“If we’re in it, we’re in it.” Meara shrugged. “Today proves Iona can’t even come to work in the morning without a risk. Why should she live that way? Or any of us?”
“The next time he might hurt the horses,” Iona added. “To damage me, to distract me. I won’t have that. I couldn’t live with that. What adjustments?”
“He thinks you’ll go alone tomorrow, to the ruins.”
Iona stared at Boyle, saw the fury behind his eyes. “I’m bait. But bait with knowledge and power. And a very strong circle.”
Before Boyle could curse, Branna laid a hand on his arm. “She’s never alone, never will be. You’ve my word, and the word of all of us here.”
She gave his arm a rub, then considered. “It could be done. I think it could be done well enough.”
“You’ll work with me on just that today then?”
Branna looked at Fin, fought her nasty internal war. “I will, for Iona. For the circle.”
“We’ll get started. Keep in the company of others,” Fin added, tracing a finger over Iona’s cheek. “For the day, keep others close, will you, little sister?”
“No problem.”
It was easy enough, especially since Boyle or Meara hovered.
Boyle took her off guided rides for the day—a frustration to her—and stuck her on stable duties.
She groomed, fed, cleaned stalls, repaired tack, polished boots.
And the day dragged.
She rode Alastar to the big stables—Boyle on Spud beside her—to deal with the lesson she had scheduled for the end of the day.
This time tomorrow, she thought, she’d make the final preparations. And she’d take the next steps toward her destiny.
“We’re going to win this,” she said to Boyle.
“Cocksure’s a foolish thing.”
“It’s not cocksure, or not cocky.” She remembered Connor’s words, and her feeling with him, in the morning kitchen. “It’s faith, and faith’s a strong, positive thing.”
“I don’t care for you being the tip of the spear in this.”
“I sure didn’t plan to be, but because I am, he’s the one who’ll be cocksure and foolish. Think about that.”
“I’ve been thinking of it, and considerable else.”
At the stables he dismounted, waited for her to do the same. “I’ve something to show you.”
He started into the stables. Before one of the hands could speak
, Boyle signaled him away, jerked a thumb and sent him out. Then led the way to the tack room with its scent of leather and oil.
“It’s that.”
She followed the gesture, hummed in pleasure at the gleam of the saddle sitting on its stand.
“That’s new, isn’t it?” She stepped to it, ran a hand over the curve, over the smooth black leather. “Beautifully made, and just look at the stirrups shine! It’s hand-tooled, isn’t it? It’s—”
“It’s yours.”
“What? Mine?”