“Both are pleasant walks right from the hotel. Well then, enjoy your meal.”
The waitress left her to it, but Iona noticed she stopped by another server for a quick word. And both of them glanced back to Iona’s table.
So, she thought, the O’Dwyers were local interests. Hardly surprising. But it was weird sitting there eating her fish and chips knowing she’d become an object of speculation.
Did they all know Branna wasn’t merely the owner of the Dark Witch, but was one?
And so am I, Iona thought. Now I have to learn just what that means. Determined to do just that, she opened another book, and read her way through the rest of the meal.
The rain eased, but the night wind blew fierce, urging her to hurry back to the main hotel rather than strolling along the river Cong as she’d hoped.
She got “good evenings” and “welcome backs” from the staff as she stepped in, crossed through the lobby. Curious, she took brochures on the falconry school and the stables, then—what the hell, she was sort of on vacation—asked for tea to be sent to her room.
Once inside, she made herself set the brochures and books aside to deal, finally, with the unpacking.
After the brutal purge of her wardrobe, the selling of whatever she’d put aside, she still had more than enough. And she’d brought all she thought she’d need for her new life.
By the time she’d filled the wardrobe, the drawers, repacked items she decided could wait, the tea arrived, along with a plate of pretty cookies. Satisfied she’d done her chores, she changed back into her sleep pants, piled up the pillows and, sitting in bed, composed the email on her notebook to let her grandmother know she’d arrived safe, had met with Branna.
Ireland’s all you said and more, even just the little I’ve seen. So is Branna. It’s so generous of her to let me stay with her. The castle’s just awesome, and I’m going to enjoy every minute I’m here, but I’m already looking forward to moving in with Branna—and Connor. I hope I meet him soon. If I get the job at the stables, it’ll just be perfect. So think good thoughts.
Nan, I’m sitting in this wonderful bed in a castle in Ireland, drinking tea and thinking of all that’s yet to come. I know you said it could be a hard road, hard choices, and Branna sure as hell made that clear. But I’m so excited, I’m so happy.
I think, maybe, I’ve finally found where I fit.
Tomorrow I’ll check out the stables, the falconry school, the village—and Branna’s shop. I’ll let you know how it all goes. I love you!
Iona
She sent dutiful emails to her mother, her father. A few cheerful ones to friends and coworkers. And reminded herself to take some pictures to send next time.
She set the notebook aside to charge, retrieved the books, the brochures. This time she got into the bed, wiggled her shoulders back against the pillows.
Blissfully happy, she scanned the brochures, studied the photos. The school sounded absolutely fascinating. And the stables perfect. One of her mother’s favorite warnings was: Don’t get your hopes up.
But Iona’s were, high, high up.
She slipped the stable brochure under her pillow. She’d sleep on it for luck. Then she opened Branna’s book again.
Within twenty minutes, with the lights on, the tea tray still on the bed beside her, she’d dropped back into sleep.
And this time dreamed of hawks and horses, of the black hound. Of the deep green woods where a stone cabin nestled with fog crawling at its feet.
After dismounting a horse as gray as the fog, she walked through the mists, the hood of her cloak drawn up to cover her hair. She carried roses, for love, to the stone polished smooth and carved deep by magick and grief. There she laid the roses, white as the innocence she’d lost.
“I am home, Mother. We are home.” Dabbing the tears on her cheeks with her fingers, she traced the name.
SORCHA
The Dark Witch
And the words bled against the stone.
I am waiting for you.
Not her mother’s voice, but his. With all that had been done, all that had been sacrificed, he survived.
She had known it. They had all known it. And hadn’t she come here, alone, for this as much as to visit her mother’s grave?
