Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(50)

She told them the details she remembered.

“You didn’t focus,” Branna said. “If you’re to use fire as defense or offense, you have to mean it.”

“She’s never used it against anything or anyone,” Connor pointed out. “But she had the wit and the power to bring the fire. Next time she’ll burn his arse. Won’t you, Iona darling?”

“Damn right.” Because she’d never feel that helpless and terrorized again. “I was going to try again, and okay, I was terrified. Then Roibeard dived out of the sky. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“He makes a picture,” Connor said with a smile.

“Then Kathel was there, then both of you. I did freeze,” she admitted. “It was like being caught in a dream. The fog, the black wolf, the red gem glowing at its throat.”

“Feeding his power. The stone,” Branna explained, “and your fear. We’ll work harder. You’ll wear the amulet. Connor will walk you to the stables in the mornings, and we’ll see someone brings you home at the end of the day.”

“Oh, but—”

“Branna’s right. A week and he’s come at you in dreams, and in the here and now. We’ll be more careful, is all. Until we decide what’s to be done. Go get the amulet now, and we’ll get to work.”

Iona rose. “Thanks for being there.”

“You’re ours,” Connor said simply. “We’re yours.”

The words, and the quiet loyalty in them, made Iona’s eyes sting as she hurried through the back toward the kitchen and the cottage.

“She’s taken on a great deal in no time at all,” Connor began.

“I know it. I know it perfectly well.”

“And you were sharp with her, as you were frightened for her.”

Branna said nothing a moment, just went about the soothing process of making the tea. “I’m the one who’s teaching her.”

“It’s not your fault any more than it’s hers. And this was, for all of us, a lesson learned. He’s grown bold since she’s come here.”

“With the three of us together, he knows, as we do, the time’s coming. If he can harm her, or turn her—”

“She won’t turn.”

“She won’t, no, not willingly. She’s got your loyalty, I think, and far too much gratitude for too little given.”

“When you’ve had less than little in some things, you’re grateful for even a spoonful of more. We’ve always had each other. And we’ve always been loved. She wants love, the giving and the having of it. I didn’t pry,” he added. “It’s so much a part of her, I can’t not see it.”

“I see it myself. Well, she has us now, like it or not.”

Connor took the tea his sister gave him. “So, it’s Boyle, is it? Grabbing our cousin and kissing her stupid from the sounds of it. She’s barely landed on our doorstep, and my mate’s jumping her like a rabbit.”

“Oh, leave off being such a child.”

He laughed, drank tea. “Why would I leave off, when it’s such a grand time?”





10





FOCUS. BRANNA HARPED ON IT RELENTLESSLY. Iona struggled to find it, then hold it. She’d improved—Branna gave her frustratingly faint praise for that—but she’d yet to reach the skill her exacting mentor judged strong enough.

She wondered how the hell anyone could focus soaking wet and half frozen.

Rain poured out of thick gray skies as it had, without pause, for two solid days and nights. That equaled, for the most part, inside work for both her job and her craft. She didn’t mind it, not really. She enjoyed reorganizing the tack room with Meara, and working with Mick on instructing one young rider, and one feisty octogenarian in the ring.

She loved having extra time to groom and bond with the horses. She’d braided the manes of all the mares, delighted by the way they preened at the added attention. And though she sensed the geldings would have liked that style and attention just as much, she knew Boyle would object. So she’d worked a small, single braid into each, to please the horse and satisfy the boss.

And she learned. Inside Branna’s workshop with the fire simmering, the scents of herbs and candle wax sweetening the air, she’d learned to expand her own understanding, embrace her power, and begin to polish those raw edges. At night, she read, she studied while the wind blew that steady rain against the windowpanes.

But how the hell was she supposed to think, much less focus, with rain splatting on her head, and the raw chill of it shivering straight to her bones.

Worse, Branna stood there, absolutely dry, her hair a gorgeous black sweep, and her eyes merciless.

“It’s water,” Branna reminded her. She stood in the quiet sunlight she’d created, smiling coolly through the curtain of rain that fell outside her boundary.

“I know it’s water,” Iona muttered. “It’s running down the back of my neck, into my eyes.”

“Control it. Do you think you’ll be warm and dry and happy every time you need what you are, what you have? Will Cabhan wait for fine, fair weather to come for you?”

“All right, all right, all right!” Flickers of fire sizzled from Iona’s fingertips, and a stream of rain went to steam.