They’d managed to get a rope attached to Oakdancer’s halter. Keely was leading the stallion, who kept tugging on the lead rope, making Keely run a few steps to keep her balance.
Oakdancer wasn’t trying to run away, but he seemed determined to keep Keely moving in the direction of the manor house. Liam couldn’t make out the words, but he was close enough now to catch the scolding yet cajoling tone of Keely’s voice. She sounded like Brooke, and like his little sister would have done, she concentrated on the horse, not really believing there were dangerous, deadly creatures now hiding somewhere on the land she’d known all her life. She probably thought of them as being deliciously scary, like something out of a story. It might frighten, but it couldn’t harm.
Mentally, Keely was as much of a child as Brooke. But Breanna was not a child, and as he slowed his horse to a trot, he saw the way she walked a few steps behind Keely and Oakdancer, scanning the sky, looking back over her shoulder at the nearest trees.
And he saw her freeze suddenly as she looked at those trees.
Framed by the rich greens of summer was one tree with several large, dead branches that looked like old bones. Had those branches been dead when the men had brought the horses into this pasture?
The wind shifted, now coming from the direction of those trees.
Liam had a moment to wonder if that had been Breanna’s doing before the horses went mad.
Oakdancer reared, pulling Keely off her feet. Liam’s horse suddenly swerved to the left, almost throwing him as it made a tight circle to run back toward the manor house. Liam reined in hard, startling the animal just long enough to give himself a chance to dismount and make a quick knot in the reins to shorten them enough to keep the horse from stepping on them. Then he let the horse go.
As he turned back toward Breanna, he saw a black cloud of small, winged bodies pour out of the trees, flying fast toward the two women.
Breanna whirled around, raced to reach Keely. When she shouted, “Stand!” Oakdancer’s front hooves hit the ground. The stallion was trembling but stood firm.
Keely got to her feet, her lips pushed out in a pout. She started to argue, but Breanna cut the argument short by grabbing Keely’s shoulders and turning her so that she could clearly see what was heading toward them. Then Breanna spun the mental child who was her mother, grabbed one leg, and gave Keely enough of a boost to mount Oakdancer’s bare back.
Breanna glanced back at the trees and slapped Oakdancer’s flank, shouting, “Go!”
Liam’s heart pounded in his chest as he ran toward Breanna. Oakdancer cantered right toward him, ears pricked, dark eyes focused on the man he trusted.
“Go!” Liam said, pointing in the direction of Breanna’s house.
“No!” Keely cried, looking back as if she finally understood what was going to happen. “No! Breanna!” “Go!” Liam shouted.
The stallion stretched into a smooth gallop and quickly disappeared with Keely.
Liam turned back to look at Breanna. For one long moment, the world held its breath, and he saw her standing there, as strong as the land, the nighthunters filling the sky behind her.
He and Breanna couldn’t run fast enough to escape, and they had no weapons. They were going to die in that pasture, and they both knew it.
“You could have mounted the stallion,” Breanna said. “Why didn’t you go when you had the chance?”
“You’re my sister. I won’t let you stand alone.”
Pleasure. Sorrow. Determination. He saw all those things in her face. Then she said, “The villagers need a strong baron who will stand for them against the Inquisitors and the barons they control. My family needs a strong baron to stand for them. None of them will have that if you die here. Run, Liam. Run now.”
She turned and moved toward the approaching swarm of nighthunters.
He froze for a moment, unwilling to believe she would stand as bait and sacrifice.
“Breanna, no!”
Heat throbbed under his skin as the distance between Breanna and the nighthunters closed too fast. She was right about the county he ruled needing a strong baron.
He took a step toward her.
She was right.
Took another step.
His heart didn’t care if she was right. She was his sister.
She glanced back at him, saw him moving toward her. She lifted her skirt, as if preparing to run.
He would never know for sure if she’d intended to run toward the nighthunters to give him more of a chance to escape or if she’d intended to run back toward him. He would never know because, at that moment before she moved, the hawk screamed.
It dove toward the nighthunters, toward Breanna.
Liam felt a stab of jealousy when he saw that same blend of feelings in her face when she looked up at the hawk as she’d had when she’d looked at him.
No. Not quite the same. There was something more there, something a woman wouldn’t feel for a brother.
“No!” Breanna shouted.
The hawk had almost reached her. So had the nighthunters.
Wind whipped around her, swirling, gusting, coming from no direction and every direction.
Breanna swung her left hand upward, as if she were tossing a ball into the air.
The hawk screamed again, but it sounded more surprised than angry as the wind Breanna summoned caught it and lifted it straight up into the sky, too high for the nighthunters to attack. Too high to help Breanna.
She made a slashing motion with her right hand, first in one direction, then the other. Wind howled over that part of the pasture, hit the nighthunters, and sent the swarm tumbling in the air.
Liam heard the creatures’ squeaking shrieks. Some of them fell to the ground, with one or both wings broken. They flopped and crawled toward Breanna, their mouths open to reveal needle-sharp teeth.
Breanna skipped backward a couple of steps to stay away from the nighthunters on the ground. She made that slashing motion again, and the wind continued to whip around that part of the pasture, keeping the rest of the nighthunters tumbling. Then she turned and ran.
Liam couldn’t tell if her foot slipped on a stone or came down wrong in a depression in the land, but she’d run only a few steps when she fell, sprawling full length in the grass.
He ran toward her as the nighthunter swarm fought against the wind to reach its prey. The heat under his skin pulsed like it was alive, feeding on his fear and fury.
“NO!” He flung one hand forward, as if that gesture would stop the nighthunters. Heat roared up from the soles of his feet, up through his legs, through his body, and finally raced down that outstretched arm.
Streams of fire leaped from his fingertips. He spread his fingers. The fire fanned out, following the movement. It hit the nighthunters, consuming them in the flames.
Breanna glanced up, then screamed as charred, stillburning bodies fell and hit her skirt. She crawled forward as fast as she could to get away from the falling bodies.
Fire continued to pour from Liam’s fingertips. Terrified, he waved his hand. The fire followed the movement, catching more of the nighthunters, burning them in the fierce heat.
“Liam!” Breanna shouted, continuing to crawl toward him.
Heat continued to flow through his body on its way to his hand. He didn’t know what he’d done to cause this, didn’t know how to stop it. He started to lower his hand, but the fire streamed out, setting the grass ablaze.
“Ground it, Liam!” Breanna shouted. “Ground the power!”
He didn’t understand what she was saying, didn’t know what she meant. There was no power, only this heat that, somehow, had become tangible.
Squeaking furiously, the remaining nighthunters fled back to the safety of the trees.
Liam’s heart pounded in his chest. His legs shook. His lungs couldn’t seem to draw in enough air. The heat was starting to fade, leaving him feeling exhausted and a little ill, but fire continued to spurt from his fingertips, burning more of the gr
ass.
He heard men shouting behind him, heard someone giving orders to bring water and wet blankets — and fetch Nuala.
“Liam!”
Breanna’s voice slashed at him. He just looked at her, feeling the panicked desperation of a child who had gotten himself in trouble and now hoped the adults around him could save him from his own folly.
“You have to ground the power now, Liam,” Breanna said, her voice strained by the effort to sound calm as she crawled on hands and knees toward him.
“Breanna, I don’t —”
“I know, Liam. I know. It will be all right. You drew too much power, that’s all. Now you have to ground it, give it back to the Mother. Focus, Liam. Focus on holding on to the fire, of not letting it go.”
The heat began building in his hand, started flowing back up his arm. Too hot. Too hot. He had to let it go or burn.
Breanna got to her feet and sprinted to cover the last bit of distance between them. She grabbed his arm, then dropped to her knees, pulling him down with her.
“Put your hands on the ground,” Breanna said, her voice firm but quiet.
“It’ll burn,” Liam protested.
“No, it won’t.” She tugged at him until his hands were pressed against the earth.
The grass beneath his hands wilted, turned brown, began to crisp.
“What do you feel?” Breanna asked.
“Heat. It’s building again.” Liam heard the panic in his voice, but couldn’t control that any more than he could control the heat.
“Heat is how you feel the power you’re drawing from the Mother. You don’t need it, so you’re going to give it back. Concentrate, Liam. Concentrate on slowly sending that heat into the land. Picture it spreading out under the land, spreading out like a warm, shallow pool of water rather than a basin of boiling water. The heat flows softly out of your hands. Softly. Softly. Can you picture that?”
Closing his eyes, he could picture it quite clearly. He felt the heat spread out under his hands. The ground was already sun-warmed from the day and hadn’t begun to cool with the coming twilight. It felt a little warmer now, but not hot. Thank the Great Mother, it didn’t feel hot.
Breanna ran her hands down his arms. He felt the heat follow her hands as she guided it to the land. When she finally sat back on her heels, his hands still felt hot but the rest of his body was cold enough that he started shivering.
“That’s enough for now,” Breanna said. “We’ll go back to the house and finish it there.”
Liam looked up. The men who had come with Clay to gather the horses and, when they saw the burning pasture, to put out the fire, were standing a few lengths away, just staring at him with a strange expression on their faces.
“The fire,” Liam said, his voice rough as he forced it out of a parched throat.
“Rory and some of the others can control it,” Breanna said. “It won’t spread.” She looked at the men. “I need to get him back to the house.”
“Take one of the horses,” Clay said. “We’ll wait here for Nuala.”
Rory stepped forward. He took one of Liam’s arms while Breanna took the other. “Can you get to your feet, Baron Liam, or do we need to be carrying you?” Rory asked.
“I can stand.” He could — barely — but he was grateful for their support as they walked him toward the nervous horses.
Breanna mounted one of the horses. With Rory’s help, Liam mounted behind her. She held the horse to a canter, which told Liam she was more confident of his ability not to set them both on fire than he was. He wasn’t sure what more she could do at the house to help him, but he wanted to get there as fast as possible.
Then he heard … “ He wasn’t sure what he’d heard until he glanced over his right shoulder and saw the hawk flying above them, keeping pace with the horse. He’d never heard a hawk be quite that…vocal…but if that was a Fae Lord, he, being another man, had a good idea what opinions the hawk was expressing about being tossed out of a fight by a witch more determined to protect others than be protected.
“Breanna,” Liam said, intending to call her attention to their escort.
Her back stiffened. “I’ll deal with him later.”
Liam grinned. If he were a betting man, he’d wager on the witch to win. He wondered if the hawk would be following them if it had any idea what it would have to deal with as soon as Breanna got done dealing with him.
As they rode through the pasture near the house, his grin faded. There were a lot of unanswered questions about him now, weren’t there?
An hour later, Liam watched the steam gently rising from the basin of water. The water had been cold when Breanna poured it over his hands a few minutes ago, but it didn’t stay cold long, not with the heat still draining from his hands.
When Breanna led him into the kitchen, shouting for someone to bring a large basin and cold water, several women had hurried to bring what was needed. After observing how fast the water went from cold to steaming, they brought another basin and a couple of pitchers of water. When the water began to steam again, they took that basin and slid the next one into place, pouring more cold water over his hands.
Witches were very practical people, he discovered. They were using all the hot water he was providing to wash the evening dishes.
Practical and strong-willed. Any gentry woman of his acquaintance would have become hysterical after what happened in the pasture. Breanna had remained in control — right up until she’d run her fingers through her hair and combed out a piece of charred nighthunter wing. Her shriek had brought everyone running, and he’d watched that strong will crumble under the fear she’d held at bay.
Now they were both sitting at one of the tables in the kitchen, wrapped in blankets to fight a coldness that came from within.
He glanced longingly at the kettle of soup simmering on the stove. He wanted something that would help thaw the chill in the rest of his body.
“Almost done,” Breanna said, smiling wearily. “I figure another basin of water will absorb enough of the power so that it’s back to what you’re used to.”
Used to? He’d felt that heat under his skin all his life, but nothing like this had ever happened before. “Why did this happen now?”
“I don’t know, Liam,” Breanna said softly. “I can only guess that whatever wall you’d built inside yourself to protect you from having the gift manifest itself broke because the need to use the gift was stronger than the need to deny it.”
“But I —”Liam swallowed hard. He’d been drinking water to ease the fever-dry feeling, but his throat still felt tight. “What am I, Breanna?”
“Nothing more and nothing less than what you’ve always been. You’re still gentry, still the Baron of Willowsbrook. But you’re also a Son of the House of Gaian. You always were. The only difference is you know it now.”
“Am I a witch?” He held his breath, not sure which answer he wanted from her.
“It’s not a word we usually use when a man has a gift from one of the Mother’s branches.” Breanna shrugged. “Gentry, baron, witch. They’re words, Liam. Just words. You’ll have to decide which words you’ll claim as your own and which ones you’ll let go.” She slipped her hand into the water, curled her fingers around his. “But I can tell you one thing you’re not and never will be.”
He looked into her woodland eyes — eyes so like his own — and saw a mischievous sparkle in them. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’re not one of the Mother’s Daughters. You don’t have the tits for it.”
He didn’t think anything could make him laugh after the things that had happened that day, but as his laughter filled the kitchen, he felt the last of the heat in his hands fade away.
Breanna stepped outside. Liam was finally getting the bowl of soup he’d been wanting. Nuala had returned from the pasture and was sitting with him now, having assured both of them that the fire in the pasture was out. The rain she’d drawn from the clouds had quenched the
fire better than anything else could have done. Tomorrow Nuala would begin teaching Liam how to ground the power he could channel from the Great Mother. Together, she and Nuala would begin teaching him how to use it safely.
But that was tomorrow. Tonight, all she wanted was a hot, deep bath so that she could scrub her hair and skin clean. A hot bath, a bowl of that soup with some bread and cheese, and settling into bed early with a favorite book that she knew had a happy ending. In real life, one couldn’t count on happy endings. Tonight she needed one.
She wasn’t going to get any of those things until she dealt with the other male who had wedged his way into her life.
At least he wasn’t going to make her look for him, Breanna thought sourly as she spotted the hawk perched on one of the poles that supported the clotheslines.
“You!” she shouted, pointing a finger at the hawk. She swung that finger until it pointed to the bench under the tree where they would have a little privacy for this discussion. “Get over there!”
She saw several of the men gathered around the stables take a half step to follow her command before realizing she wasn’t talking to them. Deciding to save her temper for dealing with the Fae featherhead, she ignored the men’s grins as she strode to the tree.
The hawk fluffed its feathers and stayed where it was.
Breanna’s temper soared. The nearby trees bowed to the sudden gust of wind.
“Get over here, or I’ll summon a wind that will pluck every feather you’ve got!”
She clenched her fists and made the effort to ground the power her temper had summoned. The wind eased, releasing the trees.
The hawk turned his head, stared at the trees for a moment, then flew over to the bench, landing as far away from Breanna as he could while still obeying her order.
It was tempting to take the couple of steps between them and smack him right on the top of his feathered head. But the anger and fear that she’d held at bay were now churning nastily in her belly, and since she hadn’t smacked Keely or Liam, who had both contributed to those feelings, she couldn’t, in all fairness, shovel all of it on a hawk who was staring at his feet, waiting to get yelled at.