Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(6)

The blackthorn bloomed, and the snowdrops, and the light turned more toward spring than winter.

Each night Sorcha watched for Daithi in the fire. When she could, she spoke to him, risked sending her spirit to him to bring back his scent, his voice, his touch—and to leave hers with him.

So to strengthen them both.

She told him nothing of Cabhan. The magicks were her world. His sword, his fist, even his warrior’s heart could not defeat such as Cabhan. The cabin, hers before she’d taken Daithi as her man, was hers to defend. The children they’d made together, hers to protect.

And still she counted down the days to Bealtaine, to the day she would see him riding home again.

Her children thrived, and they learned. Some voice in her head urged her to teach them all she could as quickly as she could. She didn’t question it.

She spent hours at night in the light of the tallow and the fire writing out her spells, her recipes, even her thoughts. And when she heard the howl of the wolf or the beat of the wind, she ignored it.

Twice she was called to the castle for a healing, and took her children so they could play with the other youths, so to keep them close, and to let them see the respect afforded the Dark Witch.

For the name and all it held would be their legacy.

But each time they journeyed home, she needed a potion to revive the strength sapped from the healing magicks she dispensed to those in need.

Though she yearned for her man, and for the health she feared would never be fully hers again, she schooled her children daily in the craft. She stood back when Eamon called to Roibeard—more his than hers now, as it should be. Watched with pride as her baby rode Alastar, as fierce as any warrior.

And knew, with both pride and sorrow, how often Brannaugh and her faithful Kathel patrolled the woods.

The gift was there, but so was childhood. She made certain there was music, and games, and as much innocence as she could preserve.

They had visitors, those who came for charms, for salves, who sought answers to questions, who hoped for love or fortune. She helped those she could, took their offerings. And watched the road, always watched the road—though she knew her love was still weeks from home.

She took them out on the river in the little boat their father had built on a day of easy winds when the sky held more blue than gray.

“They say witches can’t travel over water,” Eamon announced.

“Is that what they say then?” Sorcha laughed, lifted her face to the breeze. “Yet here we are, sailing fine and true.”

“It’s Donal who says it—from the castle.”

“Saying it, even believing it, doesn’t make it truth.”

“Eamon made a frog fly for Donal. It was like boasting.”

Eamon gave his younger sister a dark look, would’ve added a poke or pinch if his mother hadn’t been watching.

“Flying frogs might be fun, but it isn’t wise to spend your magick for amusements.”

“It was practice.”

“You might practice catching us some fish for supper. Not that way,” Sorcha warned as her son lifted his hands over the water. “Magick isn’t every answer. A body must know how to fend for himself without it as well. A gift should never be squandered on what you can do with your wit and your hands or your back.”

“I like to fish.”

“I don’t.” Brannaugh brooded as the little boat plied the river. “You sit and sit and wait and wait. I’d rather hunt. Then you have the woods, and we could have rabbit for dinner.”

“Tomorrow’s as good as today for that. We’ll look for fish tonight if your brother has luck and skill. And perhaps a potato pie.”

Bored, Brannaugh handed her line to her sister, and gazed out over the water to the castle with its great stone walls.

“Did you not want to live there, Ma? I heard the women talking. They said we were all welcome.”

“We have our home, and though it was just a hut once, it’s stood longer than those walls. It stood when the O’Connors ruled, before the House of Burke. Kings and princes come and go, m’inion, but home is always.”

“I like the look of it, so grand and tall, but I like our woods better.” She leaned her head on her mother’s arm a moment. “Could the Burkes have taken our home?”

“They could have tried, but they were wise to respect magick. We have no fight with them, nor they with us.”

“If they did, Da would fight them. And so would I.” She slid her gaze toward her mother. “Dervla from the castle told me Cabhan was banished.”

“That you knew already.”

“Aye, but she said he comes back, and he lies with women. He whispers in their ear and they think he’s their lawful husband. But in the morning, they know. They weep. She said you gave the women charms to keep him away, but . . . he lured one of the kitchen maids away, into the bog. No one can find her.”

She knew of it, just as she knew the kitchen maid would never be found. “He toys with them, and preys on the weak to feed himself. His power is black and cold. The light and the fire will always defeat him.”

“But he comes back. He scratches at the windows and doors.”

“He can’t enter.” But she felt a chill through her blood.

Just then Eamon let out a shout, and when he yanked up his line, a fish flashed silver in the sunlight.