“Were you?” Branna murmured as she set the kettle on.
“It’s just once I’d decided to come, I needed to push through with it.” She left her muddy boots by the door, hung her coat on the peg. “I always wanted to visit Ireland—that roots thing—but it was always eventually. Then . . . well, it was now. Right now.”
“Go have a seat at the table back there, by the fire. It’s a cold wind today.”
“God, tell me! I swear it got colder the deeper I went into the woods, then . . . Oh Jesus, it’s the bear!”
She stopped as the massive dog lifted his head from his place at the little hearth, and gave her the same steady stare he had in the woods. “I mean the dog. I thought he was a bear for a minute when he came bursting through the woods. But he’s a really big dog. He’s your dog.”
“He’s mine, yes, and I’m his. He’s Kathel, and he won’t harm you. Have you a fear of dogs, cousin?”
“No. But he’s huge. What is he?”
“Breeding, you mean. His father is an Irish wolfhound, and his mother a mix of Irish Dane and Scottish deerhound.”
“He looks fierce and dignified at the same time. Can I pet him?”
“That would be up to you and him,” Branna said as she brought tea and sugar biscuits to the table. She said nothing more as Iona crouched, held out the back of her hand for the dog to sniff, then stroked it gently over his head.
“Hello, Kathel. I didn’t have time to introduce myself before. You scared the crap out of me.”
She rose, smiled at Branna. “I’m so happy to meet you, to be here. Everything’s been so crazy, and it’s all running around in my head. I can hardly believe I’m standing here.”
“Sit then, and have your tea.”
“I barely knew about you,” Iona began as she sat, warmed her chilled hands on the cup. “I mean, Nan had told me about the cousins. You and your brother.”
“Connor.”
“Yes, Connor, and the others who live in Galway or Clare. She wanted to bring me over years ago, but it didn’t work out. My parents—well, mostly my mother—didn’t really want it, and she and my father split up, and then, well, you’re just bouncing around between them. Then they both remarried, and that was weird because my mother insisted on an annulment. They say how that doesn’t really make you a bastard, but it sure feels like it.”
Branna barely lifted her eyebrows. “I imagine it does, yes.”
“Then there was school and work, and I was involved with someone for a while. One day I looked at him and thought, Why? I mean, we didn’t have anything for each other but habit and convenience, and people need more, don’t they?”
“I’d say they do.”
“I want more, sometime anyway. Mostly, I never felt like I fit. Where I was, something always felt a little skewed, not quite right. Then I started having the dreams—or I started remembering them, and I went to visit Nan. Everything she told me should’ve sounded crazy. It shouldn’t have made sense, but it did. It made everything make sense.
“I’m babbling. I’m so nervous.” She picked up a cookie, stuffed it in her mouth. “These are good. I’m—”
“Don’t be saying you’re sorry again. It’s coming on pitiful. Tell me about the dreams.”
“He wants to kill me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Or I didn’t. Nan says his name is—was—is Cabhan, and he’s a sorcerer. Evil. Centuries ago our ancestor, the first dark witch, destroyed him. Except some part of him survived it. He still wants to kill me. Us. I know that sounds insane.”
Placidly, Branna sipped her tea. “Do I look shocked by all this?”
“No. You look really calm. I wish I could be really calm. And you’re beautiful. I always wanted to be beautiful, too. And taller. You’re taller. Babbling. Can’t stop it.”
Rising, Branna opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of whiskey. “It’s a good day for a little whiskey in your tea. So you heard this story about Cabhan and Sorcha, the first dark witch, and decided to come to Ireland to meet me.”
“Basically. I quit my job, I sold my stuff.”
“You . . .” For the first time Branna looked genuinely surprised. “You sold your things?”