Dark Witch

by Nora Roberts

  reins.

  Now he reconsidered—she could see it in those tawny eyes.

  “Branna won’t be pleased with me if you end up in the hospital.”

  “You’re not afraid of Branna.”

  She took the reins. Maybe she’d never been sure where she belonged, but she’d always, from the first moment, felt at home in the saddle.

  Leaning forward, Iona whispered in Alastar’s ear. “Don’t make a fool out of me, okay? Let’s show off, and show him up.”

  He walked cooperatively for four steps. Then kicked up his hind legs, dropped down, reared up.

  Stop it. We can play that game another time.

  She circled him, changed leads, circled back, changed again before nudging him into a trot.

  When the horse danced to the side, tried another kick, she laughed.

  “I may not weigh as much as the big guy, but I’m sticking.”

  She took him up to a pretty canter—God, he had beautiful lines—back to a trot.

  And felt alive.

  “She’s more than words on paper,” Meara murmured.

  “Maybe so. Good seat, good hands—and for some reason that devil seems to like her.”

  He thought she looked as if she’d been born on a horse, as if she could ride through wind and wood and all but fly over the hills.

  Then he shifted his feet, annoyed with his own fanciful thoughts.

  “You can take her out with you—not on that devil—see how she does on a guide.”

  “He’ll breed well, you know. Fin’s got the right of that.”

  “Fin’s rarely wrong. But when he is, it’s massive. Still, she’ll do. Until she doesn’t. Have her put Alastar in the paddock. We’ll see if he stays there.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll see to her paperwork.”

  “When do you want her to start?”

  Boyle watched her slide into a fluid lope. “I’m thinking she already has.”

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T GET TO THE VILLAGE. HER PLANS CHANGED IN the best possible way as she spent the rest of her morning mucking out, grooming, signing papers, learning the basics of the rules and rhythms from Meara.

  And best of all, she tagged along on a guided ride. The pace might have been easy to the point of lazy, but it was still a ride on the cheerful Spud. She tried to remember landmarks as they rode placidly along the hard path, through the deep green woods, along the dark hum of the river.

  An old shed, a scarred pine, a tumble of rocks.

  She listened to the rise and fall of Meara’s voice as she entertained the clients—a German couple on a brief getaway—and enjoyed the mix of accents.

  Here she was, Iona Sheehan, riding through the forests of Mayo (employed!), listening to German and Irish, feeling the cool, damp breeze on her cheeks and watching the fitful sunlight sprinkle through clouds and trees.

  She was here. It was real. And she realized with a sudden, utter certainty she was never going back.

  From this day forward, she thought, this was home. One she’d make herself, for herself. This was her life, one she’d live as she wanted.

  If that wasn’t magick, what was?

  She heard other voices, a quick rolling laugh so appealing it made her smile.

  “That would be Connor,” Meara told her. “Out on a falcon walk.”

  When they came around a curve she saw him down the path, standing with another couple. A hawk perched on the woman’s gloved arm while the man with her snapped pictures.

  “Oh, that’s amazing!” Dazzling, Iona thought. And somehow out of time. “Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Otto and I have booked for tomorrow,” the German woman told her. “I look forward, very much.”

  “You’ll have so much fun. I have to try it. That’s my cousin,” she added, unabashedly proud. “The falconer.”

  “He’s very handsome. You have your cousin, but you have not done a falcon walk?”

  “I just got here yesterday.” She beamed as Connor lifted a hand, sent her or Meara, probably both, a cheeky wink.

  “’Tis a Harris’s hawk you see there,” Meara said. “As you’ve booked a walk for tomorrow, you should be sure to take the time to tour the school. I’m wagering the falcon walk will be one of the highlights of your visit to Ashford, and it’s more complete if you see the other hawks and falcons, and learn a bit about them.”

  The hawk took wing, glided up to a branch. The two groups gave room to each other.

  “Good day to you, Connor,” Meara said as they passed.

  “And to you. Out for a ride, cousin?”

  “I’m working.”

  “Well, that’s brilliant, and you can buy me a pint to celebrate later.”

  “You’re on.”

  And now, Iona thought, she’d have a beer with her cousin after work. It really was magick.

  “I’m sorry. My English is sometimes not good.”

  “It’s excellent,” Iona disagreed as she shifted to look at the woman rider.

  “This is your cousin. But you’re not Irish.”

  “American, Irish descent. I’ve just moved here. Literally.”

  “You came only yesterday? Not before?”

  “No, never before. I’m actually staying at the castle for a few days.”

  “Ah, so you are visiting.”

  “No, I live here now. I came yesterday, got this job today, and I’m moving in with my cousins next week. It’s all kind of wonderful.”

  “You just came, from America to live here? I think you’re very brave.”

  “I think I’m more lucky. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

  “Very beautiful. We live in Berlin, and work there. It’s very busy. This is quiet and . . . not busy. A good holiday.”

  “Yes.” And an even better home, Iona thought. Her home.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME SHE’D RUBBED DOWN SPUD, PUT AWAY HER TACK, met the other staff on duty that day—Mick with his ready grin, whose oldest daughter turned out to be the waitress who’d served her dinner the night before—and helped feed and water the horses, Iona deemed it too late to visit Cong or the falconry school.

  She approached Meara.

  “I’m not really sure what my hours are.”

  “Oh well.” Meara took a long drink from a bottle of orange Fanta. “I expect you didn’t plan to be working a full day, which you nearly have. Are you up for working tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Absolutely.”

  “I’d say eight’s good enough, but you’d best be checking with Boyle to be certain, as he may have put a schedule together. I’d think you could go on now, as Mick and Patty have things handled here, and I’ve got a private over at the big stables.”

  “I’ll find him and see. Thanks, Meara, for everything.”

  Going with the joy of the day, she wrapped her arms around Meara in a hug.

  “I’m sure you’re welcome but I didn’t do anything, less than usual as it happens, as you did most of my sweaty work.”

  “It felt good. It feels good here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good one, and my best to Branna and Connor when you see them.”

  Iona checked the ring, then what Boyle called his office, backtracked, circled, and found him outside in the paddock having a stare-down with Alastar.

  “He doesn’t think you like him.”

  Boyle glanced back. “Then he’s an intuitive bastard.”

  “But you do.” She boosted herself up to sit on the fence. “You like his looks and his spirit, and wonder how you can smooth his temper without breaking that spirit.”

  She smiled when Boyle walked toward her. “You’re a horseman. There’s not a horseman alive who wouldn’t look at that magnificent animal and think just what I said. You irritate each other, but that’s because you’re both big and gorgeous and strong-willed.”

  Feet planted, Boyle hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “And that’s your conclusion after this brief acquaintance, is
it?”

  “Yeah.” The sheer joy of her day sat on her like sunlight. She thought she could sit there for hours, in the cool, damp air, with the man and the horse. “You challenge each other, so there’s respect—and strategies brewing on both sides to work out how to come out on top.”

  “As I’ll be riding him rather than the other way around, that’s already a conclusion.”

  “Not altogether.” She sighed as she studied Alastar. “When I was little, I used to dream about having a horse like that—a big, bold stallion all of my own, one only I could ride. I guess most girls go through that equine fantasy stage. I never grew out of mine.”

  “You ride well.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced down at him, and realized it was a good thing she sat on the fence or she might have given him a hug as she had Meara. “It got me a job.”

  “It did that.”

  He said nothing as Alastar wandered over, oh so casually, and ignoring him, went all but nose to nose with Iona. The horse, Boyle thought, looked at the woman as if she knew every answer.

  “We had a good day, didn’t we?” She stroked the smooth cheek, down the strong line of throat. “It’s a good place here. Just takes some getting used to.”

  Then, the horse, who only that morning had left a welt the size of a man’s fist on his veteran groom’s biceps, seemed to sigh as well. And stepped in, all but laying his head on Iona’s shoulder so she could glide her hands over his long neck.

  I’ll look out for you, she told him. And you’ll look out for me.

  “Sure, you’re one of them,” Boyle murmured. “An O’Dwyer, through and through.”

  Caught up with the horse, Iona answered absently. “My grandmother, mother’s side.”

  “It’s not a matter of sides, but blood and bone. I should’ve figured it the way you handled this one, first time up.”

  He leaned back against the fence to give Iona a long, careful study. “You don’t have the look of them, of Branna or Connor, being a bright-haired little thing, but it’s blood and bone.”

  Because she thought she understood him, nerves came back. “I hope they think so, since they’re giving me a place to live. And because Branna helped me land this job so I don’t have to scramble to find one I’d probably be terrible at. Anyway, I—”

  “Legend has it the younger daughter of the first dark witch talked to horses, and they to her. And even as a babe could ride the fiercest of warhorses. And some nights, in the dark of the moon, when the mood was on her, she took one to flying over the trees and hills.”

  “I . . . should probably study up on the local legends, for the guided rides.”

  “Oh sure, I’m thinking you know that one well enough. The one of Cabhan, who lusted for and craved Sorcha, for her beauty and her power. And the three who came from her, and took the power she passed to them, and all the burdens with it. Blood and bone,” he said again.

  It made her throat dry, the way he looked at her, as if he could see something in her she’d yet to fully comprehend. Sensing her distress, Alastar quivered, laid his ears back as he turned his head to Boyle.

  Cautious, Iona slid her fingers under the bridle to calm him.

  My own fault, she told Alastar. I don’t know what to say, how to react yet.

  “My grandmother told me a lot of stories.” Evading, she knew, but until she knew him, that seemed best all around. “Anyway, unless you need me to do something else, I should go. I’m supposed to meet Branna, and I’m late. Meara said I should be clear for the day, and come in tomorrow at eight?”

  “That’s fine then.”

  “Thanks for the job.” She gave Alastar a last stroke before getting off the fence. “I’ll work hard.”

  “Oh, I’ll see that you do, be sure of it.”

  “Well.” Now her hands felt sweaty enough to rub against her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “My best to your cousins.”

  “Okay.”

  He watched her walk away, moving fast, as if getting clear of something boggy in the ground.

  Pretty thing, he thought, though he’d be wise to ignore that. Pretty and sunny and a bloody faerie goddess astride a horse.

  Ignore all that for certain. Harder, he figured, to ignore the fact that he’d just hired a witch.

  “A dark one, the last of the three. All here together now, with hound and hawk, and by God horse.” He gave Alastar a scowl. “You’d be Fin’s doing then, no doubt of it. And what in hell’s name will that mean?”

  He wondered, too, what Fin—friend, partner, next to brother—had in his mind, in his heart.

  As if expressing his opinion on Fin, and Boyle for that matter, Alastar raised his tail and shat.

  Boyle managed to jump aside before the opinion hit his boots. Then, after one fulminating stare, he threw back his head and laughed.

  6

  SURE OF HER WAY, IONA HURRIED THROUGH THE WOODS. She saw a young couple, strolling along, hand in hand, and thought hotel guests, maybe honeymooners. Tourists, taking advantage of a dry day and patchy sunlight.

  She’d be a guest of the hotel for a few more days, but no longer qualified as a tourist. She was an expat.

  It sounded strange and glamorous even if she smelled of horses, and maybe just a slight whiff of manure. But as she was already a little late, she didn’t want to take the time to go back to her room, shower, and change.

  She’d have to work out some sort of loose schedule, she thought, which included that visit to the falconry school and a trip to Cong. Maybe she could work the visit into her break tomorrow, assuming she had one. If Connor was up for it, she’d buy him that pint in the village after her lesson with Branna, maybe have dinner.

  And she could hardly wait to email Nan, tell her about the job, about her day, about whatever she learned from Branna. Her life, so scattered and unsatisfying only days before, now brimmed with possibilities.

  This was her walk now, to work, to home. No more commuting in traffic to and from her tiny apartment. No more wishing for just a little adventure because now she was living one.

  No more wondering what she lacked that made it so easy for people to walk away from her. This time she’d done the walking. No, she corrected, she’d done the arriving. That mattered so much more.

  Now it was up to her to make it all matter.

  As she came to the downed tree she felt that pull, that yearning, and heard the seductive whisper of her name. Pausing, she looked around, saw no one.

  And yet, it came again, that soft, almost sweet whisper of her name.

  She hesitated—was there a light, faint, and distant flickering through that wall of vines? Like a light in a window, a welcoming home?

  Though she reminded herself she was late, that Branna had told her not to linger there, to explore there, she took a step closer.

  It would only take a minute, just to look.

  Another step, and it all became so dreamy. The light growing stronger, the whispers deeper, and a sleepy warmth, creeping out, creeping into her.

  Home, she thought again. She’d wanted one for so long. And this . . .

  As her fingers touched the vines, the air pulsed like a heartbeat; the light dimmed softly to twilight.

  Behind her, the dog barked sharply, jolting her back.

  She trembled, like a woman teetering on a cliff, and took several steps back until she stood with the dog, one hand braced on his handsome head.

  Her own breath sounded so loudly in her ears she barely heard her thoughts through it.

  “I was going through. It felt like I had to, and wanted it more than anything else. I almost broke my word, and I never do. What is this place?” She rubbed her chilled hands together, gave one last shudder. “I’m glad you came, and I bet it wasn’t just happenstance. We’ll go. I imagine she’s waiting for both of us.”

  The wind lifted as they walked away. Before she came to the edge of the woods, rain pattered down, from a single cloud as far as Iona could tell, as the sun
continued to send out pearly light.

  She and Kathel quickened their pace. Though she’d aimed for the cottage door, she caught a glimpse of Branna in the workshop, and changed course.

  As before, the workshop smelled glorious—smoke and herbs and candle wax. Branna stood, her hair bundled up, a sweater the color of plums skimming her hips. She set a white flowerpot on the work counter, arranging it with a white bowl, a fat white candle and a white feather.

  “I’m late. I’m sorry, but—”

  “You said you might be on the message you left on my phone. It’s not a matter.” She studied Iona as Kathel walked over to rub against her leg. “Congratulations to you. Your first day went well?”

  “Amazing. Fabulous. Thank you. Thank you so much.” As she spoke, Iona rushed across the room to throw her arms around Branna in a hard hug.

  “All right then.” Branna gave Iona a little pat on the back. “Still it’s Boyle who did the hiring.”

  “You got my foot in the door.” After another squeeze Iona stepped back. “It’s everything I could want. It felt . . . right from the first second. Do you know what I mean? Everything just clicked. And Meara—you know Meara.”

  “I do indeed.” In her smooth way, Branna turned to put the kettle on. “She’s a good friend to me, and one you can count on.”

  “I liked her right away, another click, I guess. She showed me around before Boyle got there, and I met Mick—you probably know him, too.”

  “I do, yes.”

  “He’s so funny and full of stories. I already have a little crush on him.”

  “He’s a wife and four children, with the first grandbaby on the way.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean . . . You’re teasing. Anyway, it was great, just so great. Even though Boyle was in a bad mood.”

  “He’s known to have them.” Branna put cookies on a plate, chocolate ones today.

  “He came riding in, like something out of a movie, him on that magnificent horse. Both of them so pissy and handsome and, well, tough. And he’s cursing the horse. I’m pretty sure the horse was cursing him right back. His partner—Fin, right?—bought him, and had him sent to Boyle. And he’s just spectacular.”

  “The horse, you’re meaning.”

  “Yeah. Well, Boyle’s not too shabby. In fact, I had a couple minutes of . . .” She drummed her hand against her heart. “Just looking at him. Too bad about