But at twelve, Brannaugh was no longer a child. And what rose in her, spread in her, woke in her—more since she’d started her courses the year before—demanded.
Holding so much in, turning her eyes from that ever-brightening light proved harder and more sorrowful every day. But she owed Ailish respect, and her cousin held a fear of magicks and power—even her own.
Brannaugh had done what her mother asked of her on that terrible morning. She’d taken her brother and sister south, away from their home in Mayo. She’d kept off the road; she’d shuttered her grief in her heart where only she could hear it keening.
And in that heart lived the need to avenge as well, the need to embrace the power inside her, and learn more, learn and hone enough to defeat Cabhan, once and done.
But Ailish wanted only her man, her children, her farm. And why not? She was entitled to her home and her life and her land, the quiet of it all. Hadn’t she risked it by taking in Sorcha’s blood? Taking in what Cabhan lusted for—hunted for?
She deserved gratitude, loyalty, and respect.
But what lived in Brannaugh clawed for freedom. Choices needed to be made.
She’d seen her brother walk back from the river with his fish, his hawk. She felt him test his power out of the sight of the cottage—as he often did. As Teagan, their sister, often did. Ailish, chattering about the jams they’d make that day, felt nothing. Her cousin blocked most of what she had—a puzzlement to Brannaugh—and used only the bit she allowed herself to sweeten jams or coax bigger eggs from the hens.
Brannaugh told herself it was worth the sacrifice, the wait to find more, learn more, be more. Her brother and sister were safe here—as their mother wished. Teagan, whose grief had been beyond reaching for days, weeks, laughed and played. She did her chores cheerfully, tended the animals, rode like a warrior on her big gray Alastar.
Perhaps some nights she wept in her sleep, but Brannaugh had only to gather her in to soothe her.
Except when came the dreams of Cabhan. They came to Teagan, to Eamon, to herself. More often now, clearer now, so clear Brannaugh had begun to hear his voice echo after she woke.
Choices must be made. This waiting, this sanctuary, might need to come to an end, one way or another.
In the evening she scrubbed potatoes, tender from the harvest. She stirred the stew bubbling low on the fire, and tapped her foot as her cousin’s man made music on his little harp.
The cottage, warm and snug, a happy place filled with good scents, cheerful voices, Ailish’s laugh as she lifted her youngest onto her hip for a dance.
Family, she thought again. Well fed, well tended in a cottage warm and snug, with herbs drying in the kitchen, babes with rosy cheeks.
It should have contented her—how she wished it would.
She caught Eamon’s eye, the same bold blue as their father’s, felt his power prod against her. He saw too much, did Eamon, she thought. Far too much if she didn’t remember to shutter him out.
She gave him a bit of a poke back—a little warning to mind his own. In the
way of sisters, she smiled at his wince.
After the evening meal there were pots to be cleaned, children to tuck into bed. Mabh, the eldest at seven, complained, as always, she wasn’t sleepy. Seamus snuggled right in, ready with his dreaming smile. The twins she’d helped bring into the world herself chattered to each other like magpies, young Brighid slipped her comforting thumb in her mouth, and the baby slept before his mother laid him down.
Brannaugh wondered if Ailish knew both she and the babe with his sweet angel face would not be without magick. The birth, so painful, so wrong, would have ended them both in blood without Brannaugh’s power, the healing, the seeing, the doing.
Though they never spoke of it, she thought Ailish knew.
Ailish straightened, a hand on her back, another on the next babe in her womb. “And a good night and happy dreams to all. Brannaugh, would you have some tea with me? I could do with some of your soothing tea, as this one’s kicking up a storm tonight.”
“Sure and I’ll fix you some.” And add the charm as she always did for health and an easy birthing. “He’s well and healthy that one, and will be, I suspect, as big a handful on his own as the twins.”
“It’s a boy for certain,” Ailish said as they climbed down from the sleeping loft. “I can feel it. I’ve not been wrong yet.”
“Nor are you this time. You could do with more rest, cousin.”
“A woman with six children and one in the pot doesn’t see much rest. I’m well enough.” Her gaze fixed on Brannaugh’s for confirmation.
“You are to be sure, but could do with more rest all the same.”
“You’re a great help and comfort to me, Brannaugh.”
“I hope I am.”