Blood Magick, Page 9

  Branna sat back. “Doesn’t seem so long ago it was an apology coming out of your mouth every two minutes or less. Now it’s orders.”

  “I’ve evolved. And I love you. We all love you.”

  “I don’t mind the marketing,” Branna said, but calmly now. “Or the chores—very much. But I’m grateful to pass some of it on for the time being as we’ll all be busy with more important matters, and Yule’s all but on us. We should have light and joy for Yule. We will have.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Iona stated. “If anybody wants to say anything else about it, I’m cooking tomorrow.” She forked up some chicken, smiled. “I thought that would close the subject.”

  “Firmly.” Branna reached over to squeeze her hand. “And there’s another subject entirely needs discussion. Cabhan was here.”

  “Here?” Connor shoved to his feet. “In the house?”

  “Of course not in the house. Be sane. Do you think he could get through the protection I’ve laid—and you as well? I saw him outside. I went out in the back garden to check on the winter plantings, and to get some air as I’d been working inside all day. He was bold enough to come to the edge of the garden, which is as far as he can step. We spoke.”

  “After Connor and I went down to the pub.” Fin spoke coolly. “And you’re just telling us of it now?”

  “I wanted to get supper on as there’s enough confusion in that with the kitchen full of people. And once we sat, the conversation began on my haggard self.”

  “I never said haggard,” Boyle muttered.

  “In any case, I’m telling you now, or would if Connor would stop checking out all the windows and come back to the table.”

  “And you wonder I don’t like leaving you on your own.”

  She shot arrows at her brother with the look. “Mind yourself or you’ll be trying to make such insulting remarks with a tongue tied in knots. I was wandering the garden, with a glass of wine. The light changed, the fog came.”

  “You didn’t call for us.”

  This time she pointed a warning finger at her brother. “Leave off interrupting. I didn’t call, no, because I wanted to know what he had to say, and I wasn’t in trouble. He couldn’t touch me, and we both knew it. I wouldn’t risk my skin, Connor, but more, you—all of you—should know I’d never risk the circle, what we have to do. Not for curiosity, not for pride. For nothing would I risk it.”

  “Let her finish.” Though Meara was tempted to give Connor’s leg a kick under the table, she gave it a comforting squeeze instead. “Because we do know it. Just as we knew he’d try for Branna before it was done.”

  “A poor try, at least this time,” Branna continued. “The usual overtures. He’d make me his, give me more power than I could dream of and more bollocks of the same sort. He was still hurting a bit, hiding it, but the red stone was weaker. But he still has power up his sleeve. He changed to Fin.”

  In the silence, Fin lifted his gaze from his wineglass, and the heat of it clashed with Branna’s. “To me?”

  “As if his illusion of you would shatter all my defenses. But he had a bit more. He’s canny, and he’s been watching us for a lifetime. He changed again, back to when you were eighteen. Back to the day . . .”

  “We were together. The first time. The only time.”

  “Not that day, no, but the week after. When I learned of the mark. All you felt and said, what I felt and said, all there as it had been. He had enough to make me feel it, to draw me to the edge of my protection. He fed on that so the stone glowed deeper, as did his arrogance, as he didn’t understand I had more than enough to take out my garden knife and give him a good jab with it. As I did I grabbed the chain of the stone, and I saw fear. I saw his fear. Back he went to fog, so I couldn’t hold it, couldn’t work fast enough to break the chain.

  “It’s ice. So cold it burns,” she murmured, studying her palm. “And holding it, for that instant, I felt the dark of him, the hunger, and most I felt the fear.”

  Connor snatched her hand.

  “I saw to it,” she assured him as he scanned for injuries. “You could see the links of the chain scored across my palm.”

  “But you wouldn’t risk yourself.”

  “I didn’t. Connor, he couldn’t touch me. And had he been quick enough to lay a hand on me when I grabbed the chain, the advantage would have been mine.”

  “Certain of that, are you?” Fin rose, came around the table, held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll know if there’s any of him left.”

  Without a word, Branna put her hand in his, stayed quiet as she felt the heat run under her skin, into her blood.

  “And if he’d gotten the knife from you?” Boyle asked. “If he’d used it against you, sliced at your hand or arm when you held the chain?”

  “Gotten the knife from me?” She picked up her table knife. And held a white rose. “He gave me an opportunity. I took it, and gave him none.” She looked at Fin. “He put nothing in me.”

  “No.” He released her hand, walked back and sat. “Nothing.”

  “He fears us. I learned this. What we’ve done, the harm we caused him, gives him fear. He gained some strength from my emotions, I won’t deny it, but he bled for it, and he ran.”

  “He’ll come back.” Fin kept his eyes on hers as he spoke. “And fear will have him strike more violently at the source of the fear.”

  “He’ll always come back until we end him. And while he may strike more violently, the more he fears, the less he is.”

  7

  HE THOUGHT TO GO OFF HAWKING. HE’D SADDLE BARU, Fin decided over his morning coffee with dawn barely broken in the eastern sky. Saddle up his horse, whistle up his hawk, and go off. A full morning for himself.

  They had the dream potion, and though there was more work, he needed—God he needed some time and distance from Branna. One bleeding morning could hardly matter.

  “We’ll take it, won’t we?” he said to Bugs, who sprawled on the floor joyfully gnawing on a rawhide bone Fin had picked up at the market in a weak moment. “You can go along so I’ll have the full complement. Horse, hound, hawk. I’m in the mood for a long, hard gallop.”

  And if Cabhan was drawn to him, well, it wasn’t as if he’d gone out looking. Precisely.

  He glanced toward the door at the knock. One of the stablemen, he expected, as they’d come to the back. But he saw Iona through the glass.

  “An early start?” he said as he opened the door to her.

  “Oh yeah, bright and.” Her smile shone bright as Christmas. “I’m picking Nan up at the airport.”

  “Of course, I’d forgotten she was coming. From now till the New Year, is it?”

  “For Christmas—Yule—and staying until the second of January. I wish it was longer.”

  “You’ll be glad to see her. So will we all. And she’ll be back, won’t she, in the spring for your wedding?”

  “That’s an absolutely. I couldn’t convince her to stay straight through, but that’s probably for the best anyway. Considering.”

  “Out of harm’s way.”

  “Still. And she won’t be talked into staying at Branna’s while she is here. I’m taking her to her friend Margaret Meeney. Do you know her?”

  “She taught me my letters and sums, and will still tell me not to slouch if she spots me in the village. A born teacher was Mrs. Meeney. Do you want coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had my quota. Oh, there’s Bugs. Hey, Bugs.”

  When she crouched down to give the dog a rub, Fin struggled with mild embarrassment. “He comes wandering in now and again.”

  “It’s nice to have the company. Mrs. Meeney didn’t teach me my letters and sums.” She looked up at Fin. “I didn’t grow up with you like the others. I don’t have the same history.”

  “It doesn’t change what we are now.”

  “I know, and that’s a constant miracle to me. This family. You’re my family, Fin, but I don’t have the history with you or Branna the others do, so
maybe I can say what the others can’t, or say it in a different way. He used you, what happened between you, to try to get to her. That hurt you as much as her.”

  She straightened. “It would be easier to walk away, leave this to the three. But you don’t. You won’t. Part of it’s because of your own need to right a wrong—a wrong done to you. Part’s for family, for your circle, your friends. And all the rest, all the parts of the rest, that’s for Branna.”

  He leaned back against the counter, slipped his hands into his pockets. “That’s a lot of parts.”

  “There are a lot of parts to you. I didn’t grow up with you, didn’t watch you and Branna fall in love, or go through the pain of what pulled you apart. But I see who you are now, both of you. And from where I’m standing, she’s wrong not to let herself have love, have joy. It makes all the sense in the world, but it’s still wrong. And you’re wrong, Fin. You’re wrong for believing—and deep down you do—she’s doing it to punish you. If that were true, Cabhan couldn’t have used you to hurt her.

  “I should go.”

  “You’ve such kindness in you.” He pushed off the counter, then cupped her chin, kissed her. “Such light. If you could cook I swear I’d turn Boyle into a mule and steal you away for my own.”

  “I’m keeping that in reserve. We’ll have Christmas, we’ll have family. I know you, and Branna, too, would rather move on this dream spell right away. But Connor was right last night. We’ll take our family time, have the holiday with color and light and music. Throw that in his face first.”

  “We were outvoted on it, and I can see it from your side.”

  “Good.” She reached for the door, turned back. “You need to have a party. This fabulous house begs for it. You should have a party for New Year’s Eve.”

  “A party?” The quick switch unbalanced him. “Here?”

  “Yes, a party; yes, here. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Time to sweep out the old, ring in the new. Definitely a New Year’s Eve party. I’ll text Boyle. We’ll help you throw it together.”

  “I—”

  “Gotta go.”

  She shut the door, and quickly, leaving him frowning after her. “Well, Christ, Bugs, it looks like we’re having a party.”

  He decided to think about it and all that entailed later. He still wanted that ride. He’d get out, give Baru his head, let Merlin soar and hunt. Give little Bugs the time of his young life.

  And on the way home, he’d stop by the stables, and stop again by the falconry school, put some time in each. If there was enough of the day left after all of that, he’d check to see if he could be of use in Branna’s workshop. Though he assumed she’d be as pleased as he to have a full day apart.

  Out in the stables while he saddled his big black, he had a conversation with Sean that ranged from horses, a feed order, to women, to football, and back to horses.

  He paused as he led Baru out. “It may be I’m having a party for New Year’s Eve.”

  Sean blinked, pushed back his cap. “At the big house here?”

  “Sure that would be the place.”

  “Hah. A party at the big house—fancy-like?”

  “Not altogether fancy.” He hadn’t thought of it either way—and supposed he should have consulted Iona since it was her doing. “Just scrape the horse shite off your boots.”

  “Hah,” Sean said again. “And would you be having music then?”

  Fin blew out a breath. “It seems only right there’d be music. And there’d be food and drink as well before you ask. Nine o’clock seems right.” He scooped Bugs off the ground, swung into the saddle.

  “A party at the big house,” Sean said as Fin kicked Baru straight into a gallop.

  When Fin glanced back, he saw his longtime stable hand, hands on hips, studying the house as if he’d never seen it before.

  Which said, Fin supposed, it was long past time for a party.

  Bugs vibrated excited delight as they thundered off, the horse sent out waves of pleasure at the chance to run, and overhead the hawk called out, high and bright, as it circled.

  And long past time for this, he realized.

  Though part of him yearned for the woods, the smell of them, the song of the trees in the breeze, he headed for open. So he took to the fields, the gentle rise of hill, let the horse run over the green while the hawk soared the blue.

  He pulled out, put on his glove. He and Merlin wouldn’t need it, but it was best if someone rambled by. He lifted his arm, lifted his mind. The hawk dived, did a pretty, show-off turn that made Fin laugh, then glided like a feathered god to the glove.

  The dog quivered, watched them both.

  “We’ve taken to each other, you see. That’s the way of it. So you’re brothers now as well. Will you hunt?” he asked Merlin.

  In answer the hawk rose up, calling as he circled the field.

  “We’ll walk a bit.” Fin dismounted, set Bugs down.

  The dog immediately rolled in the grass, barked for the fun of it.

  “He’s young yet.” Fin patted Baru’s neck when the horse gave the hound a pitying glance.

  Here’s what he’d needed, Fin thought as he walked with the horse. The open, the air. A cold day for certain, but clear and bright for all that.

  The hawk went into the stoop, took its prey.

  Fin leaned against Baru, gazing out over the green, the brown, the slim columns of smoke rising from chimneys.

  And this, he thought, he missed like a limb when he was off wandering. The country of his blood, of his bone, of his heart and spirit. He missed the green, the undulating hills, the gray of the stone, the rich brown of earth turned for planting.

  He would leave it again—he would have to when he’d finished what he needed to finish. But he would always come back, pulled to Ireland, pulled to Branna, pulled . . . Iona had said it. Pulled to family.

  “They don’t want you here.”

  Fin continued to lean on the horse. He’d felt Cabhan come. Maybe had wanted him to.

  “You’re mine. They know it. You know it. You feel it.”

  The mark on his shoulder throbbed.

  “Since the mark came on me, you’ve tried to lure me, draw me. Save your promises and lies, Cabhan. They bore me, and I’m after some air and some open.”

  “You come here.” Cabhan walked across the field on a thin sea of fog, black robes billowing, red stone glowing. “Away from them. You come to me.”

  “Not to you. Now or ever.”

  “My son—”

  “Not that.” Anger he’d managed to tamp down boiled up. “Now or ever.”

  “But you are.” Smiling, Cabhan pulled the robe down his shoulder, exposed the mark. “Blood of my blood.”

  “How many women did you rape before you planted your seed, a seed that brought you a son?”

  “It took only the one destined to bear my child. I gave her pleasure, and took more. I will give Branna to you, if she is what you want. She’ll lie with you again, and as often as you choose. Only come to me, join with me, and she can be yours.”

  “She’s not yours to give.”

  “She will be.”

  “Not while I breathe.” Fin held out a hand, palm forward, brought the power up. “Come to me, Cabhan. Blood to blood, you say. Come to me.”

  He felt it, that tug-of-war, felt the heat as his power burned. Saw, as Branna had, a flicker of fear. Cabhan took a lurching step forward.

  “You do not summon me!”

  Cabhan crossed his arms, wrenched them apart. And broke the spell. “They will betray you, shun you. When you lie cold, your blood on the ground, they will not mourn you.”

  He folded into the fog, lowered, hunched, formed into the wolf. Fin saw his sword in his mind’s eye, in its sheath in his workshop. And lifting his hand, held it.

  Even as he called the others, called his circle, the wolf lunged.

  But not at him, not at the man holding a flaming sword and burning with power. It lunged at the little
dog quivering in the high grass.

  “No!”

  Fin leaped, swung. Then met, sliced only fog, and even that died away with the dog bleeding in the grass, his eyes glazed with shock and pain.

  “No, no, no, no.” He started to drop to his knees. The hawk called; the horse trumpeted. Both struck out at the wolf that had re-formed behind Fin.

  With a howl, it vanished again.

  Even as he knelt, Branna was there.

  “Oh God.” He reached down, but she took his hands, nudged them away.

  “Let me. Let me. My strength is healing, and hounds are mine.”

  “His throat. It tore his throat. Harmless, he’s harmless, but it went for him rather than me.”

  “I can help. I can help. Fin, look at me, look in me. Fin.”

  “I don’t want your comfort!”

  “Leave it to her.” Connor crouched down beside him, laid a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Let her try.”

  Already grieving, for he felt the life slipping away, he knelt in helpless rage and guilt.

  “Here now, here.” Branna crooned it as she laid her hands on the bloodied throat. “Fight with me now. Hear me, and fight to live.”

  Bugs’s eyes rolled up. Fin felt the dog’s heart slow.

  “He suffers.”

  “Healing hurts. He has to fight.” She whipped her gaze to Fin, all power and fury. “Tell him to fight, for he’s yours. I can’t heal him if he lets go. Tell him!”

  Though it grieved him to ask, Fin held his hands over Branna’s. Fight.

  Such pain. Branna felt it. Her throat burned with it, and her own heart stuttered. She kept her eyes on the eyes of the little hound, poured her power in, and the warmth with it.

  The deep first, she thought. Mend and mend what was torn. In the cold field, the wind blowing, sweat beaded on her forehead.

  From somewhere, she heard Connor tell her to stop. It was too much, but she felt the pain, the spark of hope. And the great grief of the man she loved.

  Look at me, she told the dog. Look in me. In me. See in me.

  Bugs whimpered.

  “He’s coming back, Branna.” Connor, still scanning the field, still guarding, laid a hand on Branna’s shoulder, gave her what he had.

  The open wound narrowed, began to close.

  Bugs turned his head, licked weakly at her hand.

  “There now,” she said gently. “Yes, there you are. Just another moment. Just a bit more. Be brave, little man. Be brave for me another moment.”

  When Bugs wagged his tail, Fin simply laid his brow against Branna’s.

  “He’ll be all right. He could do with some water, and he’ll need to rest. He . . .”

  She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself. She wrapped her arms around Fin, held him.

  “He’s all right now.”

  “I owe you—”

  “Of course you don’t, and I won’t have you say it, Fin.” She eased back,