“It did that.”
He said nothing as Alastar wandered over, oh so casually, and ignoring him, went all but nose to nose with Iona. The horse, Boyle thought, looked at the woman as if she knew every answer.
“We had a good day, didn’t we?” She stroked the smooth cheek, down the strong line of throat. “It’s a good place here. Just takes some getting used to.”
Then, the horse, who only that morning had left a welt the size of a man’s fist on his veteran groom’s biceps, seemed to sigh as well. And stepped in, all but laying his head on Iona’s shoulder so she could glide her hands over his long neck.
I’ll look out for you, she told him. And you’ll look out for me.
“Sure, you’re one of them,” Boyle murmured. “An O’Dwyer, through and through.”
Caught up with the horse, Iona answered absently. “My grandmother, mother’s side.”
“It’s not a matter of sides, but blood and bone. I should’ve figured it the way you handled this one, first time up.”
He leaned back against the fence to give Iona a long, careful study. “You don’t have the look of them, of Branna or Connor, being a bright-haired little thing, but it’s blood and bone.”
Because she thought she understood him, nerves came back. “I hope they think so, since they’re giving me a place to live. And because Branna helped me land this job so I don’t have to scramble to find one I’d probably be terrible at. Anyway, I—”
“Legend has it the younger daughter of the first dark witch talked to horses, and they to her. And even as a babe could ride the fiercest of warhorses. And some nights, in the dark of the moon, when the mood was on her, she took one to flying over the trees and hills.”
“I . . . should probably study up on the local legends, for the guided rides.”
“Oh sure, I’m thinking you know that one well enough. The one of Cabhan, who lusted for and craved Sorcha, for her beauty and her power. And the three who came from her, and took the power she passed to them, and all the burdens with it. Blood and bone,” he said again.
It made her throat dry, the way he looked at her, as if he could see something in her she’d yet to fully comprehend. Sensing her distress, Alastar quivered, laid his ears back as he turned his head to Boyle.
Cautious, Iona slid her fingers under the bridle to calm him.
My own fault, she told Alastar. I don’t know what to say, how to react yet.
“My grandmother told me a lot of stories.” Evading, she knew, but until she knew him, that seemed best all around. “Anyway, unless you need me to do something else, I should go. I’m supposed to meet Branna, and I’m late. Meara said I should be clear for the day, and come in tomorrow at eight?”
“That’s fine then.”
“Thanks for the job.” She gave Alastar a last stroke before getting off the fence. “I’ll work hard.”
“Oh, I’ll see that you do, be sure of it.”
“Well.” Now her hands felt sweaty enough to rub against her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“My best to your cousins.”
“Okay.”
He watched her walk away, moving fast, as if getting clear of something boggy in the ground.
Pretty thing, he thought, though he’d be wise to ignore that. Pretty and sunny and a bloody faerie goddess astride a horse.
Ignore all that for certain. Harder, he figured, to ignore the fact that he’d just hired a witch.
“A dark one, the last of the three. All here together now, with hound and hawk, and by God horse.” He gave Alastar a scowl. “You’d be Fin’s doing then, no doubt of it. And what in hell’s name will that mean?”
He wondered, too, what Fin—friend, partner, next to brother—had in his mind, in his heart.
As if expressing his opinion on Fin, and Boyle for that matter, Alastar raised his tail and shat.
Boyle managed to jump aside before the opinion hit his boots. Then, after one fulminating stare, he threw back his head and laughed.