by Nora Roberts
than anyone else’s could be. “What makes you think that?”
“I’m used to thinking for and of myself. Used to doing as I please. And I like it.” He lifted his gaze to hers, smiled. “I’m a selfish man, and fate’s asking me to take the responsibility my father’s borne so well, to take a woman who’ll understand only pieces of what that means.”
“You’re not giving either of you credit for who you are.” There was impatience in her voice now, all the more effective as it was so rare. “You’ve been stubborn, and you’ve been proud, but you’ve never been selfish, Liam. What you are is too bloody serious about too many things. And so you too often miss the joy of them.” She sighed, shook her head. “And Rowan can and will understand a great deal more than you seem to think.”
“I like going my own way.”
“And your own way led you straight to her, didn’t it?” This time Ana laughed. He looked so irritated that logic had turned back and nipped him. “Do you know one of the things I’ve always admired most about you? Your instinct to question and pick apart everything. It’s a fascinating and annoying trait. And you do it because you care so much. You’d rather not, but you care.”
“What would you do, Ana, if you were standing where I am?”
“Oh, that’s easy for me.” Her smoky eyes were soft, her smile gentle. “I’d listen to my heart. I always do. You’ll do the same when you’re ready.”
“Not everyone’s heart speaks as clearly as yours.” Restless again, he drummed his fingers against the bench. “I’ve shown her who I am, but I haven’t told her what that might mean to her. I’ve made her my lover, but I haven’t given her love. I’ve shown her my family without telling her about her own. So yes, it troubles me.”
“You can change it. It’s in your hands.”
He nodded, stared into the night. “I’m taking her back in the morning, when she wakes. And I’ll show her what’s sleeping inside her. As for the rest, I don’t know yet.”
“Don’t only show her the obligations, Liam, the duties. Show her the joys, too.” She rose, keeping her hand in his. “The baby’s stirring. He’ll be hungry. I’ll make your good-byes in the morning if you like.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He got to his feet, gathered her close. “Blessed be, cousin.”
“Don’t stay away so long.” She kissed his cheeks before she drew away, and at the door paused, looked back. He stood in a shower of moonlight. Alone. “Love waits,” she murmured.
* * *
It waited, Liam thought when he slipped into bed beside Rowan. Here, in dreams. Would it wait in the morning, when he awakened her to all she was?
Like the princess in the fairy tale, he thought, stirred to life by a kiss. The fact that he was, in his way, a prince made him smile humorlessly into the dark.
Fate, he supposed, enjoyed its ironies.
Those thoughts, and others, kept him awake and waiting for dawn. At first light he slipped a hand over hers, linked fingers and took them back to Rowan’s own bed.
She murmured, shifted, then settled again. Rising, he dressed, studying her as she slept. Then he went quietly downstairs to make very strong coffee.
He thought both of them would need it.
With his mind tuned to hers, he knew the moment she stirred. He stepped outside, carrying his coffee. She would come to him, questioning.
Upstairs, Rowan blinked in puzzlement. Had she dreamed it all? It didn’t seem possible when she could remember everything so clearly. The aching blue sky of Monterey, the bright music of children’s laughter. The warmth of welcome.
It had to be real.
Then she let out a weak chuckle, resting her brow on her updrawn knees. Nothing had to be real, not anymore.
She rose, and prepared to experience yet another magical day.
Chapter 11
When she saw him standing on the porch, it struck her all over again. The wild thrill, the rush of love, the wonder. That this stunning, extraordinary man should want her left her speechless with delight.
Moving on pure emotion, she rushed through the door to throw her arms around him, press her cheek against that strong back.
It staggered him, those sweet, fresh feelings that poured out of her so freely, the quick rise of his own that tangled with them. He wanted to whirl around, to sweep her up and away to someplace where there was no one and nothing to think of but her.
Instead, he laid his free hand over hers lightly.
“You brought us back before I had a chance to say good-bye to your family.”
“You’ll see them again … if you like.”
“I would. I’d love to see Morgana’s shop. It sounds wonderful. And Sebastian and Mel’s horses. I loved meeting all of your cousins.” She rubbed her cheek over his shirt. “You’re so lucky to have such a big family. I have some cousins on my father’s side, but they live back east. I haven’t seen them since I was a child.”
His eyes narrowed. Could there have been a more perfect opening for what he meant to tell her? “Go inside and get your coffee, Rowan. I need to talk to you.”
Her mood teetered as she loosened her grip, stepped back. She’d been so sure he’d turn and hold her. Instead, he hadn’t even looked at her, and his tone was cool.
What had she done wrong? she asked herself as she went inside to stare blindly at the line of cheerfully colored mugs. Had she said something? Not said something? Had she—
She squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted with herself. Why did she do that? she demanded. Why did she always, always assume she’d done something? Or lacked something?
Well, she wasn’t going to do that anymore. Not with Liam. Not with anyone. A little grim, she got a mug and poured hot, black coffee to the rim.
When she turned, he was inside watching her. Ignoring the sudden dread in her stomach, she struggled to keep her voice impassive. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine standing.” She pushed at her tumbled hair, sipped coffee hot enough to scorch her tongue. “If you’re angry with me, tell me. I don’t like having to guess.”
“I’m not angry with you. Why should I be?”
“I have no idea.” To keep herself busy, she took out a loaf of bread to make toast she imagined would stick in her throat. “Why else would you be scowling at me?”
“I’m not scowling.”
She glanced back at his face, sniffed in derision. “You certainly are, and I don’t care for it.”
His eyebrow shot up. Her mood had certainly shifted from soft and cuddly to cold and snappy quickly. “Well, I beg your pardon, then.” In an irritable move, he yanked out a chair, straddled it.
Get on with it, he ordered himself.
“I took you to meet my family, and it’s family I want to speak of. I’d prefer it if you’d sit the bloody hell down instead of prowling about the room.”
Her shoulders wanted to hitch up in defense at the angry tone but she forced them to stay straight. “I’m making breakfast, if you don’t mind.”
He muttered something, then flung out his hands. A plate of lightly browned toast appeared on the counter. “There. Though how you can call that breakfast is beyond me. Now sit down with it.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making my own.” But she carried the plate to the table before deliberately going to the refrigerator and taking her own sweet time choosing jam.
“Rowan, you’re trying my patience. I’m only asking you to sit down and talk to me.”
“Asking is exactly what you didn’t do, but now that you have, I will.” Surprised at just how smug she felt over that small victory, she came back to the table and sat down. “Do you want some toast?”
“No, I don’t.” And hearing the snap in his voice, sighed. “Thank you.”
She smiled at him with such sudden, such open sweetness, his heart stumbled. “I hardly ever win arguments,” she told him as she spread jam on the toast. “Especially when I don’t know wh
at the argument’s about.”
“Well, you won that one, didn’t you?”
Her eyes danced as she bit into the toast. “I like winning.”
He had to laugh. “So do I.” He laid a hand on her wrist as she lifted her mug. “You didn’t add your cream and all that sugar. You know you don’t like your coffee black.”
“Only because I make lousy coffee. Yours is good. You said you wanted to talk about your family.”
“About family.” He moved his hand so he was no longer touching her. “You understand what runs through mine.”
“Yes.” He was watching her so closely, his eyes so focused on hers, she had to fight the urge to squirm. “Your gift. The Donovan Legacy.” She smiled. “That’s what you named your company.”
“Aye, that’s right. Because I’m proud of where I come from. Power has obligations, responsibilities. It’s not a toy, but it’s not something to fear.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Liam, if that’s what worries you.”
“Maybe, in part.”
“I’m not. I couldn’t be.” She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she loved him, but he pushed back from the table and began to prowl about the room just as he’d asked her not to.
“You’re seeing it as a storybook. Magic and romance and happy-ever-after. But it’s just life, Rowan, with all its messes and mistakes. Its needs and demands. Life,” he repeated, turning back to her, “that has to be lived.”
“You’re only half right,” she told him. “I can’t help but see it as magical, as romantic, but I understand the rest. How could I not understand after meeting your cousins, seeing their families? That’s what I met yesterday, a family. Not a picture in a book.”
“And you were … comfortable with them?”
“Very much.” Her heart began to trip in her throat. It mattered to him, she could see it. Mattered that she accepted his family, and him. Because … was it possible it was because he loved her, too? That he wanted her to be part of his life?
Joy spurted through her in one long liquid gush.
“Rowan.” He came back to sit, so that she hid her trembling hands under the table. “My cousins are many. Here, in Ireland. In Wales, Cornwall. Some are Donovans, some Malones, some Rileys. And some are O’Mearas.”
Her heart had bounded into her head to spin dreamily. “Yes, you said your mother was an O’Meara. We might even be distant relatives. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then in some convoluted way I might be connected to Morgana and the rest.”
He bit back a sigh; then, reaching for her hands, he took them firmly in his and leaned closer. “Rowan, I didn’t say we might be cousins, but that we are cousins. Distant, it’s true, but we share blood. A legacy.”
Puzzled by the sudden intensity she frowned at him. “I suppose we might be. Tenth cousins or something, however many times removed. I’m not entirely clear how that works. It’s interesting, but …”
This time her heart seemed to stop. “What do you mean?” she said slowly. “We share a legacy?”
“Your great-grandmother, Rowan O’Meara, was a witch. As I am. As you are.”
“That’s absurd.” She started to jerk her hands free, but he held them fast. “That’s absurd, Liam. I didn’t even know her, and you certainly didn’t.”
“I know of her.” He spoke calmly now. “Of Rowan O’Meara from Clare, who fell in love and married, and left her homeland, and abjured her gifts. She did this because the man she loved asked it of her. She did this freely, as was her right. And when she birthed her children, she said nothing of their heritage until they were grown.”
“You’re thinking of someone else” was all she could say.
“So they thought her eccentric, and perhaps a bit fey, but they didn’t believe. When they birthed children of their own, they only said Rowan O’Meara was odd. Kind and loving, but odd. And when the daughter of her daughter birthed a daughter, that child was raised not knowing what ran in her blood.”
“A person would have to know. How could you not know?” This time he released her hands so she could pull back, spring to her feet. “You’d feel it. You’d sense it.”
“And haven’t you?” He got to his feet as well, wishing he’d found a way to tell her without frightening her. “Haven’t you felt it, from time to time? Felt that stirring, that burn in the blood, wondered at it?”
“No.” That was a lie, she thought and backed away. “I don’t know. But you’re wrong, Liam. I’m just ordinary.”
“You saw pictures in the flames, dreamed your dreams as a child. Felt the tingle of power under your skin, in your mind.”
“Imagination,” she insisted. “Children have wonderful ones.” But she felt a tingle now, and part of it was fear.
“You said you weren’t afraid of me.” He said it softly, as he might to a deer startled in the woods. “Why would you be afraid of yourself?”
“I’m not afraid. I just know it’s not true.”
“Then you’d be willing to test it, to see which of us is right?”
“Test what? How?”
“The first skill learned and the last to leave is the making of fire. What’s inside you already knows how it’s done. I’ll just remind you.” He stepped to her, taking her hand before she could evade. “And you have my word that I won’t do it myself, just as I want your word that you won’t block what comes.”
It seemed even her soul was trembling now. “I don’t have to block anything because there isn’t anything.”
“Then come with me.”
“Where?” she demanded as he pulled her outside. But she already knew.
“The dance,” he said simply. “You won’t have control just yet, and it’s protected.”
“Liam, this is ridiculous. I’m just a normal woman, and in order to make a fire I need kindling and a match.”
He paused just long enough to glare at her. “You think I’m lying to you?”
“I think you’re mistaken.” She had to scramble to keep up with his ground-eating strides. “There probably was a Rowan O’Meara who was a witch. There probably was, Liam, but she wasn’t my great-grandmother. My great-grandmother was a sweet, slightly dotty old woman who painted beautifully and told fairy stories.”
“Dotty?” The insult of that brought him up short. “Who told you that?”
“My mother … That is …”
“So.” He nodded as if she’d just confirmed everything he’d said. “Dotty,” he muttered as he began to stride along again. “The woman gives up everything for love and they call her dotty. Aye, maybe she was at that. She’d have been better off staying in Ireland and mating with one of her own.”
Then he wouldn’t be stalking down this path with Rowan’s trembling hand in his, he thought.
He wasn’t entirely sure if he was pleased or annoyed with that particular twist of fate.
When he reached the stone circle, he pulled her directly to the center. She was out of breath, from the quick walk and from what she could feel swimming in the air.
“The circle’s cast and so it begins. I ask that all be safe within. This woman comes that she may see. As I will, so mote it be.”
As the chant ended, the wind swept through the stones, wrapped like a warm caress around Rowan’s body. Startled, she crossed her arms over her breasts, gripped her own shoulders. “Liam—”
“You should be calm, but that will be hard for you. Nothing here will harm you, Rowan, I swear to you.” He laid his hands over hers and kissed her, gently but deeply, until the stiffness of her body softened. “If you won’t trust yourself, trust me.”
“I do trust you, but this—I’m afraid of this.”
He stroked a hand down her hair, and realized that in many ways what he was doing was like initiating a virgin to love. It should be done sweetly, patiently, and with thoughts only on her.
“Think of it as a game.” He smiled at her as he stepped back. “A more basic one than you imagine just now.” He drew her down to her knees. �
��Breathe deep and slow until you hear your heartbeat in your head. Close your eyes if it helps, until you’re steady.”
“You tell me I’m going to make fire out of nothing, and then ask me to be steady.” But she closed her eyes. The sooner she could prove to him he was mistaken, the sooner it would be over.
“A game,” she said on the first long breath. “All right, just a game, and when you see I’m no good at it, we’ll go home and finish breakfast.”
Remember what you weren’t told, but knew. Liam’s voice was a quiet murmur inside her mind. Feel what you always felt but never understood. Listen to your heart. Trust your blood.
“Open your eyes, Rowan.”
She wondered if this was like being hypnotized. To be so fully, almost painfully aware, yet to be somehow outside yourself. She opened her eyes, looked into his as sunlight streamed between them. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t you?” There was the faintest lilt of amusement in his voice now. “Open yourself, Rowan. Believe in yourself. Accept the gift that’s been waiting for you.”
A game, she thought again. Just a game. In it she was a hereditary witch, with power sleeping just under the surface. Waking it was only a matter of believing, of wanting, of accepting.
She stretched out her hands, stared at them as if they belonged to someone else who watched them tremble lightly. They were narrow hands, with long slender fingers. Ringless, strangely elegant. They cast twin shadows on the ground.
She heard her own heartbeat, just as he’d told her. And she heard the slow, deep sound of her own breathing, as if she were awake listening to herself sleep.
Fire, she thought. For light, for heat. For comfort. She could see it in her mind, pale gold flames just touched with deep red at the edges. Glowing low and simmering, rising up like torches to the sky. Smokeless and beautiful.
Fire, she thought again, for heat, for light. Fire that burns both day and night.
Dizzy, she swayed a little. Liam had to fight every instinct to keep from reaching out to her.
Then her head fell back and her eyes went violently blue. The air hushed. Waited. He watched as she lost a kind of innocence.
Power whipped through her like the wind that suddenly rose to send her hair flying. The sudden heat of it made her gasp, made her shudder. Then it streaked like a rocket down her arms, seemed to shoot from her fingers into a pool of light.
She saw with dazzled eyes the fire she’d made.
It sizzled on the ground, tiny dancing flames of gold edged with red. The heat of it warmed her knees, then her hands as she hesitantly stretched them over it. As she drew them back, the flames shot high.
“Oh. Oh, no!”
“Ease back, Rowan. You need a bit of control yet.”
He brought the thin column of fire down as she stared and stuttered.
“How did I— How could I—” She snapped her gaze to his. “You.”
“You know it wasn’t me. It’s your heritage, Rowan, and your choice whether you accept it or not.”
“It came from me.” She closed her eyes, inhaling, exhaling slowly until she could do so without her breath shuddering out. “It came from me,” she repeated, and looked at him. She couldn’t deny it now, what some part of her knew. Perhaps had always known.
“I felt it. I saw it. There were words in my head, like a chant. I don’t know what to think, or what to do.”
“What do you feel?”
“Amazed.” She let out a dazed laugh and stared at her own hands. “Thrilled. Terrified and delighted and wonderful. There’s magic in me.” It shimmered in her eyes, glowed on her face. This time her laugh was full and free as she sprang up to turn circles inside the ring of stones.
Grinning widely, Liam sat with his legs crossed and watched her embrace self-discovery. It made her beautiful, he realized. This sense of sheer joy gave her a rich and textured beauty.
“All my life I’ve been average. Pathetically ordinary, tediously normal.” She spun another circle, then collapsed on the ground beside him to throw her arms around his neck. “Now there’s magic in me.”