Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(9)

“There you are, a prince of horses.” Grateful, Sorcha pressed her face to Alastar as he nuzzled her. “Can you help me mount?” she asked Teagan.

“He will. I taught him a trick. I was saving it for when Da comes home. Kneel, Alastar! Kneel.” Giggling now, Teagan swept a hand down.

The horse bowed his head, then bent his forelegs, and knelt.

“Oh, my clever, clever girl.”

“It’s a good trick?”

“A fine trick. A fine one, indeed.” Grasping the mane, Sorcha pulled herself onto the horse. Nimble as a cricket, Teagan leapt on in front of her.

“You hold on to me, Ma! Alastar and I will get us home.”

Sorcha gripped the little girl’s waist, put her trust in the child and the horse. Every stride of the gallop brought pain, but every stride brought them closer to home.

When they neared the clearing she saw her older children, Brannaugh dragging her grandfather’s sword, Eamon holding a dagger, racing toward them.

So brave, too brave.

“Back to the house, back now! Run back!”

“The bad one came,” Teagan shouted. “And he made himself into a wolf. I threw rocks at him, Eamon, like you did.”

The children’s voices—the questions, the excitement, the licks of fear—circled like echoes in Sorcha’s head. Sweat soaked her. Once again she grasped Alastar’s mane, lowered herself to the ground. Swayed as the world went gray.

“Ma’s sick. She needs her tea.”

“Inside,” Sorcha managed. “Bolt the door.”

She heard Brannaugh giving orders, clipping them out like a chieftain—“fetch water, stir the fire”—and felt as if she floated inside, into her chair, where her body collapsed.

A cool cloth on her head. Warm, potent liquid easing down her throat. A quieting of the pain, a clearing of the mists.

“Rest now.” Brannaugh stroked her hair.

“I’m better. You have a strong gift for healing.”

“Teagan said the wolf burned up.”

“No. We hurt him, aye, we hurt him, but it lives. He lives.”

“We’ll kill it. We’ll set a trap and kill it.”

“It may come to that, when I’m stronger. He has more than he did, this shifting of shapes. I can’t say what price he paid for the power, but it would be dear. Your sister marked him. Here.” Sorcha clutched a hand on her left shoulder. “The shape of a pentagram. Watch for this, be wary of this, and any who bear that mark.”

“We will. You don’t be fretting now. We’ll make the supper, and you’ll feel stronger for eating, and resting.”

“You’ll make a charm for me. Exactly as I say. Make the charm, and bring it to me. Supper can wait until that’s done.”

“Will it make you stronger?”

“Aye.”

Brannaugh made the charm, and Sorcha hung it around her neck, next to her heart. She sipped more potion, and though her appetite was small, forced herself to eat.

She slept, and dreamed, and woke to find Brannaugh keeping watch.

“Off to bed now. It’s late.”

“We won’t leave you. I can help you to bed.”

“I’ll sit here, by the fire.”

“Then I’ll sit with you. We’re taking turns. I’ll wake Eamon when it’s his, and Teagan will bring you morning tea.”

Too weary to argue, too proud to scold, Sorcha only smiled. “Is that the way of it?”

“Until you’re all well again.”

“I’m better, I promise you. His magick was so strong, so black. It took all I had in me, and more, to stop it. Our Teagan, you’d be proud. So fierce and bright she was. And you, running toward us with your grandda’s sword.”

“It’s very heavy.”

The laugh felt good. “He was a big man with a red beard as long as your arm.” On a sigh, she ran her hand over Brannaugh’s head. “If you won’t go to your bed, make a pallet there on the floor. We’ll both sleep awhile.”

When her child slept, Sorcha added a charm to make Brannaugh’s dreams good and sweet.

And she turned to the fire. It was time, long past, to call Daithi home. She needed his sword, she needed his strength. She needed him.

So she opened her mind to the fire, opened her heart to her love.

Her spirit traveled over the hills and fields, through the night, through woods, over water where the moon swam. She flew across all the miles that separated them to the camp of their clann.

He slept near the fire with the moonlight like a blanket over him.

When she settled down beside him, his lips curved, and his arm curled around her.

“You smell of home fires and wooded glades.”

“It’s home you must come.”

“Soon, aghra. Two weeks, no more.”

“Tomorrow you must ride with all haste. My heart, my warrior.” She cupped his face. “We have need of you.”

“And I of you.” He rolled over onto the vision of her, lowered his mouth to hers.

“Not for the bed, though oh, I ache for you. Every day, every night. I need your sword, I need you by my side. Cabhan attacked today.”

Daithi sprang up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Are you hurt? The children?”