Dark Witch (10 page)

“Oh, you did it. I thought I had.”

“You sent it up, lost your focus. I spared you the mopping.”

“I did that?” Thrilled, she did a quick dance in place. “Go me. Wow, it’s just so cool. Not respectful,” she said with a wince.

“No reason there can’t be joy and wonder. It’s magick after all. Do it again. But slow. Smooth. Control, always.”

“Like riding a horse,” Iona murmured.

She took it up, only inches this time, and imagining a small fountain, created it. Slowly, slowly, she turned the fountain so it circled just above the bowl. The dance of the water filled her with that joy and with that wonder.

“You have a lot sleeping inside you,” Branna told her.

Delighted, proud, dazzled at herself, Iona let the water slide back into the bowl. “Let’s wake it up.”

* * *

WHEN CONNOR WALKED IN, SHE FLOATED A FEATHER.
Not in the graceful dance Branna demonstrated, but it floated.

He sent her a wink, then, twirling a finger, had the feather spinning up to tickle her under the chin.

“Show-off,” she said, but laughed, and did a twirl of her own. “I’m in witch kindergarten. I’ve made flame, moved water, floated the feather, and I did that.”

She gestured toward the white flowerpot, and the pretty painted daisy blooming in it.

“That’s well done.” Impressed, he walked to the worktable.

“I did that,” she corrected, showing him the little seedling beside the bloom. “Branna did the flower.”

“Still well done. It’s quite the day you’ve had, cousin.” He draped an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “And I’m here to collect on my pint. School’s out, don’t you think, Branna? It’s half-six, and I’m next to starving.”

“The magick’s in his heart, but our Connor thinks with his belly. Or what’s just below it.”

“And shamed I am of neither. Let’s go to the pub. Iona buys my pint, I buy the meal. That’s a good deal on any table.”

“Why not?” Branna decided. “We’ve things to talk about, and I could do with a pint and some food while we’re doing it.”

She pulled the clips from her hair, shook it, and had Iona sighing with envy. “Come on, Kathel. I’ll be five minutes,” she said.

“She’ll be twenty,” Connor corrected. “We’ll meet you there,” he called out, and reached for Iona’s hand.

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“She’s going to decide to change her clothes, then having done that, to fuss with her face. I could have my pint by the time she’s finished, and you can be telling me about your day.”

“Possibly the best day ever. It’ll take a while.”

“I’ve nothing but time—as long as we’re heading for that pint and my supper.”

* * *

MAYBE IT WAS THE RESIDUAL ENERGY FROM THE POWER SHE’D
practiced, combined with the excitement of a new job, but Iona felt she could have sprinted all the way to the village.

Connor had other ideas and set a meandering pace on the winding road. She knew she chattered, but he’d asked, after all. And he listened, laughed, tossed in comments.

When she told him of Alastar, Connor lifted his eyebrows, angled his head. His eyes, so full of fun, seemed to sharpen with a quick, canny focus.

“Well now, that’s an interesting sort of development, isn’t it then?”

“It upset Branna.”

“Well, Fin tends to most days of the week, and him sending back this particular horse? That’s a message from him, to her particularly.”

“A warning?”

He gave Iona a quiet smile. “She might take it as one.”

“It doesn’t upset you.”

“It’s coming, isn’t it—whatever it will be. We knew that when you showed up on the doorstep.”

He looked away, toward the woods, and his eyes, she thought, looked beyond anything she could see.

“This is just the next of it,” he told her, “and I’d say having a good horse is a positive thing.”

“But he’s Fin’s, and if Fin’s part of the—I don’t know—opposing force—”

“He’s not.”

“But . . . Branna said—”

“Blood ties, curses, and devil’s marks.” Connor shrugged them off like an old jacket.

“Is he Cabhan’s descendant?”

“That he is. I’d like to know who doesn’t have a twisted branch on his family tree. Coming from something doesn’t make it what you are. You’ve choices, don’t you? You’ve made your own. Fin makes his own, that’s God’s truth, as does our Branna. She’s my sister, and as important to me as my next breath. And Fin’s my friend, as he’s been all of my life. So I walk that line, and it’s fortunate I’ve good balance.”

“You don’t think he’s evil.”

Connor paused long enough to draw her to his side, brush his lips on the top of her head with an easy affection that warmed her to the bone. “I think evil comes in too many forms to count. Fin’s not one of them. As for Alastar being his? Buying something doesn’t make it yours as you can keep it, lose it, give it away. It’s you who connected with the horse, isn’t it?”

“I guess that’s true. You trust him, I can see that. But Branna doesn’t.”

“She’s conflicted, you could say, which she is on little else. He’ll be back when he’s a mind to, then you can decide for yourself where you stand on it.”

“You were boys together? You and Fin and Boyle.”

“Still are.”

She laughed, but felt a little pang with it. “I don’t have any lifelong friends. We moved when I was about six, then my parents split up when I was ten, so another move, and a lot of back and forth, and other moves when each of them remarried. It’s nice, I think, to have friends you grew up with.”

“Friends are friends whenever you make them.”

“You’re right. I like that.”

He took her hand again, gestured with the other as they came into the village. “There you have the ruins of Cong Abbey. It’s a fine ruin for all that, and the tourists come to wander around it, though most come to Cong for the Quiet Man.”

“Nan loves that movie. I watched it again myself before I came.”

“We’ve a festival in September to commemorate the film. It’s grand. Maureen O’Hara herself came two years back. She’s still a rare beauty. Regal and real all at once.”

“Did you get to meet her?”

“For a moment I did. Sure it was a fine moment. You didn’t get your village tour today?”

“No, but there’s plenty of time. I feel like I’ve been here. From everything Nan’s told me,” she explained. “And her photos, the guidebook. It’s just like I imagined.”

The pretty shops and pubs and restaurants, the little hotel, the flowers in pots and window boxes tipped down the road in the shadow of the ruined abbey. Though the shops were closed, the pubs were open, and a scatter of people strolled along the narrow sidewalks.

“Where’s Branna’s shop?”

“Around the corner, there, down a bit next to the tea shop. She’ll be closed now, but I’ve a key if you want to see it.”

“That’s all right. I’ll have a day off, I assume.”

“Sure you’ll have your day off. Boyle, he’ll work you hard enough, but not to the bone.”

They walked down, against the rise of the road, and she lifted her face, happy to feel the cool air on her skin. “Is that . . . Is it peat I smell?”

“Sure it is. Nothing like a peat fire on an evening, and a pint to go with it. And here, we’ll have both.”

He opened a door, nudged her in.

The yeasty smell of beer pouring from the tap, the earthy scent of peat simmering in the hearth—yes, Iona thought, there was nothing like it. People claimed stools at the hub of the bar, or sat at tables already into their meal. Their voices hummed over the clink of glassware.

A half dozen patrons hailed Connor the minute he stepped in the door. He called out greetings, sent out a wave, and steered Iona to the bar.

“Good evening to you, Sean. This is my cousin Iona Sheehan, from America. She’s granddaughter to Mary Kate O’Connor.”

“Welcome.” He had a shock of white hair shaggy around a ruddy face, and sent her a quick beam out of cheerful blue eyes. “And how’s Mary Kate faring?”

“She’s very well, thanks.”

“Iona’s working for Boyle at the stables. Had her first day.”

“Is that a fact? A horsewoman are you then?”

“I am.”

“She’s buying me a pint to celebrate. I’ll have a Guinness. What’s your pleasure, Iona?”

“Make it two.”

“Branna’s on her way, so it’s to be three. We’ll just find us a table. Well, it’s Franny.” Connor gave a pretty blonde a peck on the cheek. “Meet my cousin Iona from America.”

So it began. Iona calculated she met more people in ten minutes within feet of the bar than she normally did in a month. By the time they moved away she carried a blur of faces and names in her head.

“Do you know everybody?”

“Hereabouts, most. And there’s two you know yourself.”

She spotted Boyle and Meara at a table crowded with pints and plates. Connor snagged one beside them. “How’s it all going then?”

“Well enough. Taking in the local nightlife are you, Iona?” Meara asked her.

“Celebrating my new job. Thanks again,” she said to Boyle.

“It happens we’re working out schedules,” Meara told her, “and you’ve Thursday off if you’ve a mind to make plans.”

“I’m nothing but plans right now.”

“Iona tells me Fin sent you a new horse. Alastar, is it—and temperamental.”

“My arse.” Boyle hefted what was left of his pint. “Tried making a meal out of Kevin Leery’s arm this morning after he kicked the shit out of Mooney.”

“Take any piece of you?”

“Not yet, and not for lack of trying. Behaved like a gentleman for your cousin.”

Iona smiled into her beer. “He’s just misunderstood.”

“I understand him fine.”

“We wonder what Fin’s about with this one.” Meara spooned up some soup, kept her eyes on Connor. “Alastar’s no riding hack, that’s for certain. It may be he’ll breed well, but he never said he was after acquiring a stallion for that when off he went.”

Connor gave his easy shrug. “No one knows what’s in Fin’s mind save Fin, and plenty’s the time he doesn’t know either. And speaking of that, there’s our Branna.”

He lifted a hand, caught her eye.

“Well now, it’s a party,” she said when she walked to the table. Her hand lowered to rub on Meara’s shoulder as she sent Boyle a smile. “Are you working my girl then, right through her supper?”

“More the other way around,” Boyle claimed. “She’s relentless. I was coming to see you tomorrow. The salve you made for us is about gone.”

“I’ve more on hand. I’ll send it along with Iona in the morning.” She sat, picked up her beer. “So, here’s to Iona and her new position, and to you for having the good sense to hire her.”

She felt nearly giddy, sitting there. Cousins, boss, coworker—and ordering, at Connor’s suggestion, the beef and barley stew.

As her first working day in Ireland, it couldn’t get better.

And then it did.

Connor slid away from the table. He came back a few moments later with a violin.

“Connor,” Branna began.

“I’m buying, so the least you can do is play for your supper.”

“You play the violin?”

Branna glanced at Iona, gave a shrug much like her brother’s. “When the mood comes.”

“I always wanted to play something, but I’m hopeless. Please, won’t you?”

“How can you say no?” Connor handed his sister the violin and bow. “Give us a song, Meara darling. Something cheerful to match the mood.”

“You didn’t pay for my supper.”

He sent her a wink, both cheeky and wicked. “There’s always a sweet to come, if you’ve the appetite.”

“One.” Branna tested the bow. He’d rosined it, she noted, confident he’d coax her into it. “You know he won’t leave off till we do.”

She angled her chair, tested again, tweaked the tuning. Voices around them quieted as Branna smiled, tapped her foot in time.

Music danced out, cheerful as Connor had asked, lively and quick. Branna’s gaze laughed toward Meara, and Iona saw the friendship, the ease and depth of it even as Meara laughed and nodded.

“I’ll tell me ma when I go home, the boys won’t leave the girls alone.”

More magick, Iona thought. The bright, happy music, Meara’s rich, flirtatious voice, the humor on Branna’s face as she played. Her heart, already high, lifted as she imprinted everything—the sound, the look, even the air on her memory.

She’d never forget this moment, and how it made her feel.

She caught Boyle watching her, a bemused smile on his face. She imagined she looked like a starstruck idiot, and didn’t care.

When applause rang out, she found herself bouncing on her seat. “Oh, that was great! You’re both amazing.”

“Won us a prize once, didn’t we, Branna?”

“That we did. First prize, Hannigan’s Talent Show. A short-lived enterprise to match our short-lived career.”

“You were grand, both of you, then and now, but we’re grateful Meara didn’t run off to be a singing star.” Boyle gave her hand a pat. “We need her at the stables.”

“I’d rather sing for the fun than my supper.”

“Don’t you want to have more fun?” Iona gave Meara a poke on the arm. “Give us another.”

“Look what you started,” Branna said to her brother.

“You don’t play for fun often enough. I always wish you would.” And when he laid a hand on Branna’s cheek, she sighed.

“You have a way, you do, and you know it.”

“Iona’s not the only Yank in here tonight. I’ve spotted a few others. Give them ‘Wild Rover,’ and send them back with the memory of the two beauties in the pub in Cong.”

“Such a way, you do,” she said and laughed. And shaking her hair back, lifted the fiddle.

Iona saw the smile fade, all the humor fade out of the smoky eyes. Something else came into them, so quick there, then gone, she couldn’t be sure. Longing? Temper? Some combination of both.

But she lowered the instrument again.

“Your partner’s back,” Branna said to Boyle.

7

E
VERYTHING ABOUT HIM WAS SHARP.
The cheekbones, the jaw, even the bold green of his eyes—and the glint in them.

He’d come in on a kick of wind that had the simmering peat fire giving a quick snap.

As they had with Connor, several people hailed him. But Connor had been greeted with easy and affectionate warmth. Finbar Burke’s welcome was edged with respect and, Iona thought, a little caution and wariness.

He wore a black leather coat that skimmed to his knees. Rain, which must have started while she’d been cozy and warm, beaded on it, and on his sweep of black hair.

Cautious herself, Iona skimmed her gaze toward Branna. Nothing showed on her cousin’s face now, as if that momentary swirl of emotion had been nothing more than illusion.

Fin wound through the crowd and, as Branna had with Meara, laid a hand on Boyle’s shoulder, and on Connor’s. But his gaze, Iona noted, fixed on Branna.

“Don’t let me interrupt.”

“And there he is, home from the wars at last.” Connor sent him a cheeky grin. “And just in time to stand the next round.”

“Some of us have to work tomorrow,” Branna reminded her brother.

“Sure it’s fortunate my boss is an understanding and generous sort of man. Unlike yours,” Connor added with a wink for Branna, “who’s a tyrant for certain.”

“I’ll stand the round,” Fin said. “Good evening to you, Meara, and how’s your mother faring? I got word she was feeling poorly,” he said when she blinked at him.

“She’s better, thanks. Just a bout of bronchitis that lingered awhile. The doctor dosed her with medicine, and Branna with soup, so she’s well again.”

“It’s good to hear it.”

“You brought the rain,” Boyle commented.

“Apparently. And Branna. You look more than well.”

“I’m well enough. You cut your travels short then?”

“Six weeks was long enough. Did you miss me?”

“No. Not a bit.”

He smiled at her, quick and again sharp, then turned those vivid eyes on Iona. “You’d be the American cousin. Iona, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Fin Burke,” he said and extended a hand over the table. “As this lot doesn’t have the manners for introductions.”

She took his hand automatically, and felt the heat, a quick zip of power. Still smiling, he cocked an eyebrow as if to say: What were you expecting?

“Another Guinness for you?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Despite understanding and generous bosses, this is my limit. Thanks anyway.”

“I wouldn’t mind some tea before I head out in the rain,” Meara said. “Thanks, Fin.”

“Tea then. Another pint, Boyle?”

“I’m in my truck, so this will have to do me.”

“I’m on my feet,” Connor said, “so I’ll have another.”

“Sure I’ll join you.” Fin had barely glanced around when their waitress hurried up. “Hello there, Clare. The ladies, they’ll have tea. Connor and I will have a pint. Guinness tonight.”

He found a chair, pulled it up. “We won’t bring business into the party,” he said to Boyle. “We’ll talk later in that area, though I think we’ve kept each other up to date. And you as well, Connor.”

“Suits me. I took Merlin out a few times while you were rambling, as did Meara,” Connor told him. “And he took himself out when he wanted. Will you be coming by the school tomorrow?”

“I’ll make a point of it, and the stables.”

“Make sure you have a kind word for Kevin and Mooney.” Boyle lifted his beer. “As your newest acquisition battered both of them.”

“Got spirit, he does, and an iron will. Has he battered you as well?”

“Not for lack of trying. He likes this one.” Boyle nodded toward Iona.

Locking eyes with Iona again, Fin tapped his fingers on the table as if to an inner tune. “Does he now.”

“After doing his damnedest to buck me across to Galway, the Yank here mounts him and takes him around the ring like a show horse.”

Fin smiled slowly. “Is that a fact? Are you a horsewoman then, Iona?”

“It is, and she is,” Boyle answered. “She’s now in our employ, which I’m keeping you up to date with in person.”

“Happy to have you. A working holiday for you, is it?”

“I . . . I’m going to live here. That is, I’m living here now.”

“Well then, welcome home. Your grandmother’s well, I hope. Mrs. O’Connor?”

“Very. Thanks.” To keep them still, Iona clutched her hands together under the table. “I needed a job, so Branna asked Boyle to meet with me. I worked at Laurel Riding Academy in Maryland. I have references, and my resume. That is, Boyle has them now, if you need to see them.”

Shut up, shut up, she ordered herself, but nerves overwhelmed her. “You have a wonderful operation. Meara showed me around. And you’re right. Alastar has spirit, and a strong will, but he’s not mean. Not innately. He’s just mad and unsettled, finding himself in a strange place, with people and horses he’s not used to. Now he has something to prove, especially to Boyle.

“Thank God,” she breathed when the tea arrived. She could use it to stop her mouth.

“You make her nervous.” Amused now, Branna spoke to Fin. “She tends to chatter on when she’s nervous.”

“I do. Sorry.”

“And apologizes continually. That really has to stop, Iona.”

“It does. Why did you buy him—Alastar?” she began. Then held up a hand. “Sorry. None of my business. Plus you said you didn’t want to talk business.”

“He’s beautiful. I have a weakness for beauty, and strength, and . . . power.”

“He’s all that,” Meara agreed. “And anyone who knows bloody anything about horses knows he’s not meant to plod around with tourists on his back every day.”

“No, he’s meant for other things.” He looked at Branna. “Needed for other things.”

“What are you about?” she murmured.

“He spoke to me. You understand me,” he said to Iona.

“Yes. Yes.”

“So, he’s here, and on her way is the prettiest filly in the West Counties. Spirited, too, a two-year-old, fine as a princess. She’s Aine, for the faerie queen. We’ll be playing matchmaker there, Boyle, when she’s mature enough. Until she is, she’ll do well on the jump course, even, I think, with novices.”

“You’ve more than breeding on your mind.” Branna nudged her tea aside.

“Ah, darling, breeding’s ever on it.”

“You knew she’d come, and what it would mean. It’s already begun.”

“We’ll talk about it.” Fin laid a hand over Branna’s on the table. “But not in the pub.”

“No, not in the pub.” She drew her hand from under his. “You know more than you say, and I’ll want the truth of it.”

Irritation simmered in his eyes. “I’ve never lied to you,
mo chroi
. Not in all our lives, and you know it. Even when a lie could have given me what I wanted most.”

“Leaving gaps is no different from a bold lie.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve work yet. Boyle, use your truck to see Iona back to the hotel, would you? I won’t have her walking through the wood at night.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’ll see to it.” Boyle interrupted Iona’s protest smoothly. “Not to worry.”

“I’ll get that salve to you in the morning. And see you, Iona, tomorrow, after work. We’ve much more to do.”

“Well and hell.” Connor sighed, started to rise as Branna left.

“No, stay and finish your pint.” Meara rubbed at Connor’s arm as if to soothe even as she pushed back her chair. “I’ll go with her. It’s time I started home anyway. Thanks for the tea, Fin, and welcome back. I expect I’ll see the lot of you tomorrow.”

Grabbing her jacket, Meara dragged it on as she hurried out of the pub.

Connor patted Iona’s arm. “You’ll need to get used to that.”

“That’s God’s truth,” Fin muttered, then very deliberately eased back, smiled. “I tend to put our Branna in difficult moods. So tell us, Iona from America, what is it you’ve seen and done in Ireland?”

“I . . .” How could they just pick up the small talk when the air actively pulsed with temper and heartbreak? “Ah . . . not very much. And a lot, I guess. I came to meet Branna and Connor, and to find a place, to find work. Now I have. But I haven’t had time, yet, to see anything but here. It’s so beautiful, it’s enough.”

“We’ll have to get you out and about more than that. You say you found a place, to live you mean? That’s quick work.”

“I’m staying at Ashford for a few more days.”

“Now there’s a rare treat.”

“It really is. Then I’m going to live with Branna and Connor.” She saw his eyes flicker, narrow, shift quickly to Connor. “Is that a problem?”

In answer, Fin leaned over the table, kept those eyes focused on her face. “She knew you. She reaches out to many, but holds precious few. Home is sanctuary. If hers is yours, she knew you. Have a care with them,” he murmured to Connor. “By all the gods.”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“Speaking of gaps.” Frustrated, Iona looked from one man to the other, and to Boyle who sat, saying nothing at all. She’d get nothing out of any of them, not there and then. “I should go. Thanks for dinner, Connor, and for the tea, Fin. You don’t have to drive me back to the hotel, Boyle.”

“She’ll skin my arse if I don’t, and it could be literal. I’ll see you back at home,” he said to Fin.

“I’ll be coming along shortly.”

Stuck, Iona walked to the door. She took one glance back, caught a glimpse of Fin brooding into his pint, and Connor leaning over the table, talking quick and low.

She stepped out into windy rain, and found herself grateful after all for the ride.

“You and Fin live together?”

“I keep my place over the garage, and make use of his house when I’ve a mind to, as he’s out as much as in. It’s handy for both of us, living there near the big stables.”

He opened the door of an old truck with faded red paint, and reaching in, shoved at the clutter on the seat. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting a passenger.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a relief to see someone’s as messy as I am.”

“If that’s the way of it, take a warning. Hide and confine your debris. Branna’s orderly, and she’ll hound you like a dog if you leave things flung about.”

“So noted.”

She boosted up, slid in among clipboards, wrappers, an old towel, rags, and a shallow cardboard box holding hoof picks, bridle rings, a couple of batteries, and a screwdriver.

He got in the opposite door, shoved a key in the ignition.

“You didn’t say much in there.”

“Being friends with all parties, I find it best to stay out of it altogether.”

The truck rattled, the rain pattered, and Iona settled back.

“They’re a thing.”

“Who’s a thing?”

“Branna and Fin. They either are, or were, involved. The sexual buzz was so loud my ears are still ringing.”

He shifted, frowned out at the road. “I’m not after gossiping about friends.”

“It’s not gossip. It’s an observation. It must be complicated, for both of them. And it’s clear I need to know what’s going on. You know more about any of it than I do, and I’m in it.”

“Put yourself there from what I can see.”

“Maybe I did. So what? How did you know I’m like them?”

“I’ve known them most of my life, been a part of theirs. I saw it in you, with the horse.”

Brows knit, she shifted to face him. “Most people wouldn’t be so casual about it. Why are you?”

“I’ve known them most of my life,” he repeated.

“I don’t see how it can be that simple. I can do this.” She held out her palm and, focusing hard, managed to flick a small flame in its center.

It was pitiful compared to Branna, but she’d been working on it off and on.

He barely glanced her way. “Convenient if you’re backpacking and misplace the matches.”

“You’re a cool customer.” She had to admire it. “If I’d pulled that on the guy I’d been dating, he’d have gone through the door, leaving a cartoon-guy hole in it.”

“Must not have been much for backpacking.”

She started to laugh, then caught her breath when fog rose up on the road ahead like a wall. Her hands balled into fists as the truck punched through it, tightened as the fog blanketed over them.

“Do you hear that? Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“My name. He keeps saying my name.”

Though he was forced to slow to a crawl, Boyle kept his hands steady on the wheel. “Who’s saying your name?”

“Cabhan. He’s in the fog. Maybe he
is
the fog. Can’t you hear him?”

“I can’t.” And so far, never had. He wouldn’t mind keeping it that way. “I’m thinking you’ll work with Meara again tomorrow.”

“What? What?”

“I’ll want her go-ahead before you take any guests out on your own.” He spoke easily, drove slowly. He could navigate this road blindfolded, and thought he damn nearly was. “And I’ll want to see how you handle instruction. We’ll have you work with Mick there, or with me from time to time. Do you do any jumping?”

He knew she did, and had the blue ribbons and trophies to prove it, the certification to teach it. He’d read her resume.

“Yes. Competitively since I was eight. I wanted to try for the Olympic team, but . . .”

“Too much commitment?”

“No. I mean, yes. In a way. You need a lot of family support for that kind of training. And the financial backing.” While her eyes tracked right and left, she rubbed a hand from between her breasts up to her throat, back again. “Did you hear that? God, can’t you hear that?”