Wild Irish Witch

by Tricia O'Malley

  Fiona thought about it as they crested the hill. For years she had wanted to leave, the angst of youth pushing her to discover something new over the horizon. But once she’d discovered her gift, she realized that being away from the familiar would only make her unhappy. And exploring her gift had given her all the excitement she had craved.

  Fiona turned and pointed across the rolling fields.

  “See that spot? Just at the base of the larger ridgeline behind it?”

  “Aye,” John nodded.

  “That’s my spot.”

  “Is it now? And what happens on that spot?” John asked, smiling down at her.

  “That’s where I want to build my house. A cottage with enough windows that I can catch the breeze from all angles, but built well enough that I’ll stay warm in the winter.”

  John studied the spot, turning a bit to look at angles and nodded.

  “I see it. ’Tis a lovely spot, really. You’d be quite happy there. But word is the landowner is very particular about who he’ll sell it to. Luckily, I know how to get it from him,” John said, pulling away from her, laughter on his face.

  “John! Wait! I didn’t know anyone owned the land. Tell me how to get it!” Fiona laughed, racing after him as he ran down the hill towards a small beach, the lamb bleating and racing after him. She caught up with him as he stopped at the beach and tugged on his arm.

  “John! Tell me!” Fiona gasped, half laughing and half out of breath from racing down the hill. She gasped when John turned and put his arms around her waist, pulling her up to swing her around in circles.

  “The price of ownership is a kiss,” John said, laughing down at her.

  Fiona’s heart skipped a beat and tingles raced up her arms. She pushed against his chest, forcing herself to look up at his face as he continued to whirl her in a dizzying circle.

  “Are you the owner?”

  “Is that the only way I’ll get you to kiss me?” John said, his lips quirking as he looked down at her. He stopped suddenly, causing Fiona’s body to slam against his and slide down, until her feet just touched the sand.

  “No, I would’ve kissed you either way,” Fiona blurted, and then blushed.

  “Good, because I’m not the owner. My father is,” John laughed at her.

  “John!” Fiona said, reaching out to push him away, embarrassment kicking in her stomach.

  “But I’ll accept the kiss on his behalf,” John said, and then he made Fiona’s world tilt when he slid his lips over hers in a kiss so gentle she found herself sighing into it. Her hands, once pushing him away, now gripped his arms to pull him closer. A wave of tenderness washed over Fiona, pulling her closer, enveloping her in his touch.

  He felt like home.

  Fiona was trembling when he pulled away― trembling from the kiss and from the thoughts that battered her mind. Would she be able to handle this rush of feelings that suddenly clouded her brain, making her feel almost sick to her stomach?

  Gathering her wits, she smiled cheekily up at him.

  “You tricked me, John O’Brien.”

  “It was worth it,” John said, laughing as he pulled her along to walk the shoreline. A little wave of giddiness washed through her at the simple pleasure of walking with someone on the beach while holding hands. All these new experiences for her this week!

  “So does your father really own the land, then?” Fiona said, detouring back to the topic at hand. She wasn’t sure it was safe to talk about the kiss.

  “He does. It’s been in the family for positively ages, but we’ve done nothing with it because of the cove.”

  Fiona’s shoulders braced a bit as she registered his words. She wondered if this was all a ploy to figure out more about the cove so that his family would feel comfortable using the land.

  “So is that why you’ve gone and kissed me then? To find out the secrets of the cove?” Fiona asked, pulling her hand away from John in order to face him. A wave crashed against the shore, making her jump before she reminded herself that they weren’t in the cove and these weren’t enchanted waters. Sometimes a wave crashing was just that― a wave crashing.

  And maybe sometimes a kiss was just a kiss, she reminded herself.

  John’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  “I kissed you because I’ve been wanting to for a while now. Since long before you did your magick thing with the lamb. And even more so afterwards then,” John said, raking his hand through his hair. “Don’t you be making up reasons for why I wanted to kiss you.”

  Fiona dropped her eyes, immediately chagrined at having been so rude.

  “I’m sorry,” she said immediately. One thing Fiona was good at was apologizing when she was wrong.

  “Prove it,” John said, his eyebrow raised.

  “Prove it? Prove it how?” Fiona demanded. What was with this man? One moment she was laughing and the next angry and the next chagrined. Was this what it was like to be in a relationship?

  “Kiss me. Because you want to,” John challenged.

  Fiona immediately felt awkward. What was she supposed to do? Just walk up to him and lay one on him? The guy was supposed to do the kissing. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Fiona threw back her shoulders. She was nothing if not stubborn. Marching over to him, she leaned in and placed her lips against his matter-of-factly. Pulling back, she nodded.

  “There. Done.”

  John let out a peal of laughter that left Fiona almost stomping her foot in anger.

  “So now my kiss isn’t good enough for you?” Fiona asked hotly.

  “Oh, it’s good enough. Even for my grandmother,” John hooted, slapping his knee as he laughed.

  “Does your grandmother kiss like this then?” Fiona asking, stepping forward to grab John’s shirt and jerked him forward.

  She poured everything she had into the kiss, anger fueling her to prove him wrong.

  But in the end, she didn’t know who was wrong or right, as their lips melded together and she became lost in the pull of sensations that pounded her heart and raced through her body.

  They broke apart, Fiona feeling dazed and John looking bowled over. What had, just moments ago, been a fun flirtation had now taken a serious turn.

  They measured each other for a moment, neither saying a word, their chests heaving as they caught their breath.

  John held out his hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You slept with him?” Keelin squealed, jarring Fiona from her memories.

  “Keelin!” Margaret exclaimed. “That is not a polite question to ask.”

  The silence stretched out between them as they all studiously examined the fire.

  “So did you sleep with him?” Margaret asked, and Keelin squealed with laughter.

  “We need more whiskey,” Keelin decided, getting up from the couch to pick up the bottle at her feet. Walking around the room, she refilled everyone’s cup, then stopped at the fire to stoke it. The flames crackled and danced, the popping of the burning wood the only sound in the room.

  “I didn’t,” Fiona finally said with a small smile. “I’d just healed a pregnancy a few days before, mind you, so I was well aware what a dalliance like that could do for me.”

  Fiona saw Margaret grimace.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed to assure Margaret, realizing she had unintentionally hurt her daughter’s feelings.

  “It’s fine. I know. I was young and stupid. Luckily, I got Keelin out of the deal. And perhaps, if I had listened to my heart like I think you’re going to tell me you did with my father, I’d wouldn’t have waited so long to be happy in love,” Margaret said, taking a small sip from her whiskey.

  Keelin reached out and squeezed her mom’s arm.

  “Okay, so go on, go on. What happened next? Did you start dating?”

  Fiona sipped her whiskey and smiled.

  “He courted me, if you can believe that…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fiona hummed as she mi
xed up her newest batch of tonics for chest colds. She’d caught herself humming more often in the last few days, her mind on John and the way his kisses made her feel. It was her own little secret, something she was holding close for just a while longer.

  Her mother had been right about John― he was incredibly kind. Just today she’d gone out back to find a little package with her name on it. When she’d unwrapped the crisp paper to find a book on Celtic healing, her heart had tripped up a bit. It was as though he knew just how to navigate his way straight into her mind and down into her heart. Fiona readily admitted she was already on the long slow slide into love.

  “You’ve been full of smiles this week,” Bridget called down from her loft.

  Fiona’s hand stilled on the ladle she was using to stir her tonic. Should she share with her mother this first taste of love? Or keep it secret just a little while longer? There was something nice about being sweet on someone in secret. No judgments could be made, no unwanted advice given. Just courtship in its purest form. Fiona hesitated.

  “If you think I don’t know you are sweet on that O’Brien boy, you’ve got another thing coming,” Bridget called down and Fiona almost dropped the ladle.

  Damn if the woman wasn’t always too accurate, Fiona grumbled to herself.

  “Yes, he’s quite nice,” Fiona called up, dodging the question.

  A chuckle floated down from above, but no further questions were asked. Fiona blew out a breath and used the back of her hand to push her hair out of her face. She needed to concentrate on her incantation in order to put that extra touch of healing magick into the tonic.

  Fiona closed her eyes and went within, pulling for the ball of light that she envisioned to be her magick. Humming softly, she began to incant the age-old healing rhyme. As the words left her lips, a small bolt of light zipped from her hands and infused the tonic, changing it from deep brown to warm honey color. Perfect, Fiona decided and pulled the bowl over to where her jars were lined up, their cork stoppers waiting nearby. Pulling out her funnel, she began to meticulously fill each bottle almost to the top. It was soothing work, repetitive and fulfilling, and as the line of bottles grew Fiona felt happy with her accomplishments.

  She also felt happy about the note that had been tucked into the book she had found earlier in the day, telling her that John would call on her this evening for dinner and a pint. The fact that he wasn’t shying away about his interest in her or trying to keep it a secret from the world filled Fiona with a warm sense of security. Maybe the cove had been right― this was the man for her.

  Finishing up with her tonics, Fiona filled a crate with the bottles, knowing she would have time in the morning to label them. Right now, she needed to focus on what she was going to wear for her date tonight. With the loom still crashing overhead, Fiona moved into her room and flicked on the lamp next to her bed. Her wardrobe was limited, consisting mainly of economical and efficient clothing for the life that she lived. She did have a few nice church-going outfits, and she pulled out a dress with roses patterned all over it, as well as two different skirts. Laying the items on the bed, she bent to her drawer to rifle through the few blouses that she had.

  “Dressing up this evening are you, then?” Bridget asked, causing Fiona to jump and whirl around.

  “I… yes, I am,” Fiona said. Bridget came in and eyed the clothes on the bed. She wore a simple housedress in lavender and had her hair pinned back from her face. No makeup marred her natural beauty.

  “I think I might have some options for your date. Hold on,” Bridget said, and Fiona raised an eyebrow at her mother’s retreating back. Judging from her mother’s everyday wear, she didn’t think her choices would be all that interesting. Fiona pasted a polite smile on her face and waited.

  “Here, I’ve packed these away years ago as I’ve no use for them. But we’re the same size, and I think you’ll like some of these,” Bridget said, carrying a fairly large trunk into the room― an item Fiona had never seen before.

  “What is this trunk? I’ve never seen it,” Fiona asked, genuinely intrigued. It wasn’t as if there was a lot of space in the cottage to store things.

  “I’ve had it under my bed. Clothes from another life, I suppose,” Bridget said with a small smile, unhooking the latch and throwing the lid open. Yellowed tissue paper lined the top. Bridget pulled it gently away to reveal folded stacks of clothing in a range of colors and fabrics.

  “Mother, what are all these from?” Fiona asked, reaching out to pull a deep green silk blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons from the top of the pile.

  “It was the year I was away at uni in Dublin. It was such fun to dress up and go out with the girls. Some of these styles may be out of fashion, but a few dresses and blouses could be mixed in with your current wardrobe, I think,” Bridget said, pulling out a red blouse with white flowers splashed across it.

  “That’s lovely, I could wear it with my navy skirt,” Fiona said immediately, pulling it from her hand and holding it against the skirt on the bed.

  “Aye, that’d be fetching. There are some dresses in here that would be pretty, too.”

  “Thank you for this, mum. I was kind of worried about what to wear tonight. I’ve never really gone on a date before,” Fiona said.

  It felt odd to say that out loud as most girls her age had dated before.

  “Well, it’s far past time for ye to be out and about, having fun. You’re young and John’s a good man. Make yourself pretty for him,” Bridget instructed. Fiona couldn’t help but smile at her.

  “I hope he thinks I’m pretty.”

  “You’re stunning, Fiona. It’s probably why you’ve had some trouble making close female friendships. They’re most likely jealous,” Bridget said, leaning against the door with her arms crossed. The soft light of the lamp highlighted the warm undertone of her pretty brown eyes.

  “I thought it had more to do with that sense of otherness that clings to me,” Fiona said, pulling a black and white dress with bright red buttons from the box and setting it aside.

  “Perhaps there’s a sense of that, too. But at the base of it, I’d say it’s jealousy. Take a good long look in the mirror, Fiona. Any man would be lucky to have you. Don’t you forget it,” Bridget said, pushing away from the door to go get dinner started.

  Was she pretty? Fiona never took too much care with her looks, more interested in getting out into the hills than she was in putting makeup on. But now, as she stood before the mirror and considered her face, she though that― just maybe― her mother was right.

  Then she immediately felt guilty for taking pride in her appearance. She’d watched plenty of girls get reprimanded by the nuns for wearing too much makeup at school. It hadn’t been something that was ever a problem for her, but now she pulled out her secret stash of makeup.

  It was embarrassingly little, now that she thought about it. Just a tube of red lipstick and canister of blush; nothing to highlight her eyes in the slightest. Laying her makeup on the bathroom sink, Fiona went back to examining the contents of the trunk. In the end, she settled on the pretty red floral blouse with the highwaisted navy skirt that hit just at mid-calf. She slipped on her low-heeled mary-janes, and went to the bathroom to pin her hair back in soft curls that fell behind her shoulders.

  Fiona examined her makeup and then shrugged― there wasn’t much else she could do. She brushed a soft hint of color across her cheeks and slicked her lips with the red lipstick. Looking at herself, she smiled. At least the lipstick matched her blouse― that was something.

  “Let me see,” Bridget demanded from outside the bathroom and, with a swish of her skirt, Fiona stepped out.

  Bridget put her hands on her hips and ran a critical eye over Fiona.

  “It’s missing something. Hold on,” Bridget murmured and left the room. Immediately feeling awkward, Fiona smoothed her skirt and hoped she didn’t look foolish.

  Bridget came back into the room, her eyes lit up as she carried a double strand of chunky p
earls in one hand and a tube in the other.

  “Here you go then― mascara and a necklace. That should polish you up.”

  “Mascara? Mother, I had no idea you had such a thing,” Fiona said in awe, pulling the tube from her mother.

  “I’ve been known to dress up on occasion, you know,” Bridget said, as Fiona dashed into the bathroom and swiped the mascara awkwardly across her lashes. It really did make a difference; her brown eyes suddenly seemed startlingly large in her face.

  “I love it,” Fiona gushed, refusing to feel bad about beautifying herself. The Catholic Church certainly knew how to instill a healthy dose of guilt in people, Fiona thought as she shook off the words of the nuns and their feelings on makeup.

  “Here, let me put this necklace on you,” Bridget said, reaching out to clasp it around her neck. The pearls slipped across her neck, cool against her skin, sliding nicely into the V of the blouse. Fiona could feel a hum of love coming from the strands.

  She ducked into the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror. Bridget was right, the pearls and the mascara added a polish that hadn’t been there before, changing her from an eager girl to a confident woman.

  “They’re perfect,” Fiona said, turning to look at her mother. “Where did you get these?”

  A flash of sadness flitted through Bridget’s eyes before she smiled gently.

  “In another life, Fiona.”

  A knock at the backdoor made Fiona’s stomach flip over.

  “He’s here,” Fiona hissed, immediately turning back to check her reflection in the mirror again.

  Bridget smiled and reached into the trunk, pulling out a small leather pocketbook.

  “Put your lipstick in here. There should be a small mirror in the side pocket as well.”