Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(63)

“And mine goes back to her.”

“She’s planning to come for a few weeks either this summer or fall. I want her to, but at the same time . . .”

“You worry if we’ve still battles to fight. You want her safe.”

“She’s everything to me. I thought when . . . I talk too much.”

“No doubt of it, but you might as well speak your mind.”

“I was just going to say how Sarah’s mother’s always there for her lessons and her father’s come by twice to watch her. My mother would just drop me off, or more often I’d catch a ride to and from with one of the other students. My father never came. Never once. Rarely to a competition either. But Nan did, whenever she could. She’d drive to wherever they were, whenever she could. Sometimes she’d just be there, and I wouldn’t know she’d planned to come. She paid for the lessons, and the entry fees. I didn’t know that until I was staying with her once, and heard a message on her machine about renewing the contract with the stables.”

“She gave you what you loved.”

“I want her to be proud of me. I guess it’s a lot like Darling. I want to do well, so she can see she didn’t waste the time and effort.”

“Then you’re foolish as well.”

“I know. Can’t seem to help it.”

She looked out over the lake, away to the elegant rise of the castle, its gardens still caught in the last of winter’s bite. People strolled around, here to see and do and experience from wherever they’d traveled.

She understood it was like the photo of Sarah, a moment she wanted to have. So as they walked the horses along the water, she let everything else go, and took a page from Boyle’s book.

She embraced the silence.

“We should start back,” he said at length. “I don’t want to overwork her.”

“No, and Branna will be expecting me for my lesson.”

“Going well enough then?”

“Yes. Branna might have some quibbles, but I think it’s going just . . . grand.”

She glanced to him with a grin, saw him looking past her with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was . . . noticing the cottage there. They’ve a fine menu. Maybe after your lesson, you’d like to have some dinner there.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “With you?”

His frown only deepened. “Well, of course, with me. Who else?”

“There’s no one else,” she said simply. “I’d love to. I could be ready by seven or seven thirty.”

“Half-seven’s good. I’ll book it, and fetch you.”

“That sounds grand, too.”

As they slipped into the woods, into the dimmer light, she began a mental inventory of her wardrobe. What should she wear? Nothing too fancy, but not jeans or trousers. Maybe Branna could help her out there, as her options were limited.

Something simple, but pretty. Heels, not boots. Her legs were damn good if she said so herself. She’d like to dazzle him, at least a little, so—

Alastar shied; Darling reared.

And the wolf stepped across the path.

Her thoughts centered on the safety of the horses, Iona didn’t think, just acted. She streamed a line of fire across the path between them.

“It won’t hurt you. I won’t let it hurt you.”

Boyle drew a knife from a sheath on his belt she hadn’t noticed. “He bloody well won’t.”

“Don’t dismount!” Iona shouted, anticipating. “She’s terrified. She’ll bolt, and it might get to her. You have to hold her, Boyle.”

“Take her reins, talk her down, and get them safe. I’ll hold it off.”

“Separating us makes us easier prey.” It’s what it wanted, hoped for—she could feel it. “Trust me, please. Please.”

And struggling to focus, she murmured, her voice quiet, steady, an incantation she learned from the books. One still untried.

The wolf lunged at the line of fire, looking for an opening. With its fierce charge the flames dimmed, lowered.

Gripping the reins in one hand, Iona lifted the other high.

“From north and south, from east and west, bring on the wind for this contest. Strike up the power, bring on the fire until the tower whirls higher and higher. Blow strong, blow fierce, blow wild and free. As I will, so mote it be.

“You think I don’t have it,” she said between her teeth. “You’re wrong.”

Above, the sky churned, and with her lifted hand she balled a fist, as if pulling the flame-edged whirlwind that formed into her fingers.

She flung out her arm, sent a raging funnel of wind through the fire.

It lifted the wolf off its feet, threw it up as it screamed in rage. And she hoped, in fear. It spun, claws lashing air as it bore him up and away.

Iona fought to control what she’d conjured, felt it building beyond her. A tree snapped, collapsed into jagged splinters.

“Take it down.” Boyle’s voice came steady in her ear. “It’s more than you need, and too much. Take it down again now, Iona, as only you can. Let it calm. Let it go.”

A line of sweat beaded down her back as she fought to do just that. The roar of the wind began to fade, the impossible swirl of it to slow.