Bugs vibrated excited delight as they thundered off, the horse sent out waves of pleasure at the chance to run, and overhead the hawk called out, high and bright, as it circled.
And long past time for this, he realized.
Though part of him yearned for the woods, the smell of them, the song of the trees in the breeze, he headed for open. So he took to the fields, the gentle rise of hill, let the horse run over the green while the hawk soared the blue.
He pulled out, put on his glove. He and Merlin wouldn’t need it, but it was best if someone rambled by. He lifted his arm, lifted his mind. The hawk dived, did a pretty, show-off turn that made Fin laugh, then glided like a feathered god to the glove.
The dog quivered, watched them both.
“We’ve taken to each other, you see. That’s the way of it. So you’re brothers now as well. Will you hunt?” he asked Merlin.
In answer the hawk rose up, calling as he circled the field.
“We’ll walk a bit.” Fin dismounted, set Bugs down.
The dog immediately rolled in the grass, barked for the fun of it.
“He’s young yet.” Fin patted Baru’s neck when the horse gave the hound a pitying glance.
Here’s what he’d needed, Fin thought as he walked with the horse. The open, the air. A cold day for certain, but clear and bright for all that.
The hawk went into the stoop, took its prey.
Fin leaned against Baru, gazing out over the green, the brown, the slim columns of smoke rising from chimneys.
And this, he thought, he missed like a limb when he was off wandering. The country of his blood, of his bone, of his heart and spirit. He missed the green, the undulating hills, the gray of the stone, the rich brown of earth turned for planting.
He would leave it again—he would have to when he’d finished what he needed to finish. But he would always come back, pulled to Ireland, pulled to Branna, pulled . . . Iona had said it. Pulled to family.
“They don’t want you here.”
Fin continued to lean on the horse. He’d felt Cabhan come. Maybe had wanted him to.
“You’re mine. They know it. You know it. You feel it.”
The mark on his shoulder throbbed.
“Since the mark came on me, you’ve tried to lure me, draw me. Save your promises and lies, Cabhan. They bore me, and I’m after some air and some open.”
“You come here.” Cabhan walked across the field on a thin sea of fog, black robes billowing, red stone glowing. “Away from them. You come to me.”
“Not to you. Now or ever.”
“My son—”
“Not that.” Anger he’d managed to tamp down boiled up. “Now or ever.”
“But you are.” Smiling, Cabhan pulled the robe down his shoulder, exposed the mark. “Blood of my blood.”
“How many women did you rape before you planted your seed, a seed that brought you a son?”
“It took only the one destined to bear my child. I gave her pleasure, and took more. I will give Branna to you, if she is what you want. She’ll lie with you again, and as often as you choose. Only come to me, join with me, and she can be yours.”
“She’s not yours to give.”
“She will be.”
“Not while I breathe.” Fin held out a hand, palm forward, brought the power up. “Come to me, Cabhan. Blood to blood, you say. Come to me.”