Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(111)

“I’ll tend her.” Briskly, Branna took Iona’s arm. “Help Connor with Boyle as he’s taken the worst of it.”

“His hands were on fire.” When her head spun, Iona simply slid to the ground. “His hands.”

“Connor and Fin will fix him right up, you’ll see. Quiet now, cousin. Meara, I want his blood. Find something to put it in. The blood, the ash. Look at me now, darling. Look at me, Iona. It’ll hurt a little.”

“You, too.”

“Just a little.”

It did, a little more than a little, then relief, cool and soothing on her throat. Warm, healing down her sides where the bruising ran deep.

“It’s better. It’s all right. Boyle.”

“Shh. Hush now. That’ll take a bit longer, but he’s fine, he’s doing fine. Look and see while I finish.”

Through streaming tears, Iona looked over, saw Boyle’s hands. Still raw, but no longer blackened and blistered. Still, he’d gone gray with the treatment, and the pain.

“Can’t I help?”

“They’ve got him. I’ve just your ankle left here. It’s not broken, but it’s badly wrenched.”

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Hush.”

“Alastar. He hurt Alastar. He said he’d burn him alive.”

“He’s cut a bit, that’s all. Why don’t you see to that? See to your horse.”

“Yes. Yes. He needs me.”

She gained her feet, walked, a bit drunkenly, to the horse. “You’re so brave. I’m so sorry.”

Swallowing tears, she laid her hands on the first gash, and began to heal it.

“I’ve used two of the vials from your bag.” Meara handed them to Branna. “One for the blood, the other for the ash. I felt a bit like one of those forensic types.” Then she let out a shuddering breath. “Oh God, Branna.”

“We won’t talk of it here. We need to get home.”

“Can we?”

“I got us here. I’ll get us back.”

“Where did he go, bloody bastard?”

“I don’t know. We hurt him, and he lost blood—plenty of it—but it’s not finished. I saw him slide away, using the fog, into the fog. Our fire scorched, and well, but didn’t take him. It was not finished tonight, for all we thought it would be. I’m taking us back,” she called out. “Are you ready?”

“Christ, yes.” Fin put an arm around Boyle, helped him stand.

“I’m fine now, I’m fine. Help her get us home, the both of you.”

Nudging the other men aside, Boyle walked to Iona. “Let me see you.”

“I’m okay. Branna took care of it. Alastar. I can’t heal this scar. He’s scarred.”

Boyle studied the slash of white over the gray flank. “A battle scar, worn with pride. We’re going home now, all of us. Up you go. And none of that,” he added as the tears rolled. “Stop that now.”

“Not yet.” She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck as the ground tilted, as the air turned and turned.

And kept her silence as they left the clearing, and the ruins.





EPILOGUE





IONA ACCEPTED THE WHISKEY, WITH GRATITUDE, AND CURLED INTO the corner of the living room sofa. The fire snapped, but brought comfort instead of fear and pain.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t good enough. He rolled right over me.”

“Bollocks to that.” Connor tipped more whiskey in his own glass. “Bloody, buggering bollocks to that.”

“Well said,” Branna agreed. “’Tis I who’s sorry. Every step in place, every detail. But one. I never thought of him slipping through time like that, not on command. I didn’t know he could so quickly, and with us so close.”

“No.” Fin shook his head when she glanced at him. “I never saw it coming. He’s too clever by half, changing the ground to one where his power burned stronger than we knew.”

“And where we couldn’t get to Iona. Where she was alone, after all.” Boyle reached over, took her hand, held it firmly in his.

“But you came, all of you.”

“Not as fast as I would like. It’s not enough to know where, but when. We might not have found you, but you called so strong. You believed, just as you said, and you called. You finished the circle, even with all that, you finished the circle, opened the power, and we could find you. And nearly took him.”

For a moment, Branna closed her eyes. “Nearly, I swear it was close.”

“It’s no fault of yours,” Connor told Iona, “or anyone’s come to that. It’s true enough we didn’t finish him, but we gave him a hell of a fight, and we hurt him. He won’t forget the pain we gave him this night.”

“And he’ll be more prepared for next time.” Meara lifted her hands. “It’s true, and needs to be said, so we don’t walk into that kind of trap again.”

“That’s fine, but . . . you’re burned.”

Meara glanced at her wrists, the backs of her hands, and the scatter of burns. “Blowback, mostly. What about you?”