Chapter 17 #2
She led the group out—a couple and two teenage girls from America taking advantage of spring break—letting them chatter among themselves. But she did glance back, once, and couldn’t deny a quick twist of satisfaction at catching Boyle watching her ride away.
As they turned into the woods, she brushed her fingers over the amulet she wore, then tapped them to her pocket where she’d put a protection charm that morning.
She wouldn’t fear the woods, she told herself. She wouldn’t fear what came. And she wouldn’t fear living her life alone if that’s what destiny handed her.
Putting her guide’s smile on, she shifted in the saddle, glanced back at the family. “So, how are you enjoying your visit so far?”
* * *
A BUSY DAY MOVED QUICKLY, AND FOR THAT SHE WAS GRATEFUL.
Knowing she did just exactly what she needed to do didn’t make it any easier to do it.
She wanted to smile at Boyle, and see him flash her a grin in return.
Wanted to feel entitled to touch him, just a hand to his, a hand on his arm, and have him feel entitled to do the same.
She wanted to be easy with him again. Even if they couldn’t be lovers, even if she had to find a way to snuff out the light of the love she felt for him, she wanted him in her life.
Needed him, she corrected as she cleaned up at the big stables after her lesson with Sarah. Until Cabhan was defeated, until what Sorcha had begun so long ago was finished, they all needed one another.
What they faced was so much bigger than a bruised heart and some scarred pride.
They’d find a way. If Branna and Fin could work together, she could certainly work with Boyle. It might take some time to find the right way, to smooth out the bumps—and they’d have to talk it out, she admitted.
But not yet. Too tender yet.
She hugged Alastar’s neck, pleased when he nuzzled her. “I’ve got you, don’t I? My guide, my friend, my partner. I’ve got family who cares about me, and understands me. And I’ve got a home, a place I belong. It’s more than I ever had before.”
She drew back, kissed his nose. “So no complaints, no pity parties. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She walked out, noted she timed it well when she spotted Connor strolling toward the stables, his whistled tune leading the way.
The perfect Irish picture, she thought, a good-looking man, all lanky limbs and wicked angel face, hands in the pockets of his rough work pants, and the brown path and green, green woods behind him.
“All done for the day then?” he called out.
“Just now. You?”
“Ready to walk my pretty cousin home, and see if our Branna baked any fresh biscuits today. I’ve a yen for some, and since according to our Branna we’re working tonight, I deserve them as well.”
“I’m ready for magick.” She wiggled her fingers. “And to learn something new.”
“New, is it?”
“Astral projection. I’m doing it in dreams, either on my own or manipulated by Cabhan, I don’t know for sure. But I don’t control it. I want to.”
“It’s a good arrow for your quiver. And so . . . how did it all go with Boyle today?”
“Maybe a little awkward and tense here and there, but we got through it. It should be easier going forward.”
“He’s feeling a right shit about the whole business.”
She would not feel pleased (maybe just a little). She would not feel sorry, or she’d ignore the sorry.
“He feels what he feels, that’s why we’re here. He’s your friend.” She gave Connor’s arm a quick rub. “He feels bad he hurt me. You feel bad that he feels bad. We all just have to get past it and not lose sight of what we have to do.”
“And you can do that?”
“I’ve had a disappointed heart before.” She said it lightly, had to, as it went so deep. “I think some of us are just destined not to connect that way.”
“But you don’t.” He took her hand in his, gave it a bolstering squeeze. “You don’t think that at all.”
“I think,” she said more carefully, “there’s something about me that makes it difficult for others to forge an intimate connection to.”
“Bollocks,” he began, but she shook her head.
“My own parents couldn’t. Is that them, or is it me? Who knows, but if they can’t, and there’s been no one until Boyle I wanted, deep down, to make that connection to, I can’t blame him. If it’s me, I have to work on me. And I have been. I’m a classic work-in-progress.”
“You’re wrong, about the connection, or anything about it being you. You’re as easy to love as a summer morning. If we weren’t cousins, I’d marry you myself.”
She laughed at that, touched. Then sent him a sultry, sidelong stare. “We’re distant cousins.”
“Cousins all the same.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “And it’s too odd and tangled for that.”
“Too bad, because you’re so pretty.”
“I’ll say the same right back to you.”
He opened the door to the workshop, gave his arm an exaggerated sweep to usher her in. Then sniffed the air.
“Ginger biscuits, and what a fine welcome home.”
“Have some and your tea, as we’ve work to make up.”
At the counter Branna poured white liquid wax into a clear jar, already weighted with a long white wick. Iona wondered how Connor scented the ginger over the summer fragrance of hydrangea.
“How did it all go then?” Branna asked as she tipped up the pan, moved down to the next jar.
“First day down, and not too bad.”
“She thinks she’s unlovable.” Connor spoke over a mouthful of cookie.
“Oh bollocks.”
“I didn’t say that, don’t think that. I meant—never mind.” She grabbed a cookie for herself. “Do you need help with those?”
“I’m about done, but you can help me with the labels and wick trimming later on. I’ve made dozens as we were running low, and the tourists come thicker in spring than in winter. Have your tea. We’ll work twice as much today for working not at all yesterday.”
“I’m ready.”
“She’s after astral projection,” Connor put in.
“Astral projection, is it?” Pursing her lips, Branna studied Iona. “It wasn’t what I had in mind, but well, why not? It’s a fine skill to have.”
With the last jar filled, she left them cooling on the rack, pulled off the white bib apron she’d worn to protect her poppy red sweater from drips and spills.
“It’s not the same as the active dreaming you’ve done, but not so very different. Have you been practicing your meditating?”
Iona winced. “Probably not as much as I should. My mind always wants to go somewhere.”
“Training your mind’s part of it. Training it, quieting it, and as I’ve said, focusing it. Here, bring your tea to the fire. You should be relaxed in body and mind and spirit.”
Iona obeyed, and Kathel stirred from his nap to lay a paw on her foot in hello.
“Just watch the fire, have your tea. You like the taste of it, and the biscuit. Quiet breathing. Inhale, pause, exhale, pause. You can smell the peat fire, and the candles just poured, the herbs hanging to dry.”
“Rosemary especially.”
“Sure it’s a favorite. You hear your breath go in and out, and Kathel’s tail swishing against the floor, the crackle of the fire, and the sound of my voice. It’s soothing, all soothing. The touch of my hand, and Kathel’s paw. Soothing all, so you can drift a bit, float a bit. Quiet and peaceful.”
“But I—”
“Trust me. I’ll be with you this first time, take you this first time. See where you want most to go, see it in the fire, see it in your mind.”
“Nan’s kitchen,” Iona realized all at once. “I miss her. She’s never done anything but love me, believe in me. She’s been the only one who has for so long. I’m what I am because of Nan.”
Branna glanced at Connor as he came over to sit on Iona’s other side. “A long trip for a first,” she murmured.
“Her heart takes her there.”
“And so will we. Do you see it, Nan’s kitchen, in the fire, in your mind?”
“It’s like yours. I mean feels like yours, not looks like.
It’s smaller, and there’s no hearth. I see the walls, they’re like a warm peach and the cabinets are dark, dark brown.
There’s an old butcher block table. When I sat with her there, I could tell her anything.
She told me what I am, told me about the first dark witch while we sat at that table having tea and cookies—biscuits.
Just like now. She keeps herbs on the windowsill, and the blue and green pottery bowl I gave her for her birthday years ago on the table.
There were red apples in it the day she told me everything, not just pieces, but all.
Shining red apples in the green and blue bowl.
Her eyes are like mine, the same color, the same shape. And when they look at me, I believe.”
“Focus on the bowl, the colors of that, the shape of that. Let yourself lift, let yourself go where you want to go. Quiet breaths, quiet mind, quiet purpose. Lift. Float. Fly.”
She lifted, floated as if weightless. The air, the light all pulsed blue—quiet, soothing. And as she felt the first stirring of its power, of hers, she flew.
Fast, free, soaring over green hills misted by blue, over water—blue under blue.
Branna’s voice sounded in her mind. Breathe. Keep your focus.
“It’s amazing! It’s beautiful.” She threw her arms out to the side, laughed with the sheer joy of it.
Hold on now. Nan’s kitchen. See it.
She saw it in her mind, and then, she was simply there. Standing by the old butcher block table, with the blue and green bowl. Lemons and limes today, Iona thought, a bit dizzy.
And there was Nan, stepping in the back door, toeing out of her gardening shoes, taking off the wide-brimmed straw hat.
Small statured, small framed, as Iona was. Trim and pretty in her jeans and light jacket. Her hair, maintained a soft golden red, formed a stylish wedge around her face. Light, discreet makeup. Nan wouldn’t even garden before taking care of the basics.
She started to walk to the fridge, stopped. Then very slowly turned.
Her hand went to her heart, and eyes wide, she let out one short gasp. “Iona! You’re here. Oh, oh, Branna and Connor as well. Oh, look at you, my baby girl. How much you’ve learned already.”
“You can see me.”
“Sure I can see you, you’re standing right there, aren’t you? And so pretty. Sit, sit, all of you, and tell me everything.”
“Can we sit?” Iona wondered.
“There’s enough power in this room to light the next fifty kilometers.” Branna pulled out a chair, sat. “Of course we can sit.”
On a little cry, Iona rushed forward, grabbed Nan in a hug. “I can touch you. I can feel you. I’ve missed you.”
“As I’ve missed you.”
“We can’t stay long this time, cousin.” Branna smiled at them. “It’s a long distance for her first time.”
“The first?” With a laugh, a beam of amazement in her eyes, Nan hugged again. “Oh no, not long then. But long enough to say how proud and happy I am.”
“Will you come? You said you’d come to Ireland.”
“And so I will, when it’s time. I’ll know. You’re happy, but . . . there’s something unhappy.”
“She’s had a . . . disagreement,” Connor decided. “With Boyle.”
“Ah, I see. I’m sorry for it, as I’m well fond of him. If it’s right, it’ll mend.”
“He doesn’t trust me. It’s not important.”
“Of course it is.”
“I mean right this minute. I want to know how you are.”
“Fit and fine, as you see. Planting pansies today, as they’ll take the cool, and it’s been cool this spring. And cabbage, of course, and a bit of this and that. You’re teaching her well, Branna, as she tells me. And you, Connor.”
“She learns well. And she’s needed.” Branna reached out a hand, took Nan’s. “I want to say to you, you were right to send her, right to give her the amulet. I’m grateful to you.”
“No need for that. It’s ours to do. It’s our blood.”
“It is, and it will be. He’s stronger now that the three are together, but we’re stronger yet. I’m sorry we can’t have a proper visit.” Branna rose. “But she’s only begun on this skill.”
“Even a moment is a great treat. You take care, my girl. And keep your heart and your mind open, Iona. That’s when the best come into them.”
“I remember.” She kissed Nan’s cheek, hugged her hard. “I’ll come back if I can.” On impulse, she took a lemon from the bowl. She felt its skin against her palm and, lifting it, caught its scent. “I know it’s silly, but can I take this with me? Is that possible?”
“Let’s find out.” Branna took her hand, and when Iona pushed the lemon in her pocket, Connor the other.
“We’ve missed you back home, Cousin Mary Kate,” Connor told her.
“And I you. You’ll take me hawking one day soon, won’t you, Connor?”
“It’ll be a pleasure to me.”
“Tell your mother, and hers, when you see them, I look forward to a good gossip in person.”
“Come to the Dark Witch,” Branna told Nan. “There’ll be a fire burning for you, and the kettle on the boil.”
“I will, and thanks. My love goes with all of you, and every hope with it.”
“Bye, Nan. I love you.”
And again, she lifted, floated. Flew.