“Connor and Meara are on their way.”
“Then we’d best be on ours.” Branna reached for Fin’s hand, then Boyle’s. When Iona took Boyle’s other hand, they flew.
Through the cool and the damp, through the wind and over the trees, across the river, then the lake with the castle of Ashford shining behind them.
They landed softly, in a stand of trees, in a place she didn’t recognize.
“Here?”
“It’s where I lost him. It’s been hundreds of years since Midor and his cave,” Fin pointed out. “Some houses not far, some roads, but as with Sorcha’s cabin, I think the place where Cabhan was made will remain, in some form.”
“There’s a quiet here.” Eyes watchful, Boyle studied the lay of the land. “A kind of hard hush.”
Feeling the same, Fin nodded. “We’re a superstitious breed, we Irish, and wise enough to build around a faerie hill without disturbing it, to leave a stone dance where it stands. And to keep back from a place where the dark still thrums.”
He glanced over at Boyle. “We agreed to stay together, but it’s fact we’d cover more ground if we split up.”
“Together,” Branna said firmly, as she’d expected him to suggest it. “And if the dark still thrums?” She drew out a wand with a tip of glass-clear crystal. “The light will find it.”
“I don’t recall that being in the plan.”
“Best to be prepared,” she repeated. She lifted her wand to the sky until the tip pulsed light. And watched Merlin circle above them.
“Between my wand and your hawk, we should find the lair. It pulls north.”
“Then we go north.” Boyle took Iona’s hand in his again, and the four of them headed north.
• • •
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER CONNOR AND MEARA walked in the woods. He’d linked with Roibeard, who swooped through the trees, and with Merlin, who watched the rest of the circle travel another wood.
“It’s a pleasure to finally have some time to go hawking with you. It’s been too long since we just took an hour for it.”
“I need to practice more,” Meara responded, easy and casual, though her throat was dry. “So I’m full ready when we add the package.”
“We could’ve come on horseback.”
“This will do.” She lifted a gloved arm for Roibeard, and though the hawking was a ploy, enjoyed having him.
“Would you want a hawk of your own?” Connor asked her.
She glanced at him in genuine surprise. “I’ve never thought of it.”
“You should have your own. A female if you find one who speaks to you. Your hawk and mine could mate.”
The idea brought a smile as it seemed a lovely thought, and a normal one. “I’ve never tended to a hawk on my own.”
“I’d help you, but you’d do well with it. You’ve helped often enough with Merlin when Fin’s gone rambling. We could build a place for them when we build our house. If you’re still in the mind to build one.”
“I’ve hardly thought of that either, as I’m barely making strides on the wedding.” She let Roibeard fly again. “And there’s Cabhan to worry about.”
“We won’t think of him today,” Connor said, though both of them thought of little else. “Today we follow Roibeard’s dance. Give us a song, Meara, something bright to lift Roibeard’s wings.”
“Something bright, is it?” She took his hand, swung his arm playfully as they walked. But she wanted that connection, the physical of it, as they both knew the music could bring Cabhan.
They’d planned on it.