“Tonight?”
“Tonight, tomorrow night if need be. We’ll see what the others say.”
“I’ll finish up then.” He looked at her, smiled.
For some women it was flowers, he thought, or chocolate.
For Meara?
“Hold your arms out.”
“What? Why would I?”
“Because I ask you. Hold your arms out.”
She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. He stretched his hands toward the birds, the young ones, sent his thoughts to them.
With the flow of his hands, they lifted, a soft whoosh of wings—the young hawks—and rose up to circle her, to make her laugh.
“Hold still, and don’t worry about your jacket or your skin, I’ve taken that in the measure.”
“What— Oh!”
They landed light and graceful along her outstretched arms.
“We’ve trained them well, though this isn’t in their lessons. Still they don’t seem to mind it. And they’ll know you, Meara, now they will.”
“They’re beautiful. They’re so beautiful. When you look in their eyes you think they know more than we do. So much more.”
She laughed, and at the sound of it, the terrible thirst that had dogged him for days finally eased.
19
THEY HAD TEA, WITH WHISKEY FOR THOSE WHO WANTED it, in the
living room of the cottage. Branna set out a plate of gingerbread biscuits and considered her domestic duties done.
“Where do we begin?” she wondered. “Do we still agree on Samhain?”
“It gives us a fortnight,” Boyle pointed out. “And from what I can see we could use the time. But . . .”
“But.” Fin opted for whiskey and poured himself two fingers, neat. “He’s come at us hard. We weren’t ready for him, and that’s clear enough.”
“It was my fault.”
“Fault isn’t the point of it, Meara,” Fin interrupted. “He lurks and slithers about at his will, and could come at any one of us in a moment of vulnerability. He’s been at Iona, and now at you. From the pattern of it, if we don’t end this, he’ll go at Branna next.”
“Let him come.” Branna calmly took a sip of tea.
“You’re far too cocksure of yourself,” Fin snapped back. “Arrogance isn’t power or a weapon.”
“You’ve never had trouble wrapping yourself in it good and tight.”
“Stop.” Connor stretched his legs out, shook his head. “The pair of you. Save the pokes and barbs for when we’ve time for them. He may well go at Meara again, but she won’t be foolish a second time.”
“My oath on that.”
“And it’s just as likely he could take a pass at Boyle, or Fin or myself if he saw an opportunity.”