As they slipped into the woods, into the dimmer light, she began a mental inventory of her wardrobe. What should she wear? Nothing too fancy, but not jeans or trousers. Maybe Branna could help her out there, as her options were limited.
Something simple, but pretty. Heels, not boots. Her legs were damn good if she said so herself. She’d like to dazzle him, at least a little, so—
Alastar shied; Darling reared.
And the wolf stepped across the path.
Her thoughts centered on the safety of the horses, Iona didn’t think, just acted. She streamed a line of fire across the path between them.
“It won’t hurt you. I won’t let it hurt you.”
Boyle drew a knife from a sheath on his belt she hadn’t noticed. “He bloody well won’t.”
“Don’t dismount!” Iona shouted, anticipating. “She’s terrified. She’ll bolt, and it might get to her. You have to hold her, Boyle.”
“Take her reins, talk her down, and get them safe. I’ll hold it off.”
“Separating us makes us easier prey.” It’s what it wanted, hoped for—she could feel it. “Trust me, please. Please.”
And struggling to focus, she murmured, her voice quiet, steady, an incantation she learned from the books. One still untried.
The wolf lunged at the line of fire, looking for an opening. With its fierce charge the flames dimmed, lowered.
Gripping the reins in one hand, Iona lifted the other high.
“From north and south, from east and west, bring on the wind for this contest. Strike up the power, bring on the fire until the tower whirls higher and higher. Blow strong, blow fierce, blow wild and free. As I will, so mote it be.
“You think I don’t have it,” she said between her teeth. “You’re wrong.”
Above, the sky churned, and with her lifted hand she balled a fist, as if pulling the flame-edged whirlwind that formed into her fingers.
She flung out her arm, sent a raging funnel of wind through the fire.
It lifted the wolf off its feet, threw it up as it screamed in rage. And she hoped, in fear. It spun, claws lashing air as it bore him up and away.
Iona fought to control what she’d conjured, felt it building beyond her. A tree snapped, collapsed into jagged splinters.
“Take it down.” Boyle’s voice came steady in her ear. “It’s more than you need, and too much. Take it down again now, Iona, as only you can. Let it calm. Let it go.”
A line of sweat beaded down her back as she fought to do just that. The roar of the wind began to fade, the impossible swirl of it to slow.
“All the way down now, Iona.”
“I’m trying. It’s so strong.”
“It’s you who made it. It’s you who’s strong.”
She’d made it, she thought. She’d control it. She’d end it.
“Still now,” she said. “And soft. Calm and sweet. Disperse.”
The wolf dropped like a stone in the light breeze. Then sprang up, fangs dripping. Did the red jewel seem dimmer? she wondered.
Then it leapt into the woods, pulsing out a curtain of smoky fog. After one distant howl, silence fell again.
“It could come back.” All calm deserted her as her hands shook, as her voice jumped. “It could come back. We need to get the horses in. I need to make sure the stables are safe. It—”
“That’s what we’ll do. Breathe a minute. You’ve gone dead pale.”
“I’m all right.” Under her Alastar pawed the ground. He’d pursue, she realized—longed to. To calm him, she had to calm herself. “We’ve done enough,” she said softly. “It’s enough for now. I need to tell Branna, Connor. But the horses—”
“We’re going now, easy.”
“Easy.” She took those breaths, then laid her hand on Alastar’s neck, and over on Darling’s. “Easy,” she repeated. “It won’t hurt you. I . . . didn’t know you had a knife. A really big knife.”
“A pity I didn’t get to use it.” Those gilded eyes hard, he sheathed the blade again. “But worth it for the show I suppose. And you need more lessons on this business.”
“Absolutely. That one wasn’t even on the lesson plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I read it in a book. I guess you could say I added a bar to the jump. It seemed like the time.”
“In a book. She read it in a book. Christ Jesus.”
“I could really use a drink.”
“You’re not alone there.”
She didn’t say more, needed to steady herself. Needed to tell her cousins, she thought again. Needed, really, to sit down on something that didn’t move.
They were nearly back to the stables before she could think clearly, or almost clearly again. “Darling was so scared. For herself, but for you, too. My fire scared her, too. I wish I’d thought of something else.”
“She did just fine. Wanted to bolt, but didn’t. You may not know it, but that one? He was a rock under you. He never, from that first start, flinched a muscle. I’m thinking he would have done whatever you asked, even up to charging through the fire and taking the beast by the scruff.”
“I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to tell him. He just knew. I need to call Branna.”
“I’ll see to that.”
When they reached the stables, he dismounted, then stepped over to her. “Come on down then.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“That’s what these are for.” He lifted his hands, took hold of her, helped her down. “Go sit on the bench there for a minute or two.”
“The horses.”
“They’ll be seen to, and well, what do you think?” The sizzle of impatience had her obeying. And her shaky legs carried her to the bench, almost wept with gratitude as she sat.
When Boyle came out, she managed to get to her feet. “I need to do a protection spell, for the stables.”
“Do you think Fin hasn’t already seen to that?” Boyle simply took her arm, pulled her along. “He’s not due home for a few hours, but I think he knows what he’s about in these matters. Branna knows where you are. She’ll tell Connor.”
“Where am I going?”
“Up to mine, where you’ll have that drink and sit a bit more.”
“I could really use both.”
She climbed the stairs with him. Not exactly the circumstances she’d imagined for her first invitation into his place, but she’d take it.
He opened the door off a narrow porch. “Company wasn’t expected.”
She peeked in first, then smiled. “Thank God it’s not all neat and tidy or I’d feel intimidated. But it’s nice.” She stepped in, looked around.
It smelled like him—horses, leather, man. The room, a kind of combination living/sitting/kitchen, let in the early evening light. A mug sat next to the sink, a newspaper lay spread on the short counter that separated the kitchen from the rest.
A couple of books and some magazines were scattered around—mystery novels, she noted, and horsey magazines. A tumble of boots in a wooden box, a clutter of old jackets on pegs. A sofa with a little sag in the middle, two big chairs, and, to her surprise, a big flat screen on the wall.
He noticed her speculative look. “I like it for watching matches and such. You’ll have some whiskey.”
“I absolutely will, and a chair. I get shaky after it’s all done.”
“You were steady enough while it counted.”
“I almost lost it.” She spoke as he went to the kitchen, opened cupboards. “You helped me hold on.”
Since she was here, and safe, and it was done, he could speak of it. Or try. “You were glowing like a flame. Your eyes so deep it seemed like worlds could be swallowed up by them. You reached up, and you pulled a storm from the sky with your hand. I’ve seen things.”
He poured whiskey for both of them, brought the glasses back to where she sat, dwarfed in one of the big chairs. “I’ve run tame with Fin most of my life, and Connor, and Branna. I’ve seen things. But never have I seen the like of that.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it. A storm in my hand.” She looked down at it now, turned it, amazed to recognize it, to find it so ordinary. “And a storm inside me. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was inside me, so huge and full. And absolutely right.
“I broke a tree, didn’t I?”
He’d watched it shatter like brittle glass, into shards and splinters. “It could’ve been worse, entirely.”
“Yeah, it could’ve been. But I need more lessons, more practice.” More control, she thought, and more of the famous focus Branna continually harped on.
Then she looked at Boyle. The hard, handsome face, the scarred eyebrow, the tawny eyes with temper still simmering in them.
“You were going to fight it with a knife, with your hands.”
“It bleeds, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. Yes.” She let out one more cleansing breath. “It bleeds. It wasn’t expecting what I did, or could do. Neither was I.”
“I think neither of you will underestimate that again. Drink your whiskey. You’re pale yet.”
“Right.” She sipped at it.
“I think it’s not the night for dinner out with people.”
“Maybe not. But I’m starving. I think it’s something to do with expending all that energy.”
“I’ll throw you together something. I’ve a couple of chops, I think, and I’ll fry up some chips.”
“Are you taking care of me?”
“You could use it at the moment. Drink your whiskey,” he said again, then walked back to the kitchen.
Rattling pans, a thwack of a knife on wood, the sizzle of oil. Something about the sounds eased her frayed nerves. She sipped more whiskey, rose, and walked back to where he stood at the stove, frying pork chops in one skillet, chipped potatoes in another.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a fried chop, but wasn’t complaining.
“I can help. Keep my hands and head busy.”
“I’ve a couple of tomatoes in there Mick’s wife gave me from her little greenhouse. You could slice them up.”
So she worked beside him, and felt better for that, too.
He made some sort of thin gravy from the drippings, tossed some herbs in it, then poured it over the chops.
Seated at the counter, Iona sampled a bite. “It’s good.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t have a clue, but it’s good. And, God, I’m seriously starving.”
Her color came up well as she ate, he noted, and that slightly dazed look faded from her eyes.
She’d gone from glowing and fierce to pale and shaky in the blink of an eye. And now, it relieved him to see her slide back to just normal. Just Iona.
“He didn’t use the fog,” she said abruptly. “I just realized, he just—it just walked out of the trees. I don’t know what that means, but I have to remember to tell Branna and Connor—and Fin. And the jewel, the red jewel around its neck. It wasn’t as bright at the end. I don’t think. Was it?”