Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(105)

“It’s much more than another saddle. Much more to me.” She rose on her toes, brushed her lips over one of his cheeks, the other, then lightly over his lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, of course, and happy birthday again. I’ve things to see to now. Fin’ll be keeping an eye out, as he let me know he and Branna are done for today.”

“All right. Thank you, Boyle.”

“As you’ve said.”

She let him go. She had a lesson to prepare for. And decisions to make.


*


SHE WALKED OVER TO FIN WHEN HER STUDENT LEFT. Gave a short sigh. “I didn’t give her my best today.”

“I wager she’d disagree. And if you’re a bit distracted today, there’s cause enough.”

“I guess.” She glanced toward the rooms over the garage. “And you and Branna?”

“Did what we set out to do, with little drama. That’s a blessing in itself. I’ll take you back to the stables if you’re wanting your car, then follow you home to be safe and sure.”

“Oh, thanks, but . . . I want to— I need to . . . I have to talk to Boyle. About something. He can take me home, I think.”

“All right then.” With an easy smile rather than the laugh in his heart, Fin took Alastar’s reins. “I’ll just see to our boy here.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll enjoy it. And I’ll say he and I have things to discuss as well.”

“You do talk to him, and the other horses. The way I can.”

“I do, yes.”

“And the hawks—your own, Connor’s, the others. Kathel, our hound. Even Bugs. All of them.”

Fin moved his shoulders, a kind of half shrug that managed to be elegant and a little sad. “They’re all mine, and none of them mine. There’s no guide for me, as there is for you. No connection that intimate. But, well, we understand each other. Go on now, say what you need to say to Boyle.”

“Tomorrow . . .”

“You’ll shine, brighter than you ever have.” He cupped her chin a moment, tapped a finger on her jaw. “I believe it. Go see Boyle. I’ll be around and about if you need me.”

She took two steps, turned. “She loves you.”

Fin just stroked a hand over Alastar’s neck. “I know it.”

“It’s harder, isn’t it, knowing someone loves you and can’t let it just be love?”

“It is. Harder than anything else.”

With a nod, she walked over, then climbed the steps to Boyle’s room. Straightened her shoulders, knocked.

When he answered the door, she had her smile ready. “Hi. Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No. Maybe. It depends. I need to . . .” She closed her eyes, held her hands out to the side, palms out.

He saw something shimmer, caught the faintest change of the light, of the air.

“He’s focused on me,” Iona said. “So he might find ways to hear, to listen, to see, even when we’re inside. I don’t want him to hear what we talk about.”

“All right. Ah, do you want tea. Or a beer?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind some whiskey.”

“That’s easily done.” He crossed over to take a bottle down from a cupboard, then two short glasses. “This is about tomorrow.”

“In a way. I meant what I said before. I believe we’ll win. I believe we have to, that we’re meant to. And I know what blood feels like on my hands. I know, or I believe, the good, the light, defeats evil, the dark. But not without cost. Not without price, and sometimes the price is very high.”

“If you weren’t afraid, you’d be stupid.”

She took the glass he offered. “I’m not stupid,” she said, and tossed the whiskey back. “We can’t know what will happen tomorrow, or what the price may be. I think it’s important, tonight, to grab what good we have, what light we have, and hold on to it. I want to be with you tonight.”

He took a careful step back. “Iona.”

“It’s a lot to ask, considering I asked you exactly the opposite not so very long ago. You gave your word, and you kept it. Now I’m asking you to give me tonight. I want to be touched, to be held. I want to feel before tomorrow comes. I need you tonight. I hope you need me.”

“I never stopped wanting to touch you.” He set his whiskey aside. “I never stopped wishing to be with you.”

“We’d both have tonight, whatever comes. I think we’d be stronger for it. It’s not breaking a promise if I ask you to throw it away. Will you take me to bed? Will you let me stay till morning?”

There were things he wanted to say, yearned to say. But would she believe them, even with her shining faith, if he said them here and now?

The words would wait, he told himself, until the dawn after the longest day. Then she’d believe what he’d come to know.

Instead of speaking he simply stepped to her. Though they felt big, clumsy, he cupped her face with his hands, then lowered his mouth to hers.

She leaned into him, her arms wrapping, her lips heating.

“Thank God! Thank God you didn’t send me away. I’ve—”