Scent of a Witch (11 page)

A deep feral growl started in Fionn’s chest but quickly turned to a choke as the beast in question released her hair and butted Fionn. Rordan’s merry laughter announced his arrival before he was
seen.

He stopped and petted his beloved stallion before leading him out of his stall. “Told ye son, the beast already claimed her. Guess I don’t have to tell you who I’ll be l
eaving him with when I’m gone.”

With his last comment, Maeve and both Fionn came up short
,
starin
g at the back of the old laird.

“I thought you were through with your suicide attempts,” Fionn insisted folding hi
s arms and glaring down at her.

Usually one for lashing back and enjoying a good spar, the disappointment of truth held Maeve’s tongue. Shame she was still dealing with flared and she hugged herself. Unable to stop the tears from forming, she glowered up at the insufferable immortal, jut her chin out and walked through the stable door to wait outside.

In the yard away from all eyes, she calmed herself by breathing deeply of the comforting scents of forest, nature, and land. In control and stoic was what she needed to be in order to control a mount like Sinister. Without a sound, Fionn moved to stand behind her. Under her breath, Maeve cursed him and his unnatural stealth. She refused to turn around. Lucki
ly Sin appeared, led by Rordan.

Meeting them halfway, she escaped. “Rordan, thank you ever so much
,
”
she
said
,
casting a glance at Fionn
and smiling when she took note of the
glower upon his face.

“Here now, it was a fair wager, so we will not have none of that female flippery. I’ll lift ye up lass.” Before she could decline, the aged, gray-haired knight encircled her waist with his large calloused hands and set her in the saddle. Then he put her boot in one stirrup while she did the other
,
then helped her fix her skirts.

“Sorry the beast won’t do well with a side saddle
,
you’ll have to ride stride.”

“It’s fine. I’m accomplished both ways. Granny made me learn both.” Maeve was acutely aware that Fionn still stood tense and unmoving where she left him. The horse stamped the ground uneasily and she knew it was the weary immortal irritating him. Determined not to let Fionn ruin her joy, she nodded at Rordan then clicked her tongue and took off without a backward glance.

****

A narrowed-eyed
glare
and a grunt from his father halted Fionn from coiling and chasing the demon horse and the bullheaded w
oman riding astride in a skirt.

“You aren’t riding with her?”
h
e asked his father
,
st
ruggling to control his temper.

“Ye know Sinister is the only horse I’ll ride. Beside no other mount can keep up except for that devil spawn you have and I’m not taking it ou
t,
” Rordan responded
,
walking back to the stables. Fionn didn’t hesitate this time. Ignoring the saddle, he led his own rare beast out of the stall. The complete opposite of Sinister, his horse, Sallow
,
possessed a glistening white coat with azure blue eyes. While the same in every other way, height, build and breed, both steeds had been born under an eclipse—Sallow a solar eclipse and Sinister a lunar.

Fionn jumped on his already moving stallion. Attuned to his owner in a truly unique way, Sallow responded to the anxiety for haste from Fionn. Sinister and Maeve had a significant head start, and Fionn guided his horse to foll
ow the trail through the field.

Then the trail disappeared completely. A line of trees appeared where different tracks could be ridden.
A vice constricted Fionn’s lungs in a grip that wouldn’t give.
Where was she? Was she already hurt?
Panic was close to consuming him when she appeared out of nowhere at his side. Once a teasing water nymph, now sitting astride the monstrous black beast in her mint green dress she appeared as a woodland pixie, untamed curls that billowed around porcelain skin in a halo of fire, the yellow, slanted eyes of a feline predator appraised him.

“Well Sir Hughes it seems I owe you a thanks
,
”
she
began
,
half smiling
,
with a controlled hand on Sin’s reigns. The beast wanted to gallop. “Now I know of a particular trick that will work at hiding me from a tracker.”

“And why would you need to hide from a tracker?”
h
e responded
,
unable to keep his hand from squeezing into a fist
and
pulling the bit tighter. His mount snorted.
Immediately he relaxed his fingers.

With an easy confident voice she answered
,
“For when I leave Hughes Place.”

Fionn’s response was instinctive
.
“You will never leave here!”

“Why not?”
she
countered, expertly handling
the antsy stallion beneath her.

Caught off guard
,
Fionn scrambled. Now wasn’t the time to confess anything. How could he? He didn’t even understand what he felt. It was just a fact, a bone deep, soul-eff
acing fact. She belonged there.

“As I thought…” She leaned forward, hiding her face as she whispered in Sinister’s ear. It was fleeting but Fionn caught i
t. Sadness coated her features.

All of his aggravation left him. But before he could act, she clicked her tongue and Sinister responded wi
th a mighty lunge up the trail.

With a flick of the reigns, Fionn directed Sallow to follow on their heels. He cursed when Maeve let Sin have his head at a full gallop, allowing the steed his own bidding to run as fast across the open meadows as he desired. Her hair whipped behind her in a glorious cape of sunrays parallel to her mount’s black tail. While Fionn grudgingly admitted she was accomplished, her body moving in time with that of the stallion, she was still just a small woman who didn’t have the strength for control over her mount should it be needed. There had been enough near death experiences for her lately, he decided. She would get off that hor
se whether she liked it or not.

Sallow responded to his master’s urge to catch up with a bunching of muscles and a leap forward. Another line of tall primordial trees came into view. Two riding tracks cut through the trees, each equally dangerous and challenging. Maeve was headed at a brea
kneck speed in their direction.

Fionn yelled. Maeve reigned in and began to slow her mount moving from a gallop, to a jog, then a walk, before finally stopping. She dismounted, then stood in front of a heavily breathing Sinister
, s
mall, slender fingers ran up and down his nuzzle and along the horse’s neck. As Fionn overtook them, he heard her singing a Gaelic melody, but her song stopped as he drew up beside her.

“I’m no fool, Sir Hughes, and I’m certainly not cruel.” She treated him to the sharp edge of her tongue before he’d even stopped
,
never taking her eyes from Sin. “I would never allow a horse to gallop headlong down a track I don’t know.” Instead of waiting for an answer, she released the reins and began walking away. Once again, the little witch had shocked him. Sinister, trained and war-hardened battle stallion, followed her as dutifully as a puppy.
They disappeared into the wood.

Of course, unable to resist, Fionn dismounted and followed like the horse
had
.

He found them at the loch his family swam in during the w
arm season
, a
large clear-
water pool fed by an underground spring. Sinister had his lips to the water indulging in a drink
. H
e raised his head at Fionn’s approach and studied him, snorted as if in warning, flicked his ears dismissively, and then drank some more. Maeve sat on a rock dangling her toes at the water’s edge. Her boots
and stockings lay at her side.

Water. It seemed
they always came back to water.

“I’d suggest you not repeat things previously said, Sir Hughes. It’s not wise to remind a woman of unkept promises.” Words of truth stopped him in his tracks quicker than any physical opponent had.
How could the woman be so attune to his thoughts?
As usual, unable to deal with the feeling associated
,
he jumped on what he did know. Anger.

“My father is Sir Hughes
,
”
h
e responded folding his arms.

“I must disagree, Sir Hughes. You yourself are a Knight with the last name Hughes as well.” Still she didn’t look at him, maintainin
g her focus on the water below.

“I was Fionn to you way before he was ever Rordan
,
” Fionn insisted
stalking toward her again.
“Please keep your distance, immortal.” She raised her hands, finally looking at him. There it was in her eyes. Tha
t sadness he’d glimpsed before.

“So now I’m not even Sir Hughes.” The hurt her words caused added to his alread
y bubbly cauldron of confusion.

Eyes that still held troubled emotions locked with his as she curled her legs under herself and stood. Surefooted as a cat in a tree, she climbed off the rock to stand before him. With nothing but inches between them, her essence, the very power that was Maeve, flowed around him. A feeling he’d never known he missed until it had been gone returned now, washed over him. Self control learned under the most dire circumstances gave him the strength to keep from closing
h
is eyes and sighing in pleasure.

“Honor is something a knight clings to.” She didn’t phrase it as a question. “Trust is the same for a witch, a woman. I know Rordan. He’s a loud, obnoxious brute of an old man but that’s who he is. I trust him.”
I don’t know you…or trust you.
It was left unsaid but understood as the disappointment in her eyes addressed him. She walked back to the rock, sat, and put on her stockings and then her shoes. Silence dominated the space.

Fionn found himself in unchartered territory. While familiar with the female persuasion, his experience in this area was little to none. Trust and honor, he understood. The problem was how did she base her views?

“How does one go about earning your trust?” he asked outright. Jumping off the rock again, she
stood still as she studied him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t trusted many people in my life.” Her answer was just as straight forw
ard and honest as his question.

Hope blossoming, he kept on the direct course. “Who were these select few?”
h
e asked as he watched her rejoin her mount.

“My grandparents, an old friend. And Rordan.” The fact she could count on one hand the amount of people she trusted in her entire life visually summed up just how
tough of a task lay before him.

“While I can understand how you trusted the others, ye obviously knew them a long time.
How do you explain my father?”

Maeve’s delicate fingers stroked Sin’s black muzzle again as she looked around the clearing but at nothing in particular. “He has always been exactly who he is with me. Never lied to me, never deceived when I know he’s had opportunities to. But the strongest reason you’ll have to ask him about yourself.”

Fionn quelled his anger. Intrigued by her answer he was still not interested in going to his father for advice on women. They were both too old for that.

“Will you help me mount?” she asked, surprising him into action before thought. The tips of his fingers brushed each other as he encircled her waist. Rich, energetic aura engulfed him as he touched her. It was a feeling he’d never known before her, and he knew instinctively he’d never know it with another. As before, the absence of her when she left his arms was disconcerting. Her small brown boot fit into the large stirrup as he guided her and then pulled the skirt of her dress down. Determined to earn her trust and convince her to stay at Hughes Place permanently he once again chose bluntness.

“How can you consider marrying a man you don’t trust?”

Atop the stallion, much like a queen addressing her kingdom, she offered that all-encompassing grin
he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Don’t fret Fionn. I’m going to marry you. I gave my word and my granny requested it. But make no mistake about it…” She paused and leaned down toward him,
and
her hair tickled his cheek. “I’ll decide when,” she finished in a husky whisper before spurring her mount back home.

This time, he didn’t follow in a hurry, finding himself frozen in place by a weightlessness he couldn’t explain, but which he attributed to hope. And it was hope spurred by her own sharp but blunt way of communicating and a name, his name.

“She called me Fionn,” he said to Sallow unable to suppress his own wide smile. Then he mounted and followed her trail home… to Hughes Place.