, claws lashing air as it bore him up and away.
Iona fought to control what she’d conjured, felt it building beyond her. A tree snapped, collapsed into jagged splinters.
“Take it down.” Boyle’s voice came steady in her ear. “It’s more than you need, and too much. Take it down again now, Iona, as only you can. Let it calm. Let it go.”
A line of sweat beaded down her back as she fought to do just that. The roar of the wind began to fade, the impossible swirl of it to slow.
“All the way down now, Iona.”
“I’m trying. It’s so strong.”
“It’s you who made it. It’s you who’s strong.”
She’d made it, she thought. She’d control it. She’d end it.
“Still now,” she said. “And soft. Calm and sweet. Disperse.”
The wolf dropped like a stone in the light breeze. Then sprang up, fangs dripping. Did the red jewel seem dimmer? she wondered.
Then it leapt into the woods, pulsing out a curtain of smoky fog. After one distant howl, silence fell again.
“It could come back.” All calm deserted her as her hands shook, as her voice jumped. “It could come back. We need to get the horses in. I need to make sure the stables are safe. It—”
“That’s what we’ll do. Breathe a minute. You’ve gone dead pale.”
“I’m all right.” Under her Alastar pawed the ground. He’d pursue, she realized—longed to. To calm him, she had to calm herself. “We’ve done enough,” she said softly. “It’s enough for now. I need to tell Branna, Connor. But the horses—”
“We’re going now, easy.”
“Easy.” She took those breaths, then laid her hand on Alastar’s neck, and over on Darling’s. “Easy,” she repeated. “It won’t hurt you. I . . . didn’t know you had a knife. A really big knife.”
“A pity I didn’t get to use it.” Those gilded eyes hard, he sheathed the blade again. “But worth it for the show I suppose. And you need more lessons on this business.”
“Absolutely. That one wasn’t even on the lesson plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I read it in a book. I guess you could say I added a bar to the jump. It seemed like the time.”
“In a book. She read it in a book. Christ Jesus.”
“I could really use a drink.”
“You’re not alone there.”
She didn’t say more, needed to steady herself. Needed to tell her cousins, she thought again. Needed, really, to sit down on something that didn’t move.
They were nearly back to the stables before she could think clearly, or almost clearly again. “Darling was so scared. For herself, but for you, too. My fire scared her, too. I wish I’d thought of something else.”
“She did just fine. Wanted to bolt, but didn’t. You may not know it, but that one? He was a rock under you. He never, from that first start, flinched a muscle. I’m thinking he would have done whatever you asked, even up to charging through the fire and taking the beast by the scruff.”
“I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to tell him. He just knew. I need to call Branna.”
“I’ll see to that.”
When they reached the stables, he dismounted, then stepped over to her. “Come on down then.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“That’s what these are for.” He lifted his hands, took hold of her, helped her down. “Go sit on the bench there for a minute or two.”
“The horses.”
“They’ll be seen to, and well, what do you think?” The sizzle of impatience had her obeying. And her shaky legs carried her to the bench, almost wept with gratitude as she sat.
When Boyle came out, she managed to get to her feet. “I need to do a protection spell, for the stables.”
“Do you think Fin hasn’t already seen to that?” Boyle simply took her arm, pulled her along. “He’s not due home for a few hours, but I think he knows what he’s about in these matters. Branna knows where you are. She’ll tell Connor.”
“Where am I going?”
“Up to mine, where you’ll have that drink and sit a bit more.”
“I could really use both.”
She climbed the stairs with him. Not exactly the circumstances she’d imagined for her first invitation into his place, but she’d take it.
He opened the door off a narrow porch. “Company wasn’t expected.”
She peeked in first, then smiled. “Thank God it’s not all neat and tidy or I’d feel intimidated. But it’s nice.” She stepped in, looked around.
It smelled like him—horses, leather, man. The room, a kind of combination living/sitting/kitchen, let in the early evening light. A mug sat next to the sink, a newspaper lay spread on the short counter that separated the kitchen from the rest.
A couple of books and some magazines were scattered around—mystery novels, she noted, and horsey magazines. A tumble of boots in a wooden box, a clutter of old jackets on pegs. A sofa with a little sag in the middle, two big chairs, and, to her surprise, a big flat screen on the wall.
He noticed her speculative look. “I like it for watching matches and such. You’ll have some whiskey.”
“I absolutely will, and a chair. I get shaky after it’s all done.”
“You were steady enough while it counted.”
“I almost lost it.” She spoke as he went to the kitchen, opened cupboards. “You helped me hold on.”
Since she was here, and safe, and it was done, he could speak of it. Or try. “You were glowing like a flame. Your eyes so deep it seemed like worlds could be swallowed up by them. You reached up, and you pulled a storm from the sky with your hand. I’ve seen things.”
He poured whiskey for both of them, brought the glasses back to where she sat, dwarfed in one of the big chairs. “I’ve run tame with Fin most of my life, and Connor, and Branna. I’ve seen things. But never have I seen the like of that.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it. A storm in my hand.” She looked down at it now, turned it, amazed to recognize it, to find it so ordinary. “And a storm inside me. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was inside me, so huge and full. And absolutely right.
“I broke a tree, didn’t I?”
He’d watched it shatter like brittle glass, into shards and splinters. “It could’ve been worse, entirely.”
“Yeah, it could’ve been. But I need more lessons, more practice.” More control, she thought, and more of the famous focus Branna continually harped on.
Then she looked at Boyle. The hard, handsome face, the scarred eyebrow, the tawny eyes with temper still simmering in them.
“You were going to fight it with a knife, with your hands.”
“It bleeds, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. Yes.” She let out one more cleansing breath. “It bleeds. It wasn’t expecting what I did, or could do. Neither was I.”
“I think neither of you will underestimate that again. Drink your whiskey. You’re pale yet.”
“Right.” She sipped at it.
“I think it’s not the night for dinner out with people.”
“Maybe not. But I’m starving. I think it’s something to do with expending all that energy.”
“I’ll throw you together something. I’ve a couple of chops, I think, and I’ll fry up some chips.”
“Are you taking care of me?”
“You could use it at the moment. Drink your whiskey,” he said again, then walked back to the kitchen.
Rattling pans, a thwack of a knife on wood, the sizzle of oil. Something about the sounds eased her frayed nerves. She sipped more whiskey, rose, and walked back to where he stood at the stove, frying pork chops in one skillet, chipped potatoes in another.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a fried chop, but wasn’t complaining.
“I can help. Keep my hands and head busy.”
“I’ve a couple of tomatoes in there Mick’s wife gave me from her little greenhouse. You could slice them up.”
So she worked beside him, and felt better for that, too.
He made some sort of thin gravy from the drippings, tossed some herbs in it, then poured it over the chops.
Seated at the counter, Iona sampled a bite. “It’s good.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t have a clue, but it’s good. And, God, I’m seriously starving.”
Her color came up well as she ate, he noted, and that slightly dazed look faded from her eyes.
She’d gone from glowing and fierce to pale and shaky in the blink of an eye. And now, it relieved him to see her slide back to just normal. Just Iona.
“He didn’t use the fog,” she said abruptly. “I just realized, he just—it just walked out of the trees. I don’t know what that means, but I have to remember to tell Branna and Connor—and Fin. And the jewel, the red jewel around its neck. It wasn’t as bright at the end. I don’t think. Was it?”
“I couldn’t say. I was more about its teeth, and the way you’d gone so white. I wondered if you’d slide right out of the saddle.”
“Never going to happen.” She laughed a little, closed her hand over his. And stilled when his turned under hers, gripped hard.
“You scared the life out of me. The fucking life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What in hell are you apologizing for? It’s an irritating habit.”
“I’m . . . working on it.”
“One minute we’re riding along, easy as you please, and I’m thinking, well then, we’ll have dinner and see how that goes. The next, you’re reaping a bloody whirlwind.”
He shoved up, snatched his plate and hers. Which was too bad, she thought, as she’d had a couple more chips, and would’ve eaten them.
“If you don’t want me to apologize, don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling at you.”
“Who then?”
“No one. I’m just yelling. A man can express himself as he pleases in his own house.”
“Nobody ever yelled in my house.”
“What?” He looked genuinely astonished. “Were you reared in a church?”
She laughed again. “I think, maybe—if I go by your gauge—nobody cared enough to yell. Do you care, Boyle?”
“I care you’re not lying on the ground out there with your throat torn out.
” He cursed himself as her color slid away.
“Now I’m sorry. Truly. I’ve the devil’s own tongue when I’m in a temper.
I’m sorry,” he repeated, and put his hands gently on her face to cup it.
“You were so fierce. I don’t know what turned me more around. The wolf or you.”
“We came through it. That means a lot.” She put her hands over his. “And you made me dinner, you let me settle before you let it rip. That means a lot, too.”
“Then we’re all right, all right enough for now.”
He touched his lips to hers, gentle this time. And her hands slid to his wrists, tightened.
“I should take you home now.” He eased back, but she kept her hands on his wrists.
“I don’t want you to take me home. I want to stay with you.”
“You’re still turned around.”
“Do I look turned around?”
He managed to step back, a foot away. “Maybe I’m turned around.”
“I don’t mind that.” She rose. “I might even like it. We won a battle, Boyle, together. I want to be with you, to hold on to you, to go to bed with you.”
“I think . . . the sensible thing is to take some time, to talk about that before . . . that.”
“I thought I was the one who talked too much.” She took a step toward him, then another.
“You do, Jesus, you do. But I think, under the circumstances . . . We’ll talk later,” he said, and grabbed her.
“Perfect,” she said, and grabbed him back.