Shadow Spell

10

GRAPPLING WASN’T HIS USUAL WAY, BUT THIS WAS something so . . . explosive he lost his rhythm and style. He grabbed whatever he could grab, took whatever he could take. And there was so much of her—his tall, curvy friend.
He all but ripped off her shirt to get to more.
No stopping now for either of them, for here ran needs and urges far beyond careful and rational thinking. Here was the moment, and the next and the next would have to wait.
This bright new hunger for her, just her, must be fed.
But not, he realized, standing in her living room or rolling about on the floor.
He scooped her up.
“Oh Jesus, don’t try to carry me. You’ll break your back.”
“My back’s strong enough.” He turned his head to meet her mouth as he walked to her bedroom.
Crazy, she thought. They’d both gone completely mad. And she didn’t give a single bleeding damn. He carried her, and though his purpose—and hers—was hurry, it was foolishly romantic.
If he stumbled, well, they’d finish things out where they landed.
But he didn’t stumble. He dropped to the bed with her so the old springs squeaked in surprise, gave with a groan to nestle them both in a hollow of mattress and bedding.
And those hands, those magick hands were busy and beautiful.
She used her own to pull and yank off layers of clothes until, at last—God be praised—she found skin. Warm, smooth—with the good firm muscles of a man who used them.
She rolled with him, struggling as he did to strip off every barrier.
“Bloody layers,” he muttered, and made her laugh as she fought with the buckle of his belt.
“We would, both of us, work outdoors.”
“Good thing it’s worth the unwrapping. Ah, there you are,” he murmured and filled his hands with her bare breasts.
Firm and soft and generous. Beautiful, bountiful. He could write an ode to the glory of Meara Quinn’s breasts. But at the moment, he wanted only to touch them, taste them. And feel the way her heartbeat kicked up from canter to gallop at the brush of his fingers, lips, tongue.
All that was missing was . . .
He brought light into the dark, a soft, pale gold like her skin. When her eyes met his, he smiled.
“I want to see you. Beautiful Meara. Eyes of a gypsy, body of a goddess.”
He touched her as he spoke. No grappling now; he’d found his rhythm after all. Why rush through something so pleasurable when he could linger over it? He could feast on her breasts half a lifetime. Then there were her lips, soft and full—and as eager as his. And her shoulders, strong, capable. The surprisingly sweet stem of her neck. Sensitive there, just there under her jaw so she shivered when he kissed it.
He loved how she responded—a tremble, a catch of breath, a throaty moan—as he learned her body, inch by lovely inch.
Outside someone shouted out a half-drunken greeting, and followed it by a wild laugh.
But here, in the nest of the bed, there were only sighs, murmurs, and the quiet creak of the springs beneath them.
He’d taken the reins, she realized. She didn’t know how it happened, as she’d never given them over to anyone else. But somewhere between the hurry and the patience, she’d surrendered them to him.
His hands glided over her as if he had centuries to pet and stroke and linger. They kindled fires along the way until her body seemed to shimmer in the heat, to glow under her skin like the light he’d conjured.
She loved the feel of him, the long back, the narrow hips, the hard, workingman’s palms. He smelled of the woods, earthy and free, and the taste of him—lips, skin—was the same.
He tasted of home.
He touched where she ached to be touched, tasted where she longed for his lips. And found other secret places she hadn’t known longed for attention. The inside of her elbow, the back of her knee, the inside of her wrist. He murmured to her, sweet words that reached into her heart. Another light to glow.
He seemed to know when the glow became a pulse, and the pulse a throb of need. So he answered that need, drawing the pleasure up and up before spilling her over into release.
Weak from it, dazed by the flood and the flow, she clung to him, tried to right herself.
“A moment. Give me a moment.”
“It’s now,” he said. “It should be now.”
And slid inside her. Took her mouth as he took her, deep and slow.
It should be now, he thought again. For she was open for him to fill. Warm and wet for him.
Her moan, a sound of welcome; her arms strong ropes to bind him close.
She rose to him, wrapped those long legs around him. Moved with him as if they’d come together like this, just like this, over a hundred lifetimes. In the glow he’d made, in the glow that gleamed now from what they made together, he watched her.
Dubheasa. Dark beauty.
Watched her until what they made overwhelmed him, and the pleasure deepened dark as her eyes. In the dark and the light, he surrendered to her as she had to him. And let her take him with her.
* * *
SHE LAY, BASKING. SHE’D EXPECTED—ONCE SHE’D ACCEPTED she was having sex with Connor—a rollicking rough and tumble. Instead she’d been . . . tended, pleasured, even seduced, and with a delicate touch.
And had no complaints whatsoever.
Now her body felt all loose and soft and weak in the loveliest of ways.
She’d known he’d be good at it—God knew he’d had the practice—but she hadn’t known he’d be absolutely bloody brilliant.
So she could sigh now in utter satisfaction—with her hand resting on his very fine ass.
Just as she sighed, it occurred to her she couldn’t possibly have measured up. She’d been taken by surprise, she thought, and surely hadn’t done her best work—so to speak.
Was that why he was currently lying on her like a dead man?
She moved her hand, not quite sure now what to do or say.
He stirred.
“I suppose you’re wanting me to get off you.”
“Ah . . . Well.”
He rolled, sprawled on his back. When he said nothing at all, she cleared her throat.
“And what now?”
“I’m thinking,” he said. “That once we take a bit of a breather, we do it all over again.”
“I can do better.”
“Better than what?”
“Than I did. I was taken off-balance.”
He trailed a finger lazily down her side. “If you’d done better, I might need weeks of a breather.”
Unsure what that might mean, exactly, she pushed up enough to see his face. Since she knew what a satisfied male looked like, she relaxed again.
“So it went well for you then.”
He opened his eyes, looked into hers. “I’m considering how to answer that, for if I tell the truth you might say: Since it went so well, that’s all for you tonight. And I want you again before I’ve even caught my breath.”
He slid an arm under her, drew her over, cuddled her in so they were nose to nose. “And did it go well for you?”
“I’m considering how to answer that,” she said and made him grin.
“I’ve missed seeing you naked.”
“You haven’t seen me naked before tonight.”
“Sure have you forgotten the night you and me and Branna and Boyle and Fin snuck out and away to swim in the river?”
“We never— Oh, that.” Content, she tangled up her legs with his. “I was no more than nine, you git!”
“But naked all the same. I’ll say you grew up and around very well indeed.” He ran a hand down her back, over her ass, left it there. “Very well indeed.”
“And you yourself, if memory serves me, were built like a puny stick. You’ve done well yourself. We had fun that night,” she remembered. “Froze our arses, the lot of us, but it was grand. Innocent, all of us, and not a worry in the world. But he’d have been watching us, even then.”
“No.” Connor touched a finger to her lips. “Don’t bring him here, not tonight.”
“You’re right.” She brushed a hand through his hair. “How many, do you think, are where we are tonight who have all those years and memories between them?”
“Not many, I expect.”
“We can’t lose that, Connor. We can’t lose what we are to each other, to Branna, to all. We have to swear an oath on it. We won’t lose even a breath of the friends we’ve ever been, whatever happens.”
“Then I’ll swear it to you, and you to me.” He took her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers. “A sacred oath, never to be broken. Friends we’ve ever been, and ever will be.”
She saw the light glowing through their joined fingers, felt the warmth of it. “I swear it to you.”
“And I to you.” He kissed her fingers, then her cheek, then her lips. “I should tell you something else.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve my breath back now.”
And when she laughed, he rolled back on top of her.
* * *
SHE’D SHARED BREAKFAST WITH HIM BEFORE, COUNTLESS times. But never at the little table in her flat—and never after sharing the shower with him.
He could count himself lucky, she decided, that she’d picked up some nice croissants from the cafe when she’d gotten dessert for her mother.
Along with them she made her usual standby—oatmeal—while he dealt with the tea as she hadn’t any coffee in the pantry.
“We’re to meet tonight,” he reminded her, and bit into a croissant. “These are brilliant.”
“They are. I don’t step foot into the cafe often as I’d buy a dozen of everything. I’ll go by the cottage straight from the stables,” she added. “And help Branna with the cooking if I can. It’s good we’re meeting regular now, though I don’t know as any of us suddenly had a genius idea on what to do, exactly, and when to do it.”
“Well, we’re thinking, and together, so something will come.”
He believed it, and the croissants only helped boost his optimism.
“Why don’t I take you to the stables on my way, and just fetch you when we’re both done? It’d save you the petrol, and seems foolish for us to each take our lorries.”
“Then you’d have to bring me home after.”
“That was the canny part of my plan.” He hefted his tea as if toasting himself. “I’ll bring you back, stay with you again if that’s all right. Or you could just stay at the cottage.”
She downed tea he’d made strong enough to break stone. “What will Branna think of this?”
“We’ll be finding out soon enough. We wouldn’t hide it from her, either of us, even if we could. Which we couldn’t,” he added with an easy shrug, “as she’ll know.”
“They’ll all need to know.” No point, Meara decided, being delicate about it all. “It’s only right. Not just because we’re friends and family, but because we’re a circle. What we are to each other . . . that’s the circle, isn’t it?”
He scanned her face as she pushed oatmeal around in her bowl. “It shouldn’t worry you, Meara. We’ve a right to be with each other this way as long as we both want it. None who care for us would think or feel otherwise.”
“That’s right. But then as far as my other family—my blood kin—I’d as soon not bring them into it.”
“That’s for you to say.”
“It’s not that I’m ashamed of it, Connor, you mustn’t think that.”
“I don’t think that.” His eyebrows lifted as he took a spoonful of her oatmeal, brought it up to her mouth himself. “I know you, don’t I? Why would I think that, knowing you?”
“That’s an advantage between us. It’s that my mother would start fussing, and inviting you to dinner. I couldn’t take another kitchen disaster on the heels of the last—and my finances can’t take a bigger tab at Ryan’s Hotel. In any case, she’ll be off for her visit with Maureen soon—and unless that’s a fresh disaster, it’ll be a permanent move.”
“You’ll miss her.”
“I’d like the chance to.” She huffed out a breath, but ate some oatmeal before he took it into his head to feed her again. “And that sounds mean, but it’s pure truth. I think I’d have a better time with her if there was some distance. And . . .”
“And?”
“I had a moment yesterday, while I was rushing over there, not sure what I’d find. I suddenly thought, what if Cabhan’s been at her, as he’d been at me? It was foolish, as he’s no reason to, and never has. But I thought as well of what you said about feeling better knowing your parents were away from this. I’ll rest easier knowing that about my mother. This is for us to do.”
“And so we will.”
* * *
HE DROPPED HER OFF AT THE STABLES, THEN CIRCLED around to go home and change out of yesterday’s work clothes.
He found Branna already up—not dressed for the day as yet, but having her coffee with Sorcha’s spell book once again open in front of her.
“Well, good morning to you, Connor.”
“And to you, Branna.”
She studied him over the rim of her mug. “And how is our Meara this fine morning?”
“She’s well. I’ve just dropped her at the stables, but wanted to change before I went to work. And wanted to see how you fared as well.”
“I’m fit and fine, though I can say you look fitter and finer. You’ve had breakfast I take it?”
“I have, yes.” But he liked the looks of the glossy green apples she’d put in a bowl, and took one. “Does this bother you, Branna? Meara and myself?”
“Why would it when I love you both, and have seen the pair of you careful to skirt round the edges of what my brilliant brain deduces occurred last night—for years.”
“I never thought of her in that way before . . . Before.”
“You did, but told yourself not to, which is different entirely. You’d never hurt her.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
“And she’d never mean to hurt you.” Which, Branna thought, was another thing different entirely. “Sex is powerful, and I think will only add to the strength and power of the circle.”
“Obviously, we should’ve jumped into bed before this.”
She only laughed. “The pair of you had to be willing and wanting. Sex only to take power? That’s a selfish act, and damaging in the end.”
“I can promise we were both willing and wanting.” He bit into the apple, which tasted as tart and crisp as it looked. “And it’s occurring to me I left you on your own last night.”
“Don’t insult me.” Branna brushed that aside. “I can more than take care of myself and our home, as you well know.”
“I do know it.” He picked up the pot to top off her coffee. “And still I don’t like leaving you on your own.”
“I’ve learned to tolerate a houseful of people, even enjoy it. But as you know me you know I prize being on my own in a quiet house.”
“As I’d switch the prize and tolerate around, it’s a wonder we came from the same parents at times.”
“It may be you were left on the doorstep and taken in out of pity. But you’re handy enough to have around when a faucet’s dripping or a door squeaks.”
He pulled her hair, crunched his apple. “Still, you can’t ask us to give you that quiet and alone too often till this is done.”
“Sure I won’t. I’m after making beef bourguignon for the horde of us tonight.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Fancy.”
“I’m in the mood for fancy, and you’ll see someone brings some good red wine, and plenty of it.”
“That I’ll do.” He tossed the apple core in the compost pail, walked over, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Branna.”
“I know it. Go on and change your clothes before you’re late for work.”
When he left, she sat looking away and out the window. She wanted him happy, more even than she wanted happiness for herself. And yet, knowing he was on his way to finding what he didn’t yet know he wanted made her feel so painfully alone.
Sensing it, Kathel rose from beneath the table, laid his head in her lap. So she sat, stroking the dog, and returned to poring over the spell book.
* * *
IONA STEPPED INTO THE TACK ROOM WHERE MEARA organized the equipment needed for her first guided ride of the morning.
“It’s coming time for another good going-over of everything in here,” Meara said cheerfully. “I’m taking out a party of four, two brothers and their wives who’ve come to Ashford for a big family wedding on the weekend. Their niece it is, having the wedding at Ballintubber Abbey, where you and Boyle will marry next spring, then back to Ashford they’ll all come for the reception.”
“You and Connor had sex.”
Meara looked up, and blinking dramatically began to pat herself front and back. “Am I wearing a sign then?”
“You’ve been smiling all morning, and singing.”
“I’ve been known to smile and sing without having sex beforehand.”
“You don’t sing the whole time you’re mucking stalls. And you look really, really relaxed, which you wouldn’t, without sex, after a day like you had yesterday. Since you kissed Connor, you had sex with him.”
“Some people are known to kiss without having sex. And don’t you have a lesson in the ring on the schedule?”
“I have five minutes, and this is the first time I could catch you alone. Unless you want Boyle to know. It was wonderful, it was good or you wouldn’t look so happy.”
“It was wonderful and good, and it’s not a secret. Connor and I both agree—as we’re a circle, and something like this can change matters, though it won’t—all should know we’re together that way. Right now.”
She gathered reins, bit, saddle, blanket. “So we are.”
“You’re good together— You’re happy,” Iona added, hauling up more tack herself and following Meara out. “So you’re good together. Why do you say right now?”
“Because right now is right now, and who knows what tomorrow might be? You and Boyle can look forward—you’re both built that way.” She stepped into Maggie’s stall, the mare she’d chosen for one of the women. “I’m a day-at-a-time sort on matters like this.”
“And Connor?”
“I’ve never known him to be otherwise on any matter. That’s for Caesar. Just leave it there and I’ll tend to it. You have a lesson.”
“At least tell me, was it romantic?”
“You’ve such a soft heart, Iona, but I can tell you it was. And that was unexpected, and really lovely.” For a moment, just a moment, she leaned her cheek against Maggie’s soft neck. “I thought, well, once it was clear we were going forward, we’d just tear in. But . . . he made the room glow. And me with it.”
“That’s beautiful.” Iona stepped in, hugged Meara hard. “Just beautiful. Now I’m happy, too.”
Iona led Alastar, her big, beautiful gray, already saddled and waiting, out of his stall, toward the ring. Smiled as she heard Meara singing again.
“She’s in love,” Iona murmured to her horse, and rubbed his strong neck. “She just doesn’t know it yet.” When Alastar nuzzled her, she laughed. “I know, she’s still glowing some. I saw it, too.”
Meara switched to humming as she led horses to the paddock, looped reins around the fence. She turned to go back for the last, spotted Boyle bringing Rufus along.
“Thanks for that. Since Iona’s got a lesson going in the ring, I’ll take the group around the paddock a bit, be sure they’re as experienced as they say before we start off.”
She looked up. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it? It’s nice they’ve booked a full hour.”
“And we’ve just had someone else ring up to book another four-group for noon. This wedding’s bringing them along.”
“I can take that as well.” She had energy enough to ride and muck and groom all day and half the night. “I owe you for taking so much time away yesterday.”
“We won’t start owing around here,” he said, “but it would help if you could as Iona’s got two at half ten, Mick’s doing a lesson at eleven, and with Patty at the dentist this morning, and Deborah booked for one o’clock, we’re a bit squeezed. Still, I could do it myself.”
“You hate doing the guideds, and I don’t mind at all.” She gave him a pat on the cheek, had him giving her a hard stare.
“You’re a cheerful sort this morning.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” she asked as four people strolled toward the stables. “It’s a bright day at last, my mother’s going for a long visit with a strong potential of a permanent move to Maureen’s, and I had hot and brilliant sex with Connor last night.”
“It’s good your mother’s having a visit with— What?”
Meara had to smother a snort at the way Boyle’s mouth hung open. “I had sex with Connor last night, and this morning as well.”
“You . . .” He trailed off, shoved his hands in his pockets, so absolutely Boyle she couldn’t resist patting his cheek again.
“I suspect he’s cheerful himself, but you can ask him yourself at the first opportunity. It’s the McKinnons, is it?” Meara called out as she went, smiling all the way, to meet her morning group.
In short order, with the paperwork done, and her ignoring Boyle’s questioning stares, she had her group outfitted and mounted.
“Well now, I can see you all know what you’re about,” she said when they’d walked and trotted around the paddock. She opened the gate for them, mounted Queen Bee.
“You’ve picked a fine morning, and there’s no better way to see what you’ll see than on the back of a horse. And how are you enjoying your stay at Ashford?” she began, sliding into easy small talk as she led them away from the stables.
She answered questions, let them chat among themselves, turned in the saddle now and again just to check—and to let them know they had her attention.
It was lovely, she thought, to ride through the woods with the sky blue overhead, with the earthy perfumes of autumn wafting on the soft and pretty breeze. The scents reminded her of Connor, had her smile brightening.
Then there he was, out and about with his own group on a hawk walk. He wore a work vest but no cap so his hair danced around his face, teased by that soft and pretty breeze. He shot her a grin as he baited his client’s glove, and the wife readied her camera.
“Family of yours?” Meara asked as her group and Connor’s called out to each other.
“Cousins—our husbands’.” The woman—Deirdre—moved up to ride beside Meara for a moment. “We talked about trying the hawk walk ourselves.”
“Sure and you should. It’s a wonderful experience to take back with you.”
“Do all the falconers look like that one?”
“Oh, that would be Connor who runs the school. And he’s one of a kind.” I had sex with him before breakfast, she thought, and shot a grin of her own back at him as she led her group on.
“Connor,” she heard the woman say as she fell in behind Meara. “Jack, we should all book that hawk walk.”
Under the circumstances, Meara couldn’t blame her.
She led them along the river, enjoyed them, enjoyed the ride. She took them deep into the green where the shadows thickened, and out again where that blue sky shone over the trees.
When she began to circle them back, she saw the wolf.
Just a shadow in the shadows, with its paws sunk into mist. The stone around its neck gleamed like an eye even as the wolf itself seemed to waver like a vapor.
Her horse trembled under her. “Steady now,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the wolf as she stroked Queen Bee’s neck. “You be steady now and the rest will follow your lead. You’re the queen, remember.”
The wolf paced them, coming no closer.
Birds no longer sang in the woods; squirrels no longer raced busily along the branches.
Meara took the necklace Connor had given her from under her sweater, held it out a little so the stones caught the light.
Behind her, her group chatted away, oblivious.
The wolf showed its fangs; Meara put a hand on the knife she wore on her belt. If it came, she would fight. Protect the people she guided, the horses, herself.
She would fight.
The hawk dived—from the blue, through the green.
Meara no more than blinked, and the shadow of the wolf was gone.
“Oh, there’s one of the hawks!” Deidre pointed to the branch where the bird perched now, wings folded. “Did he get loose?”
“No, not at all.” Meara steadied herself, put her smile back in place as she turned in the saddle. “That’s Connor’s own Roibeard, having a bit of fun before going back to the school.”
She lifted her hand to the necklace again, and rode easily out of the woods.