Alone, Boyle went back to brooding. They needed to get ready, he thought, remembering the howl in the fog. Every blessed one of them.
* * *
AT THE END OF THE WEEK, IONA SAT IN BED AT JUST BEFORE SIX IN THE MORNING. She’d spent her last night in the castle. She wanted so much to make her home with her cousins, but to do that, she had to leave this indulgent dream.
No more cheerful maids to tidy her room and bring her tea and biscuits. No more dazzling breakfast buffets. No more snuggling in at night, listening to the wind or the rain or both and imagining herself in the thirteenth century.
But she was trading all that for family. A much better deal.
She’d done most of the packing the night before, but rose now to finish, to calculate the tip for housekeeping. To take her last castle shower.
With a half hour to spare before Connor—at his insistence—picked her up, she practiced her craft.
The feathers seemed safest, considering. Branna had refused to teach her anything new until she’d mastered the four elements. And mastered them to Branna’s high watermark.
No amount of wheedling, bribery, cajoling had moved her cousin one inch.
So master them, she would.
At least she’d progressed to a small pile of feathers rather than a single one.
In the dim light she quieted her mind, reached down for the power. Reaching out her hands, she thought of air lifting, warm gentle breeze, a stir, a whisper.
Fluttering, the white feathers rose, separated, swayed, and turned in the air. She sent them higher, little climbs, gentle tumbles. Easy, easy, she told herself. A light touch.
She held her arms high, circled herself, watched them circle with her. And joyful, quickened just a bit.
A turn, a twirl, pretty white feathers mirroring her moves. Up, down, lazy swirls, perfect rings, then a slim white tower.
“I feel it,” she murmured. “I do. And it’s lovely.”
On a laugh, she spun, again, again. Spread her arms so feathers followed each one, formed two whirling circles. Serpentine, figure eights, then again into one dow
ny cloud.
“A plus. Even Branna has to give me the mastery check mark on this one.”
At the hard and rapid knock on the door, she let out a yelp. The feathers fell, tumbling over her.
“Damn it!”
She brushed them off her shoulders. Blew them out of her face as she walked to the door.
“You broke my hold,” she began. “I was just— Oh. Boyle.”
“There’s feathers everywhere. Did you rip the pillow?”
“No. They’re my feathers. What are you doing here?” Irritation cleared into worry. “Is something wrong? Is someone hurt?”
“Nothing’s wrong. No one’s hurt. Connor got called in to the falconry school. A plumbing thing, and he’s the handy one. I’m drafted to fetch you. Are you packed?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I could’ve gotten someone from the hotel to take me.”
“I’m here, so let’s get your things.”
“All right. Thanks. I’ve just got to clean this up. The feathers.”
“Hmm.” He reached out, surprising her with the skim of his fingers over her hair. “Here’s a couple more,” he said, and handed them to her.