Shadows and Light

Chapter Twenty-six

Liam rode through the arch at a gallop, but reined in quickly. Too many people about the Old Place these days to ride into the midst of them so recklessly. But taking care of the people who were his responsibility had taken time, and the day was making that long, soft slide into twilight. Still plenty of daylight left at this time of year, so close to the Solstice, but it wasn’t bright, burning sunlight.

“Where are the children?” Liam snapped as soon as Clay approached to take his horse. “Where’s Breanna?”

“The children are about here and there, same as they’ve been for the past few days. Breanna and Keely walked to the far pasture. That stallion of yours has been spooked all day, and he’s got all the other horses stirred up. Even I couldn’t get close enough to him to do anything. He likes Keely, so she and Breanna went out to see if they could lead him in.”

A chill went through Liam, swiftly followed by a shimmer of heat beneath his skin. He’d been fighting that heat all afternoon, ever since one of his tenant farmers had come running to the manor house to report a heavy smell of something rotting near a tree the man swore hadn’t been dead a couple of days ago.

“Where’s your far pasture?” Liam asked, fairly sure he already knew. He’d noticed some horses grazing when he and Squire Thurston had ridden out to see what his tenant had found.

Clay jerked a thumb in a northerly direction. “Borders your land. We don’t use it much—at least, we haven’t until now. So if you’re worried about your cows straying across the creek to graze—”

“We found signs of nighthunters a little while ago,” Liam said abruptly. “On my land, but near that pasture. I’m going after Breanna and Keely. You alert the other men. Make sure the children stay close enough to the house that they can get to shelter quickly if they have to.”

“We’ll see to it,” Clay said, looking pale. “A few of us will follow after you to bring in the horses.”

Nodding, Liam urged his gelding forward. He heard Clay shout at someone and saw an adolescent boy dash for the gate that opened into the near pasture, not more than a couple of acres of land that was used for grazing and exercising the horses that were usually here. With all the horses that had come with Breanna’s kin, they’d needed to use the other pastures.

But why that one? Liam asked silently as he galloped toward the gate at the other end of the pasture. And why today? Why hadn’t anyone paid attention to Oakdancer’s uneasiness and brought the horses in sooner? The stallion might have the habit of leaping a fence and going visiting whenever it suited him—which is why, with Nuala’s permission, he’d left Oakdancer at the Old Place since trying to keep him at the estate had been pointless—but he was a fairly easy-tempered animal when approached the right way. Clay should have realized there was a reason for the horse being spooked. He shouldn’t have allowed Keely and Breanna to go out to that pasture.

Liam smiled wryly as he reined in and maneuvered his gelding so that he could open the pasture gate without dismounting. With the informality and the way everyone at the Old Place worked together, it was easy to forget that Clay actually worked for Breanna’s family and wasn’t a male relative who was entitled to strongly voice an opinion about what his female relatives did or didn’t do. Not that those females would pay any attention, but he would have been entitled to voice an opinion. Which, come to think of it, Clay tended to do anyway.

The earth in the next pasture had been turned and now held planted fields, except for the wide green stretch of grass that served as a road between the fields. Winter feed for the animals, Liam noted as his horse galloped over the grass road. It hadn’t been planted that many days ago, but the plants looked as big as the ones in his own fields that his tenants had planted in the spring. Earth magic. A calling to the land to yield what was needed. Were there other witches here now to help Keely draw out that branch of the Mother? Breanna’s kin were wary of him because he was a baron, so he hadn’t asked many questions. But his mother would know.

The gate to the far pasture was open, and he saw horses trotting toward him. He wondered if he should close the gate to keep the animals from getting into the young fields, then dismissed the thought. Better they trample a bit of the field than to have any of them panicking and trying to jump a wall to escape.

He rode past the horses. The land rolled softly, so it wasn’t until his horse took the next low rise that he saw Breanna and Keely. Now that they were in sight, he slowed his horse to a canter.

They’d managed to get a rope attached to Oakdancer’s halter. Keely was leading the stallion, who kept tugging on the lead rope, making Keely run a few steps to keep her balance.

Oakdancer wasn’t trying to run away, but he seemed determined to keep Keely moving in the direction of the manor house. Liam couldn’t make out the words, but he was close enough now to catch the scolding yet cajoling tone of Keely’s voice. She sounded like Brooke, and like his little sister would have done, she concentrated on the horse, not really believing there were dangerous, deadly creatures now hiding somewhere on the land she’d known all her life. She probably thought of them as being deliciously scary, like something out of a story. It might frighten, but it couldn’t harm.

Mentally, Keely was as much of a child as Brooke. But Breanna was not a child, and as he slowed his horse to a trot, he saw the way she walked a few steps behind Keely and Oakdancer, scanning the sky, looking back over her shoulder at the nearest trees.

And he saw her freeze suddenly as she looked at those trees.

Framed by the rich greens of summer was one tree with several large, dead branches that looked like old bones. Had those branches been dead when the men had brought the horses into this pasture?

The wind shifted, now coming from the direction of those trees.

Liam had a moment to wonder if that had been Breanna’s doing before the horses went mad.

Oakdancer reared, pulling Keely off her feet. Liam’s horse suddenly swerved to the left, almost throwing him as it made a tight circle to run back toward the manor house. Liam reined in hard, startling the animal just long enough to give himself a chance to dismount and make a quick knot in the reins to shorten them enough to keep the horse from stepping on them. Then he let the horse go.

As he turned back toward Breanna, he saw a black cloud of small, winged bodies pour out of the trees, flying fast toward the two women.

Breanna whirled around, raced to reach Keely. When she shouted, “Stand!” Oakdancer’s front hooves hit the ground. The stallion was trembling but stood firm.

Keely got to her feet, her lips pushed out in a pout. She started to argue, but Breanna cut the argument short by grabbing Keely’s shoulders and turning her so that she could clearly see what was heading toward them. Then Breanna spun the mental child who was her mother, grabbed one leg, and gave Keely enough of a boost to mount Oakdancer’s bare back.

Breanna glanced back at the trees and slapped Oakdancer’s flank, shouting, “Go!”

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest as he ran toward Breanna. Oakdancer cantered right toward him, ears pricked, dark eyes focused on the man he trusted.

“Go!” Liam said, pointing in the direction of Breanna’s house.

“No!” Keely cried, looking back as if she finally understood what was going to happen. “No! Breanna!”

“Go!” Liam shouted.

The stallion stretched into a smooth gallop and quickly disappeared with Keely.

Liam turned back to look at Breanna. For one long moment, the world held its breath, and he saw her standing there, as strong as the land, the nighthunters filling the sky behind her.

He and Breanna couldn’t run fast enough to escape, and they had no weapons. They were going to die in that pasture, and they both knew it.

“You could have mounted the stallion,” Breanna said. “Why didn’t you go when you had the chance?”

“You’re my sister. I won’t let you stand alone.”

Pleasure. Sorrow. Determination. He saw all those things in her face. Then she said, “The villagers need a strong baron who will stand for them against the Inquisitors and the barons they control. My family needs a strong baron to stand for them. None of them will have that if you die here. Run, Liam. Run now.”

She turned and moved toward the approaching swarm of nighthunters.

He froze for a moment, unwilling to believe she would stand as bait and sacrifice.

“Breanna, no!”

Heat throbbed under his skin as the distance between Breanna and the nighthunters closed too fast. She was right about the county he ruled needing a strong baron.

He took a step toward her.

She was right.

Took another step.

His heart didn’t care if she was right. She was his sister.

She glanced back at him, saw him moving toward her. She lifted her skirt, as if preparing to run.

He would never know for sure if she’d intended to run toward the nighthunters to give him more of a chance to escape or if she’d intended to run back toward him. He would never know because, at that moment before she moved, the hawk screamed.

It dove toward the nighthunters, toward Breanna.

Liam felt a stab of jealousy when he saw that same blend of feelings in her face when she looked up at the hawk as she’d had when she’d looked at him.

No. Not quite the same. There was something more there, something a woman wouldn’t feel for a brother.

“No!” Breanna shouted.

The hawk had almost reached her. So had the nighthunters.

Wind whipped around her, swirling, gusting, coming from no direction and every direction.

Breanna swung her left hand upward, as if she were tossing a ball into the air.

The hawk screamed again, but it sounded more surprised than angry as the wind Breanna summoned caught it and lifted it straight up into the sky, too high for the nighthunters to attack. Too high to help Breanna.

She made a slashing motion with her right hand, first in one direction, then the other. Wind howled over that part of the pasture, hit the nighthunters, and sent the swarm tumbling in the air.

Liam heard the creatures’ squeaking shrieks. Some of them fell to the ground, with one or both wings broken. They flopped and crawled toward Breanna, their mouths open to reveal needle-sharp teeth.

Breanna skipped backward a couple of steps to stay away from the nighthunters on the ground. She made that slashing motion again, and the wind continued to whip around that part of the pasture, keeping the rest of the nighthunters tumbling. Then she turned and ran.

Liam couldn’t tell if her foot slipped on a stone or came down wrong in a depression in the land, but she’d run only a few steps when she fell, sprawling full length in the grass.

He ran toward her as the nighthunter swarm fought against the wind to reach its prey. The heat under his skin pulsed like it was alive, feeding on his fear and fury.

“NO!” He flung one hand forward, as if that gesture would stop the nighthunters. Heat roared up from the soles of his feet, up through his legs, through his body, and finally raced down that outstretched arm.

Streams of fire leaped from his fingertips. He spread his fingers. The fire fanned out, following the movement. It hit the nighthunters, consuming them in the flames.

Breanna glanced up, then screamed as charred, stillburning bodies fell and hit her skirt. She crawled forward as fast as she could to get away from the falling bodies.

Fire continued to pour from Liam’s fingertips. Terrified, he waved his hand. The fire followed the movement, catching more of the nighthunters, burning them in the fierce heat.

“Liam!” Breanna shouted, continuing to crawl toward him.

Heat continued to flow through his body on its way to his hand. He didn’t know what he’d done to cause this, didn’t know how to stop it. He started to lower his hand, but the fire streamed out, setting the grass ablaze.

“Ground it, Liam!” Breanna shouted. “Ground the power!”

He didn’t understand what she was saying, didn’t know what she meant. There was no power, only this heat that, somehow, had become tangible.

Squeaking furiously, the remaining nighthunters fled back to the safety of the trees.

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest. His legs shook. His lungs couldn’t seem to draw in enough air. The heat was starting to fade, leaving him feeling exhausted and a little ill, but fire continued to spurt from his fingertips, burning more of the grass.

He heard men shouting behind him, heard someone giving orders to bring water and wet blankets—and fetch Nuala.

“Liam!”

Breanna’s voice slashed at him. He just looked at her, feeling the panicked desperation of a child who had gotten himself in trouble and now hoped the adults around him could save him from his own folly.

“You have to ground the power now, Liam,” Breanna said, her voice strained by the effort to sound calm as she crawled on hands and knees toward him.

“Breanna, I don’t—”

“I know, Liam. I know. It will be all right. You drew too much power, that’s all. Now you have to ground it, give it back to the Mother. Focus, Liam. Focus on holding on to the fire, of not letting it go.”

The heat began building in his hand, started flowing back up his arm. Too hot. Too hot. He had to let it go or burn.

Breanna got to her feet and sprinted to cover the last bit of distance between them. She grabbed his arm, then dropped to her knees, pulling him down with her.

“Put your hands on the ground,” Breanna said, her voice firm but quiet.

“It’ll burn,” Liam protested.

“No, it won’t.” She tugged at him until his hands were pressed against the earth.

The grass beneath his hands wilted, turned brown, began to crisp.

“What do you feel?” Breanna asked.

“Heat. It’s building again.” Liam heard the panic in his voice, but couldn’t control that any more than he could control the heat.

“Heat is how you feel the power you’re drawing from the Mother. You don’t need it, so you’re going to give it back. Concentrate, Liam. Concentrate on slowly sending that heat into the land. Picture it spreading out under the land, spreading out like a warm, shallow pool of water rather than a basin of boiling water. The heat flows softly out of your hands. Softly. Softly. Can you picture that?”

Closing his eyes, he could picture it quite clearly. He felt the heat spread out under his hands. The ground was already sun-warmed from the day and hadn’t begun to cool with the coming twilight. It felt a little warmer now, but not hot. Thank the Great Mother, it didn’t feel hot.

Breanna ran her hands down his arms. He felt the heat follow her hands as she guided it to the land. When she finally sat back on her heels, his hands still felt hot but the rest of his body was cold enough that he started shivering.

“That’s enough for now,” Breanna said. “We’ll go back to the house and finish it there.”

Liam looked up. The men who had come with Clay to gather the horses and, when they saw the burning pasture, to put out the fire, were standing a few lengths away, just staring at him with a strange expression on their faces.

“The fire,” Liam said, his voice rough as he forced it out of a parched throat.

“Rory and some of the others can control it,” Breanna said. “It won’t spread.” She looked at the men. “I need to get him back to the house.”

“Take one of the horses,” Clay said. “We’ll wait here for Nuala.”

Rory stepped forward. He took one of Liam’s arms while Breanna took the other. “Can you get to your feet, Baron Liam, or do we need to be carrying you?” Rory asked.

“I can stand.” He could—barely—but he was grateful for their support as they walked him toward the nervous horses.

Breanna mounted one of the horses. With Rory’s help, Liam mounted behind her. She held the horse to a canter, which told Liam she was more confident of his ability not to set them both on fire than he was. He wasn’t sure what more she could do at the house to help him, but he wanted to get there as fast as possible.

Then he heard ... He wasn’t sure what he’d heard until he glanced over his right shoulder and saw the hawk flying above them, keeping pace with the horse. He’d never heard a hawk be quite that... vocal... but if that was a Fae Lord, he, being another man, had a good idea what opinions the hawk was expressing about being tossed out of a fight by a witch more determined to protect others than be protected.

“Breanna,” Liam said, intending to call her attention to their escort.

Her back stiffened. “I’ll deal with him later.”

Liam grinned. If he were a betting man, he’d wager on the witch to win. He wondered if the hawk would be following them if it had any idea what it would have to deal with as soon as Breanna got done dealing with him.

As they rode through the pasture near the house, his grin faded. There were a lot of unanswered questions about him now, weren’t there?

An hour later, Liam watched the steam gently rising from the basin of water. The water had been cold when Breanna poured it over his hands a few minutes ago, but it didn’t stay cold long, not with the heat still draining from his hands.

When Breanna led him into the kitchen, shouting for someone to bring a large basin and cold water, several women had hurried to bring what was needed. After observing how fast the water went from cold to steaming, they brought another basin and a couple of pitchers of water. When the water began to steam again, they took that basin and slid the next one into place, pouring more cold water over his hands.

Witches were very practical people, he discovered. They were using all the hot water he was providing to wash the evening dishes.

Practical and strong-willed. Any gentry woman of his acquaintance would have become hysterical after what happened in the pasture. Breanna had remained in control—right up until she’d run her fingers through her hair and combed out a piece of charred nighthunter wing. Her shriek had brought everyone running, and he’d watched that strong will crumble under the fear she’d held at bay.

Now they were both sitting at one of the tables in the kitchen, wrapped in blankets to fight a coldness that came from within.

He glanced longingly at the kettle of soup simmering on the stove. He wanted something that would help thaw the chill in the rest of his body.

“Almost done,” Breanna said, smiling wearily. “I figure another basin of water will absorb enough of the power so that it’s back to what you’re used to.”

Used to? He’d felt that heat under his skin all his life, but nothing like this had ever happened before. “Why did this happen now?”

“I don’t know, Liam,” Breanna said softly. “I can only guess that whatever wall you’d built inside yourself to protect you from having the gift manifest itself broke because the need to use the gift was stronger than the need to deny it.”

“But I—” Liam swallowed hard. He’d been drinking water to ease the fever-dry feeling, but his throat still felt tight. “What am I, Breanna?”

“Nothing more and nothing less than what you’ve always been. You’re still gentry, still the Baron of Willowsbrook. But you’re also a Son of the House of Gaian. You always were. The only difference is you know it now.”

“Am I a witch?” He held his breath, not sure which answer he wanted from her.

“It’s not a word we usually use when a man has a gift from one of the Mother’s branches.” Breanna shrugged. “Gentry, baron, witch. They’re words, Liam. Just words. You’ll have to decide which words you’ll claim as your own and which ones you’ll let go.” She supped her hand into the water, curled her fingers around his. “But I can tell you one thing you’re not and never will be.”

He looked into her woodland eyes—eyes so like his own—and saw a mischievous sparkle in them. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“You’re not one of the Mother’s Daughters. You don’t have the tits for it.”

He didn’t think anything could make him laugh after the things that had happened that day, but as his laughter filled the kitchen, he felt the last of the heat in his hands fade away.

Breanna stepped outside. Liam was finally getting the bowl of soup he’d been wanting. Nuala had returned from the pasture and was sitting with him now, having assured both of them that the fire in the pasture was out. The rain she’d drawn from the clouds had quenched the fire better than anything else could have done. Tomorrow Nuala would begin teaching Liam how to ground the power he could channel from the Great Mother. Together, she and Nuala would begin teaching him how to use it safely.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight, all she wanted was a hot, deep bath so that she could scrub her hair and skin clean. A hot bath, a bowl of that soup with some bread and cheese, and settling into bed early with a favorite book that she knew had a happy ending. In real life, one couldn’t count on happy endings. Tonight she needed one.

She wasn’t going to get any of those things until she dealt with the other male who had wedged his way into her life.

At least he wasn’t going to make her look for him, Breanna thought sourly as she spotted the hawk perched on one of the poles that supported the clotheslines.

“You!” she shouted, pointing a finger at the hawk. She swung that finger until it pointed to the bench under the tree where they would have a little privacy for this discussion. “Get over there!”

She saw several of the men gathered around the stables take a half step to follow her command before realizing she wasn’t talking to them. Deciding to save her temper for dealing with the Fae featherhead, she ignored the men’s grins as she strode to the tree.

The hawk fluffed its feathers and stayed where it was.

Breanna’s temper soared. The nearby trees bowed to the sudden gust of wind.

“Get over here, or I’ll summon a wind that will pluck every feather you’ve got!”

She clenched her fists and made the effort to ground the power her temper had summoned. The wind eased, releasing the trees.

The hawk turned his head, stared at the trees for a moment, then flew over to the bench, landing as far away from Breanna as he could while still obeying her order.

It was tempting to take the couple of steps between them and smack him right on the top of his feathered head. But the anger and fear that she’d held at bay were now churning nastily in her belly, and since she hadn’t smacked Keely or Liam, who had both contributed to those feelings, she couldn’t, in all fairness, shovel all of it on a hawk who was staring at his feet, waiting to get yelled at.

So who said she had to be fair?

“Those were nighthunters, you featherhead,” she said through clenched teeth. “Did you know that? Do you have any idea what those things could have done to you if they’d bitten you? Just one bite? Mother’s tits! What were you thinking of to go flying at them like that?”

Her. He’d been thinking of her. She’d known that the moment she saw him diving toward the swarm. What she didn’t understand was why he’d do that.

“I can’t talk to you like this. I can, but the discussion is a little one-sided. I would appreciate it if you would change to your other form.” And if he didn’t, she’d call up a little wind and knock him right off the bench.

She turned her head to give him some privacy—and found herself staring at the men who were still gathered near the stables, watching with unfeigned interest. She stared harder. They quickly moved out of sight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. When she turned her head, the hawk was gone and a young man dressed in a brown coat and trousers sat on the bench, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes focused on his boots. He was about her age—a pleasant-looking young man whose clothes looked as if he’d been living rough for a while.

With effort, Breanna swallowed her temper. He was afraid. No, not quite afraid, but... heart-bruised in some way.

“I brought you a rabbit,” he said softly.

“And a salmon,” she replied just as softly.

He blushed, shifted on the bench as if it had suddenly become uncomfortable.

Breanna sat down on the bench, near enough that she could touch him if she reached out but not so close that she would inadvertently brush against him. “What’s your name?”

“Falco.”

“You’re a Lord of the Hawks?”

“The Lord of the Hawks.” A touch of arrogance filled his voice—enough to have him raise his head, but not enough for him to look at her.

The Lord of the Hawks had brought her rabbits to pay for a clothes-peg. If someone else had told her that, she would have dismissed it as a funny story.

“Why?”

Frowning, he glanced at her—then looked away just as quickly. “Why am I the Lord of the Hawks?”

Breanna shook her head. She lifted a hand in a gesture that encompassed the Old Place. “Why are you here? The Fae haven’t wanted anything to do with us before now.”

“You’re the Mother’s Daughters, the House of Gaian.”

“We always were. Why does that make a difference now?”

He shifted again. “Aiden says—” He stopped, his eyes widening.

“I know Aiden and Lyrra are Fae.”

The relief on his face made her want to smile, so she pressed her lips together.

“Aiden says the witches need to be protected. There’s not much I can do, except... maybe if I gave a warning soon enough, you—your family—would be able to escape before the Inquisitors ...”

He knew someone who wasn’t warned in time, Breanna thought. “There are other Fae keeping watch over the Old Place.” But none of them had tried to help her against the nighthunters.

“Them.”

The anger in his voice surprised her.

“They aren’t watching to help you. They just want to be sure you don’t do anything that might endanger them.”

“What could we do that would endanger the Fae?”

Falco finally looked at her. “You could leave. You could run away to escape the Black Coats. If a witch doesn’t live in an Old Place, the shining road closes, and that piece of Tir Alainn disappears unless enough of the Fae can get down the shining road fast enough to keep the road open. But they have to stay and live in the Old Place.”

“I see.” Making sure her family stayed so they wouldn’t have to fit what she’d heard of the Fae’s self-interest—but it didn’t fit the Fae she’d actually met. “That explains the Fae skulking about in the woods. It doesn’t explain you.”

He looked unhappy. “You’re interesting.” He winced, but pushed on. “I wanted to know how witches lived.”

“And how do we live?”

His eyes were too shiny. “You’re real, and the world you live in is real.” He shook his head. “Aiden could explain it. The Bard would have the words. And ... I like you, even when you yell at me.”

Breanna felt a tightness in her chest. Curiosity may have brought him that first day, but he had come back for other reasons. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine too closely the reasons why she’d found herself looking for him each day—or why she’d felt so frightened for him when he tried to attack the nighthunters. Maybe, now that she could talk to him, they could find out whether they truly liked each other.

“So,” Breanna said, “you come down to the Old Place in the morning and go back to Tir Alainn each night?” His face tightened, and she realized she’d touched the heart-bruise. “Falco?”

“The Clan who lives in this piece of Tir Alainn didn’t like me coming here, didn’t like that you could see me. Didn’t like that I was helping you at all. They got angry over a rabbit. Just a rabbit. They said—” He paused. “They told me if I continued to visit you, I wasn’t welcome in their Clan’s territory.”

“You weren’t—?” Breanna stared at him. “You haven’t been going back to Tir Alainn?”

He shook his head.

“Then ... where have you been staying?”

“My horse is in a small clearing, and the Small Folk... They’ve been kind. They helped me store my saddle and other gear where it would be safe.”

“You’ve been staying out in the woods?”

Falco shrugged. “As a hawk, it isn’t difficult.”

Breanna continued to stare at him. She felt as if the world had suddenly become one of those toys that Brooke had brought over one day—the tube with colored pieces of glass that shifted and formed a new pattern when you rolled the tube. This moment had shifted unexpectedly, showing her a new pattern.

He’s lonely. All these days, shunned by his own kind because he believed we were people who mattered instead of tools the Fae could command and use at their whim. What had he felt, watching us laugh and squabble and work together? He didn’t risk his human form, didn’t want to be sent away. Who could blame him for that? And now. .. Now he expects to be sent away. Where would he go? Who could he work with, laugh with, squabble with?

She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Have you eaten this evening?”

He shook his head.

“Then come in the house.” She tried to smile, but found she was too close to tears and had to fight to keep her voice steady. “After you have something to eat, I’ll ask Clay and Rory to go with you to fetch your horse and gear. You shouldn’t be out in the woods alone, not with the nighthunters out there.”

He shook his head again. “You’ve got so many people already with all your kin here.”

“There’s room for one more.” She hesitated, then placed a hand on his arm. “There’s a place for you here, Falco. There’s a place for you here.”

She slid her hand down until it brushed his. He turned his hand so that he could hold hers. She stood up, then tugged on his hand until he stood beside her. The mixture of hope and fear in his face made tears sting her eyes. Looking away, she led him to the house.