Blood Magick Read online

  When he drew her into a dance, it was yesterday with all its innocent joy, with its simplicity and possibilities. But she pushed aside the pang it brought, told herself to let this one night be a time out of time.

  She looked up at him laughing. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “What’s that I’ve done?”

  “Hosted the party of the year and now will be expected to do the same next. And next.”

  Mildly horrified, he glanced around. “I thought to pass that torch to Iona and Boyle.”

  “Oh no, they’ll have their own. But I’m thinking you own New Year’s Eve now. I see your Sean wearing a party hat, over there kicking up the heels of clean and shiny boots, and Connor’s Kyra and her boyfriend—fiancé now—with him wearing a shirt that matches the color of her frock and a cardboard king’s crown on his head. And there’s my Eileen dancing with her husband as if they were but sixteen, and the years, the children with them yet to come. You built a house that can hold most of the village for a party, and now you’ve done it.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “Sure it’s too late now. And there I see Alice giving you the seductive eye, as she’s resigned to Connor being lost to her. You should give her a dance.”

  “I’d rather dance with you.”

  “And you have. Do your duty, Finbar, give her a twirl. I’ve people I should talk with.”

  She stepped back from him, turned away. If she danced with him again, and too often, the people she should talk with would begin talking about them.

  “Isn’t it great?” Iona grabbed her, did a quick circle. She’d donned a pink tiara that announced 2014 in sparkles. “It’s such a good party. I just have to do my hourly bathroom sweep and I’ll be back.”

  “Bathroom sweep?”

  “Checking TP and guest towel supplies, and so on.”

  “I’m putting you in charge of every party I may have.”

  “You’re a natural with parties and gatherings,” Iona countered. “Fin’s new at it. So am I, but I think I have a knack.”

  “God help us,” Boyle said, and kissed the top of her head.

  Branna enjoyed the music, the bits of conversation. After she slipped back upstairs, she enjoyed some of the food, and some time with those who sought more quiet in Fin’s living room or the great room.

  It gave her time to see more of his house, to feel the flow of it. And the chance to check out the windows, to open herself enough to search for any sense of Cabhan.

  “He won’t come.”

  She turned from the tall French doors of his library toward Fin, who stepped through the doorway.

  “You’re so sure?”

  “Maybe there’s too much light, too many people, the voices, the thoughts, the sounds, but he won’t come here tonight. Maybe he’s just burrowed in, waiting for the year to pass, but he won’t come tonight. I wish you wouldn’t worry.”

  “Being vigilant isn’t the same as worrying.”

  “You worry. It shows.”

  Instinctively, she reached up to rub her fingers between her eyebrows where she knew a line could form. And made him smile.

  “You’re perfectly beautiful. That never changes. It’s in your eyes, the worry.”

  “If you say he won’t come tonight, I’ll stop worrying. I like this room especially.” She ran her hand over the back of a wide chair in chocolate leather. “It’s for the quiet, and a reward.”

  “A reward?”

  “When work’s done, it’s for settling down in a good chair like this with a book and the fire. With rain pattering down, or the wind blowing, or the moon rising up. A glass of whiskey, a cup of tea—what’s your pleasure—and a dog at your feet.”

  She did a turn, holding out a hand. “All these books to choose from. A good warm color for the walls—you did well there—with all the dark wood to set it off.”

  She angled her head when he gave her a half smile. “What?”

  “I built it with you in mind. You always used to say, when we were building our dream castle, how it had to have a library with a fire and big chairs, with windows the rain could drip down or the sun could creep through. It should have glass doors leading out to a garden so on a bright day you’d step out, and find a spot outside to read.”

  “I remember.” And saw it now. He’d made one of her imaginings come to life.

  “And there should be a room for music,” Fin added. “There would be music throughout the house, but a room just for it where we’d have a piano and all the rest. The children could take their lessons there.”

  He glanced back. “It’s just over there.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw it. It’s lovely.”

  “There was part of me thought if I built it, if I kept you in mind, you’d come. But you didn’t.”

  So clear now that she let herself see, the house was what they’d dreamed of making together.

  “I’m here now.”

  “You’re here now. What does that mean for us?”

  God, her heart was too full of him, here in this room he’d conjured out of dreams.

  “I tell myself what it can’t be. That’s so clear, so rational. I can’t see what it can or might.”

  “Can you say what you want?”

  “What I want is what can’t be, and that’s harder than it was, as I’ve come to believe that’s through no fault of yours or my own. It was easier when I could blame you or myself. I could build a wall with the blame, and keep it shored up with the distance when you spent only a few days or few weeks here before you went off again.”

  “I want you. Everything else comes behind that.”

  “I know.” She let out a breath. “I know. We should go back. You shouldn’t be so long away from your guests.”

  But neither of them moved.

  She heard the shouting, the rise of voices, the countdown. Behind her, the mantel clock began to strike.

  “It’s going onto midnight.”

  Only seconds, she thought, between what was and what is. And from there what would be. She took a step toward him. Then took another.

  Would she have walked by him? she asked herself when he pulled her to him. No. No, not this time. At least this one time.

  Instead she linked her arms around his neck, looked into his eyes. And on the stroke of midnight met his lips with hers.

  Light snapped between them, an electric jolt that shocked the blood, slammed into the heart. Then shimmered into an endlessly longed-for warmth.

  Oh, to feel like this, to finally feel like this again. To finally have her body, her heart, her spirit united in that longing, that warmth, that singular wild joy.

  His lips on her lips, his breath with her breath, his heart on her heart. And all the sorrow blown away as if it never was.

  He’d thought once what he felt for her was all, was beyond what anyone could feel. But he’d been wrong. This, after all the years without her, was more.

  The scent of her filling him, the taste of her undoing him. She gave as she once had, everything in a simple kiss. Sweetness and strength, power and surrender, demand and generosity.

  He wanted to hold on to her, hold on to that moment until the end of his days.

  But she pulled back, stayed a moment, brushed a hand over his cheek, then stepped back from him.

  “It’s a new year.”

  “Stay with me, Branna.”

  Now she laid a hand on his heart. Before she could speak, Connor and Meara turned into the room.

  “We were just—”

  “Going,” Meara finished Connor’s sentence. “Going back right now.”

  “Right. Sure, we weren’t even here.”

  “It’s all right.” Branna left her hand on Fin’s heart another moment, then let it fall away. “We’re coming back now. Fin’s been too long away from his own party. We’ll go toast the New Year. For luck. For light. For what may be.”

  “For what should be,” Fin said, and walked out ahead of them.

  “Go
with him,” Meara suggested, and moved into Branna. “Are you all right then?”

  “I am. But it’s God’s truth I could do with a drink, and as much as it goes against my nature, a lot of noise and people.”

  “We’ll get all of that.”

  When she put an arm around Branna’s waist, Branna leaned into her a moment. “How could I love him more now than once I did? How could it be so much more in me for him when what was, was everything?”

  “Love can fade and die. I’ve seen it. It can grow and build as well. I think when it’s real and meant, it can only grow bigger and stronger.”

  “It’s not meant to be a misery.”

  “No. It’s what we do with it that’s the misery or the joy, I think, not the love.”

  Branna sighed, gave Meara a long look. “When did you get so bloody wise about it?”

  “Since I let myself love.”

  “Let’s go toast to that then. To you letting yourself love, to Iona’s party skills, to the New bloody Year, to the end of Cabhan. I feel I might want to get a wee bit snackered.”

  “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get snackered right along with you? Let’s find some champagne.”

  11

  HE WAS MORE THAN DONE WITH PEOPLE. AT HALF-TWO in the morning, far too many of them lingered in his house, cozied up as if they’d stay till spring. He considered just going upstairs, shutting himself in, leaving them to it. He was brutally tired, and more, that moment—that incredible moment with Branna had cross-wired his emotions so he didn’t know what he felt.

  So it seemed easier all around to shut it all off and feel nothing at all.

  She seemed perfectly content to sit, sip champagne, chat with whoever remained. But that was Branna, wasn’t it? Strong as steel.

  The best thing for him would be a few hours’ escape in sleep. They’d be back to Cabhan in the morning—or later in the morning. And the sooner the better. Ending him would fulfill his obligations. Ending Cabhan would end his own personal torment.

  So he’d slip away—no one would miss him by this point.

  Then Iona stepped up, as if she’d read his mind, twined her arm with his, took his hand.

  “The problem with throwing a really great party is people don’t want to leave.”

  “I do.”

  She laughed, squeezed his hand. “We’re down to the diehards, and we’ll start nudging them along. Your circle won’t leave you alone with them. Give it about twenty minutes. What you should do is go around, start gathering up the empties since the caterers left a couple hours ago. It’s a sign it’s time to go.”

  “If you say.”

  “I do.” To demonstrate, she began picking up bottles and glasses, gave Boyle a telling look that had him doing the same.

  In moments a handful of those diehards readied to go with many thanks and wishes for a happy and prosperous New Year. And in the case of a few, such as Sean, heartfelt if somewhat sloppy hugs.

  Party magicks, Fin decided, and started on discarded tea and coffee cups.

  He carted them up to the kitchen, said good-bye to another handful. Two birds, he decided, he’d have the party debris dealt with, and move out the stragglers.

  Though it took thirty minutes rather than Iona’s predicted twenty, he wouldn’t complain.

  “That’s the last of them,” Iona announced.

  “Thank the gods.”

  “You gave a lot of people a fun and memorable evening.” She tipped onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “And you had one yourself.”

  “I’m happy to remember it now that it’s done. And thank you for all you did.”

  “Couldn’t have had a better time of it.” She glanced around the living room, nodded. “And we’re not leaving you with much of a mess. Branna, I can ride with you if you want, just leave my car here. I’m not taking Nan to the airport until afternoon tomorrow, so I can come back for it easily.”

  “Best you ride with Boyle.”

  “We’ll make a caravan of it,” Connor said as he shrugged into his coat. “A short drive for certain, but it’s still the dead of night. Branna can follow you and Boyle out, and Meara and I will come up behind.”

  “I’m not driving home tonight at all. I’m staying here.”

  Branna looked at Fin as she spoke. He wasn’t sure how he kept his feet when she’d rocked him back so stunningly on his heels.

  “Well then!” Brightly, Meara smiled, and jammed her cap on her head. “We’ll be off. Good night, and happy New Year.”

  “But,” Connor began as she all but dragged him to the door with Iona pushing Boyle behind him.

  “Would you let me get my coat on?” Boyle complained even as Iona firmly closed the door behind the four of them.

  Fin stood exactly where he was. Only one thought managed to eke through the logjam in his mind. “Why?”

  “I decided for this time, this place, I wouldn’t think about yesterday or about tomorrow. It may be we’ll both come to regret it, but I want to be with you. I always have, likely always will, but this is only tonight. There can’t be any promises or building dream castles this time around, and we both know that. But there’s need, and there’s finally trust again.”

  “You’re content with that?”

  “I find I am, and God knows I’ve turned it all over a hundred different ways, but I find I am content with that. We’re both entitled to make this choice. You asked me to stay with you. I’m saying I will.”

  So much of the turmoil inside him settled into calm even as all the resignation he’d carried for years dropped away to make room for a tangle of joy and anticipation.

  “Maybe I changed my mind on it.”

  She laughed, and he saw the light sparkle in her smoky eyes. “If that’s the case, I wager I can change it back again quick enough.”

  “It seems the least I can do is give you that chance.” He held out a hand. “I won’t kiss you here or we’d end up on the floor. Come to bed, Branna.”

  She put her hand in his. “We’ve never been in a bed together, have we? I’m curious about yours. I resisted going upstairs and poking around during the party. It took heroic willpower.”

  “You’ve never lacked that.” He brought her hand to his lips. “I’ve imagined you here a thousand times. A thousand and a thousand times.”

  “I couldn’t do the same, as even my heroic will wouldn’t have held up against the imagining.” Amazed at her own calm, she kissed his hand in turn. “I knew when Iona walked into my workshop you’d come back. You’d be a part of this, a part of me again. I asked why, why, when I’d found my life, made myself content with it, fate should put you back into it again.”

  “What was the answer?”

  “I’ve yet to get one, and still can’t stop the asking. But not tonight. It’s so grand, your home. All these rooms, and the all but heartbreaking detail of every centimeter of space.”

  And none of it, he thought, so much home as the kitchen of her cottage.

  He opened the door of his bedroom, kissed her hand again, then drew her in. Rather than turn on the lights, he flicked his wrist.

  The fire kindled in the hearth, and candles flickered to life.

  “Again grand,” she said. “A grand male sanctuary, but warm and attractive instead of practical and Spartan. Your bed’s glorious.” She moved to it, trailed fingers over the massive footboard. “Old, so old. Do you dream of those who’ve slept here?”

  “I cleansed it so I wouldn’t feel I shared the bed with strangers from other times. So, no, I don’t dream of them. I’ve dreamed of you when I’ve slept here.”

  “I know it, as I had a moment in that bed with you in dreams.”

  “Not just then. A thousand and a thousand times.”

  She turned to him, looked at him in the light and shadow of dancing flames. The heart she’d lost to him so many years before swelled inside her. “We won’t dream tonight,” she said, and opening her arms, went to him.

  The nerves that had humm
ed just under her skin dissolved. Body to body with him, mouth to mouth with him, her world simply righted.

  This, of course, the single missing link in the chain of her life.

  For tonight, if it could only be tonight, she would give herself a gift. She would only feel. She would open herself, heart, body, mind, and feel what she’d struggled against for so long.

  Tomorrow, if need be, she’d tell herself it was only the physical, only a way to relieve the tension and strain between them for the greater good. But tonight, she embraced the truth.

  She loved. Had always loved, would always love.

  “I’ve missed you,” she murmured. “Ah, Finbar, I’ve missed you.”

  “Ached for you.” He brushed his lips over her cheeks, brought them back to hers.

  She clung as they lifted inches off the floor, then a foot, circling. With a laugh, she flung her arms up, scattered stars above them.

  “By firelight and starlight, by candle flame, tonight, what I am, is yours.”

  “And what you are, is cherished.”

  He lowered them to the bed, sank into the kiss.

  With her, at last with her, free to drink deep and deep from her lips, free to feel her body under his, to see her hair spread out.

  The gift she gave them both, too magnificent to rush. So he would savor her gift, and give all he had in return.

  He took his hands slowly up her body, gently captured her breasts. No longer the budding girl etched in his memory, but the bloom.

  New memories here to layer over what had been.

  He pressed his lips to her throat, lingered over the scent of her caught there, just there, that had haunted his days and nights. His again, to take in like breath.

  As he slid the dress down her shoulders, she arched to ease his way. Her skin, white as milk, caught the gold of his firelight, the silver of her stars. He undressed her as if uncovering the most precious of jewels.

  Her heart fluttered under his touch. Only he had ever been able to bring her that sensation, one of both nerves and pleasure. Each time he kissed her, it was slow and deep, as if worlds could spin away and back again while he savored.

  “You’ve more patience than you did,” she managed as her blood began to sing under her skin.

  “You’re more beautiful than you were. I never thought it possible.”

  She caught his face in her hands a moment, fingers skimming up into his hair, then she shifted to rise above him with stars sparkling over her head.

  “And you.” She drew his sweater up, off. “Witch and warrior. Stronger than the boy I loved.” She spread her hands over his chest. “Wounded, but ever loyal. Valiant.”