The House of Gaian

Chapter 11

As night gave way to dawn, Breanna watched the storm swiftly coming toward them over the Mother's Hills. She rose from the bench beside the kitchen door and stretched her stiff muscles, listening for any sound that didn't belong. When the sun went down yesterday, she and Gwenn had spent an hour arguing with Liam and Donovan about needing to be outside in order to receive whatever message might come through the Great Mother's branches. Neither she nor Gwenn had been able to explain well enough that the message wasn't carried on the elements, it was in the elements—something felt on the skin, breathed into the body, tasted. They had to be outside to read it properly.

An open kitchen door and the bench beside it were as much of a compromise as either man—and Falco—was willing to make, since there were still nighthunters in the Old Place. They hadn't seen any of the creatures, but they had found more rotting, half-eaten animals beneath dead trees. So the men led the animals to pastures in the morning and led them back to the small pasture near the stables every evening, the children were confined to the house once the sun set, and some of her kin, armed with bows and crossbows, kept watch each night—and she and Gwenn had had to promise they wouldn't step more than a few paces away from the house until the sun rose.

Hearing quiet sounds in the kitchen, she turned toward the door. Liam stepped out, rubbing his neck.

"Gwenn's put the kettle on for tea and is muttering about toasting some bread," he said quietly. He leaned toward her and added, "I gathered she doesn't greet the morning cheerfully under any circumstances."

"Did you get any sleep?" Breanna asked, studying him. "You look a bit rumpled." Which wasn't surprising since he'd kept watch with her until after midnight, when Falco took his place.

"A couple of hours," Liam replied, still rubbing his neck. "Which is more than you got, unless you dozed off out here. And since you so kindly pointed out my rumpledness, I'll point out that you're looking a bit disheveled yourself."

Breanna looked away, hoping the dawn light was still pale enough to hide her blush. Sleep had been the last thing on her mind while Falco was keeping watch with her. But she didn't think her older-brother-the-baron wanted to know that.

She ran her fingers up between her breasts, checking to make sure she'd retied the tunic laces Falco had untied last night.

"Where is Falco?" Liam asked.

Breanna jolted and tried not to look guilty. There was no reason to feel guilty. She was a grown woman and could take a lover if she chose to. Why shouldn't it be Falco? Until she'd gotten to know him, she hadn't met a man who made her feel ripe and . . . juicy. The feel of his hands as he caressed her breasts and the way his mouth—

"Breanna?"

"Hmm?"

"Falco?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Where. Is. He?"

Mother's tits! Her mind had drifted, and now Liam was giving her that narrow-eyed brotherly stare.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Liam asked.

She really didn't think so. "About what?"

"About Falco."

"He went over to the stables to check on the men standing watch. Storm's coming," she added, changing the subject.

"Maybe more than one," Liam replied not quite cryptically enough.

Breanna crossed her arms over her chest. Gran wasn't making a fuss about Falco's interest. Why should Liam?

The thought of her grandmother brought other uneasy thoughts. "Liam?"

He was watching the storm. "Hmm?"

"Do you think Gran's becoming ill?"

That got his full attention. "Why do you ask?"

Breanna shrugged. "Fiona said Gran didn't eat much at dinner last night and she went to bed shortly after we came back here."

"She was tired. That's all."

"She's never tired."

Liam walked over to her, put his arm around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. "This has been a trying time for her, Breanna. So many people looking to her to make wise decisions, so much uncertainty about what's going to happen. I'm not surprised she's tired. Even my mother dozed off last night while we were still talking, and she's a generation younger than Nuala. Don't worry over something a good night's sleep will set right."

She and Liam turned as a boot scuffed the kitchen threshold.

"Here," Donovan said as he walked toward them, balancing two plates of buttered toast and two cups of tea. "Tuck into that. It will take a while for us all to get a proper breakfast."

"I see Gwenn is teaching you how to make yourself useful," Liam said. He released Breanna in order to take the plate and mug that Donovan held out to him.

Donovan just snorted.

"Does your staff make a fuss over Gwenn knowing her way around the kitchen?" Breanna asked, thinking about how their housekeeper, Glynis, was always arguing with her about what was and wasn't proper work for a lady.

Donovan grinned. "The first time Gwenn wandered into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, they were appalled. My cook, housekeeper, and butler cornered me and told me I simply had to explain to my lady wife that gentry ladies didn't do that."

Breanna leaned forward. "What did you say?"

"I told them I'd just married her. If they wanted her out of the kitchen, they could explain it to her."

"So what happened?" Breanna said when it didn't seem like Donovan was going to say anything else.

"She still wanders down to the kitchen to make her own tea when it suits her, so what do you think happened?"

Gwenn came out of the kitchen with two more plates and mugs, so Breanna held her tongue and ate her toast while she watched the storm come in.

"It's moving fast," Gwenn said.

Breanna just nodded. The edge of the storm was in the Old Place now. She watched the lightning, heard the thunder. As the first breath of wind flying before the storm reached her, she shivered. "It must go from one end of the Mother's Hills to the other."

"If it's still this strong, it must have been a mean bitch of a storm wherever it started," Gwenn said.

Breanna noticed the way Donovan frowned at his wife's choice of words, but she wasn't sure if he disapproved of the language or if he was considering what it might mean for Gwenn to refer to a storm in that way.

She set her mug and plate on the ground and stepped forward. Gwenn did the same thing before looking back at Donovan. "You should go inside. You'll get wet out here."

"Will you go inside?" Donovan asked.

Gwenn shook her head. "The storm is out here. The message is out here."

"Then I'm staying."

Breanna glanced at Liam, saw the stubborn look in his eyes, and didn't waste the effort to persuade him to do what they both knew he wouldn't do. Besides, the storm required her attention now.

She watched the wall of rain come toward her, tasted it on the wind. Tasted the power still entwined with it. She shivered. "This wasn't a natural storm."

"No, it wasn't," Gwenn agreed.

"What do you mean it wasn't natural?" Liam said.

Breanna half turned toward him. "It didn't form on its own. Someone created it—and released it."

"Mother's mercy," Donovan whispered.

"It wasn't formed in the Mother's Hills," Gwenn said thoughtfully. "Somewhere in the midlands, I think."

"Why would someone do that?" Donovan said, his voice sharp and worried.

Neither woman answered him. They stepped forward together as the rain came across the lawn and finally reached them.

A message written on water, whispered on the wind.

This wasn't a whisper. Despite how far the storm had traveled, she could still taste the anger that had summoned that wind and sent it flying.

Yes, something had definitely changed.

She watched Gwenn cup her hands and sip the rain that collected there. And she watched Gwenn turn pale.

"Do you have what you need?" Breanna asked.

Gwenn nodded.

Breanna walked to the center of the lawn and began to dance, channeling the wind through her body and sending it back to shred the clouds, spreading them out even further. A hand clasped hers . . . and Gwenn circled with her, taking in the strength from water and sending it out again to hold back some of the rain.

As they broke apart, Fiona stepped forward to join them.

Breanna felt the power in the dance, felt the way Fiona's presence kept grounding that power in the branch of earth, spreading it through the land.

Acknowledging, celebrating, taming. Isn't that what Fiona said she and Jenny had done once before?

When the last cloud passed over them, she stopped the dance. All three women were soaked to the skin and shivering from exhaustion.

As she pushed her wet hair away from her face, she noticed Liam and Donovan standing side by side, their expressions watchful. . . and a little wary. Standing near them were Clay, Rory, and Falco, their expressions equally watchful, equally wary.

We are what we are, Breanna thought wearily as she walked back to the house.

When they reached the men, Donovan slipped an arm around Gwenn's waist to lead her the rest of the way to the house. Rory and Clay took Fiona's arms to support her.

Liam put his arm around her shoulders, and said tightly, "You're going to get dry and go to bed before you get some kind of lung fever."

"It's summer," she muttered. "It's warm." But now that the dance was done, her muscles wouldn't stop shaking.

Nuala stood in the kitchen doorway, a shawl around her shoulders. She stepped back as Donovan led Gwenn inside and pointed to the large kitchen table. "The kettle's boiled. Let her sit there for a minute and have something hot to drink." She raised her hand, cutting off Donovan's protest before he could say the first word.

Liam, Clay, and Rory didn't argue. They pulled out chairs for Breanna and Fiona, then stood back while Nuala took a seat and Glynis set hot mugs of tea in front of the women.

Breanna felt a pang of regret when she saw the way Falco hurried through the kitchen without saying anything to her. She felt puzzled confusion when he returned with three blankets. He gave one to Donovan, another to Clay, and wrapped the third one around her, his hands resting on her shoulders for a moment in a way that was as comforting as Liam's arm had been.

"Now," Nuala said quietly. "What was the message?"

Breanna looked at Gwenn, who nodded to indicate Breanna should go first. "Something definitely changed. Something that, I think, preceded the storm. Something that will change things for all of us—witches, humans, the Small Folk."

"The Fae, too?" Falco asked quietly.

Breanna thought about the feel of the wind and nodded. "Yes, the Fae, too. But I can't tell you more than that."

"I can," Gwenn said. She shivered. "I told you I'd studied in the Mother's Hills a few years ago and met some of the other witches who were being trained by the Crones. I think . . . I think this was Selena. It's hard to tell. There's been so many who have touched that storm, but at the core of it, I think it was Selena. Her power had a different feel to it because"—She hesitated, then looked at Falco—"Because Selena is a very powerful witch, but she's also Fae."

Breanna felt Falco's hand come down on her shoulder, but she didn't think it was meant as comfort to her as much as for the support he needed at that moment.

"What does that have to do with the storm?" he asked in a strained voice.

Gwenn kept looking at him, and there was something close to pity in her eyes. "I think someone was foolish enough to provoke Selena into striking back—and the storm was her answer."