Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

“She’ll be staying at the cottage until this is finished, but thanks. I’m taking her home now. But will you come? When you can, will you come?”

“You know I will. We all will.”

“I’m with you now, Meara.” She heard Branna’s voice, felt Branna’s hand stroke her hair, her cheek. “I’m right here with you.”

She wanted to speak, but nothing came out but those terrible, tearing sobs.

“Go with them,” Boyle said. “Go with them, Iona. It should be the three with her. I’ll see to Alastar. Take the lorry and go with them.”

“Come soon.”

Meara turned her head enough to see Iona running for Boyle’s lorry, climbing behind the wheel. Running through the rain, through the mists while the world rocked back and forth, back and forth like the deck of a ship in a storm.

And the pain in her chest, in her throat, in every part of her burned like the fires of hell.

She wondered if she’d died. If she’d died damned as the father who wasn’t her father had said.

“Shh now,” Connor said again. “You’re alive and you’re safe, and you’re with us. Rest now, darling. Just rest now.”

On his words, she slipped into warm sleep.

17

SHE HEARD VOICES, MURMURING—SOFT, SOOTHING. SHE felt hands, stroking—light, gentle. It seemed she floated on a warm pallet of air with the scents of lavender and candle wax all around. Bathed in light, she knew peace.

Murmuring became words, garbled and indistinct, as if spoken through water.

“It’s rest she needs now. Rest and quiet. Let the healing do its work.” Branna’s voice, so weary.

“She’s some color back, doesn’t she?” And Connor’s, anxious, shaky.

“She does, and her pulse is steady again.”

“She’s strong, Connor.” Now Iona, a bit hoarse as if from sleep or tears. “And so are we.”

Then she drifted again, floating, floating into comforting silence.

Waking was like a dream.

She saw Connor sitting beside her, eyes closed, his face illuminated by the glow of the candles all around the room. It was as if he’d been painted in pale, luminous gold.

Her first conscious thought was it was ridiculous for a man to be that handsome.

She started to say his name, but before she could speak it, his eyes opened, looked directly into hers. And she knew by the color, the intensity of the green, more than the candlelight illuminated him.

“There you are.” When he smiled the intensity faded, and it was only Connor and candlelight. “Lie still and quiet, just for a moment.”

He held his hands over her face, closed his eyes again, as he skimmed them down, over her heart, back again. “That’s good. That’s fine now.”

He removed something from her forehead, her collarbone, leaving the faintest tingle behind.

“What is that?” Was that her voice? That frog croak?

“Healing stones.”

“Was I sick?”

“You were, but you’re doing well now.”