Scent of a Witch (10 page)

“Cordy gave you that dagger
,
”
h
e pointed out, fina
lly drinking deeply of his ale.

“Aye, you should know, as you gave it to
her
,” responded Maeve.

The old laird choked and spit out his drink. The liquid spewed throug
h the air to land on his shirt.

****

“So yer grandmother spoke of me some?”
he
asked when he’d recovered.

“Aye, I know of you. But if this is all you wish to discuss, then I shall have to take m
y leave.”

“Why are you so anxious to depart lass? Scared of my lad, Fionn, are ye?” Rordan attempted to goad her, tried to see if she would respond as Cordy would have.

“No sir, it’s not
of
him I fear
,
it’s
for
him. For all of you.” She responded completely opposite
to
what he’d expected.

There was such a fearful sadness in her eyes, Hughes sat up and took her hand into his own. “Rordan is my name lass. There will be no more sir or laird when ye speak to me, in anyone’s presence.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “That doesn’t make me feel much better.” Without warning, tears filled her eye
s and cascaded down her cheeks.

Rordan hated it when lasses cried. He would rather face down the vilest magical beast than deal with a woman’s tears. They tore at his heart and rendered him helpless. But no one else was about to assist Maeve, so he drew her close, setting his hand on her shoulder with an awkwardne
ss he hoped she couldn’t sense.

****

“You even speak to me like you did
to
her. I don’t know
of
you Rordan, I know all about you. If Cordy knew it, then I do as well.” She explained over the lump in her throat. “I will not stay here and resurrect memories of hurt. But more importantly, I will not draw the darkness that trails me upon your clan.” Then she stood, leaving the knot on the table beside her chair, and moved toward
the door, determined to leave.

“Aren’t ye f
orgetting your necklace, lass?”

“Nay, tis not mine. The gold is to the right
,
”
s
he responded then flinched.

“Ye do know everything.”

Instead of respond
ing, Maeve kept walking.

“You won’t fulfill your granny’s last wish
croi
?” The word almost brought her to her knees. Only two people knew Cordelia’s nickname for her. Croi was Gaelic for
essence
, or
the heart of
. Patty and
G
ranny always said she was their core that brought them the joy of life. Their heart.

“And what was her final request?” she asked, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Knowing full well her honor and
love would make her fulfill it.

“Ye are to officially be a part of this clan, by marrying
my son, Fionn.”

The tears bathing her cheeks made their way to the corner of her mouth and the salty drops assaulted her taste buds. A myriad of emotions welled through her.
How had Cordy known?
The joy as she thought of being Fionn’s wife was instant, honest delight. There was no denying it because it was automatic. Nevertheless, too much uncertainty loomed. She didn’t know the right path. After finally understanding her death was not in fate’s design, every decision made would have to be evaluated and s
tudied.

“What will you do?” Rordan inquired
,
his voice soft and quiet.

The difference in his attitude astounded Maeve. She turned looking up because the man towered over her just like his son did.

“Know this lass. Whatever ye decide, there is no pain in my heart when I behold ye. While I see the resemblance of the only woman I ever loved
,
I also see the eyes of the truest friend I ever knew. No, indeed
,
having ye here in this keep has brought me a joy I haven’t celebrated in many years. This is yer home now, no matter what happens. Ye are alone no more.” While his words were still soft, the deepening of his tone at the end proved th
e sincerity of his declaration.

“You know I’ll marry him
,
”
s
he whispered
.
All
the fe
elings she buried down deep—
the grief that was cast aside because she never had time to mourn lumped tog
ether in her chest and exploded
. “I miss them so much.” She spoke quietly and Rordan enveloped her as
she hid her face in his shirt.

Sir Fionn Hughes was ready to give up his birthright as he searched his childhood home for a wild ginger-haired banshee. He had heard her screams and on instinct began to seek her out, only each time she yelled it was as if she was getting farther away. His frustration was added to because everyone he passed curtsied or bowed to acknowledge his station. Propriety dictated he respond. The sound of a whispered far away screech caught his attention followed by a known closer roaring laugh. Supernatural stealth propelled him to the cackle of his sir
e.

Complete and utter astonishment stopped his fast run to a neat halt. At the highest point of the southeast wall stood his father, Laird Rordan Hughes. The King’s most ruthless knight in his youth, known as Bloodlust Hughes, now laughed and clapped his hands as though he’d lost his mind. Then the tinkling of an angel’s giggle sounded. Without thought, Fionn moved forward to t
he prize he sought, toward her.

As he looked into his father’s face, he followed his line of vision. There below them
,
outside in a field of yellowing, wild grass
,
Maeve walked slightly bent, arms behind her back, eyes closed. Unlike her usual long skirt with loose fitting blouse, a green dress now fit to her lithe frame—a dress in the style worn by his clan’s women. The physical response the image had upon Fionn’s
body was immediate and fevered.

Her squeal of triumph followed by his father’s grunt then chuckle helped him ignore his body’s instincts. A deep breath, hardening of his facial muscles and stiffening of his spine came befo
re he dare speak to his father.

“Good job, lad. Don’t want to let her know the power she has over ye
,
” Rordan commented without looking. Then he whispered an incantation into his hands
.
L
ight glowed between his fingers
and
raising both arms above his head he pitched the light forward.
I
t spread wide in to smaller balls then disappeared onto the ground.

“If you find all these lass, I’ll let you ride me stallion
,
”
h
e called.

“Your word sir?” Maeve responded. Her exclusive gravelly accent caused Fionn’s skin
to tingle.

“Aye.”

“I’ll ride today, as soon as I’m done,” she continued, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow arched, questioning.

“Aye lass, my word as a Hughes.” With that, she nodded then closed h
er eyes and took a deep breath.

“What on earth are you two doing? No
,
better yet, are you daft? She can’t ride Sin!” Fionn questioned his father for the first time as if he was an equal, as if he was questionable. Even when he had left in direct disobedience to his father, it had been in secret, by the cloak of n
ight.

“You have never played Seek and Find with a Scent Witch before then if you have to ask. The rules are very different and the lass is talented. Beat me thrice already.”

“S
eek and Find!” Fionn exclaimed.

“Aye lad, you know where you create something of nature out of magic then hide it…”

“I know what Seek and Find is. What I don’t understand is why you are playing it with Maeve and
,
most importantly, why you consented to let her ride your large, temperamental warhorse? He’s not named Sinister for his s
parkling personality.”

A peel of delight sounded announcing Maeve’s progress, swiftly followe
d by another burst of laughter.

“Well son, someone has to pay attention to the future lady of this clan
,
” Rordan responded in his normal dominating tone, narrowi
ng his eyes.

Heat crept along Fionn’s neck. It was true he had been avoiding her. Once he knew she was completely healed he had disappeared from her sight altogether. Then when he’d found out his father had informed her of Cordelia’s last request, and heard of her acceptance of that, an unseen emotion held him at bay. That, coupled with the promise he had swor
n
while in her dream, made finding
distractions a very easy task.

“As far as Sin is concerned, under her hands he’s as gentle as a foal. Ahh, and it seems you will find out for yourself.”

“Last one
,
Rordan. I win…meet me in the stables and bring some drink too, please,” she called
,
raising a bundle of flowers
…
g
ardenias
…
what his father h
ad created, before running off.

“Aye lass,” his father responded waving to her, then in his signature voice
:
“Cook
,
cider in two skins.”

“
Rordan
?” Fionn queried, barely breat
hing as he followed his father.

****

Ma
e
ve wasted no time racing to the stables. She had seen Fionn beside his father and by the look on his face and the throwing of his arms, he wasn’t happy. While she recognized
that
avoiding her allowed
him
to ignore the weight of her granny’s last request, she also saw it kept him from answering her question. Grateful was what she should have been
;
instead she was irritated, almost dejected. The feelings had become so overwhelming she had retreated to her room. That is until Rordan lite
rally forced her out of hiding.

The arrogant brute had tipped her over his shoulder and carried her to the stables. One look at his horses combined with the smell of tack, hay, and manure, and her temper was soothed. After a bareback ride on a chestnut mare
,
it was forgotten. But then, spotting the tall, broad-chested midnight stallion named Sinister, Maeve had become determined to ride him. A desire Fionn had become just as determined would not be fulfilled.

Wise enough to accept needing a saddle on Sin, Maeve exhaled to calm herself, waiting for Rordan to prepare the stunning horse. The stable master was out and no one else could get near the temperamental mount. No one except her
,
that is. He was a specimen the likes she had never seen, with legs that began at the height of her shoulder and joined seamlessly in a smooth muscled torso. Connected not only with nature but also to animals, horses especially, Maeve knew t
his was an extraordinary horse.

She leaned into the crook of Sinister’s neck while he chewed on her hair. As much as she tried, the chaos of curls would not stay in the ribbon. Basking in the overwhelming warmth radiating from the animal she closed her eyes
u
ntil he snorted and tensed.
A
look under his chin revealed a broad muscular chest cov
ered by a blue button-up shirt.

“You will
not
ride this beast,” Fionn ordered, looking down at her. A muscle in his ja
w jumped as his teeth clenched.

Feeling brave with Sin between them,
Maeve was inclined to disagree.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Hughes, but I must differ,” she responded with a superficial sweetness and
added a smile for good measure.

His quiet response was one fist then the other tightened and untightened, and the tension from Sin rose
.
S
he considere
d maybe goading him was unwise.

“And what makes you think you can
disagree?
”
h
e grumbled.

“First, Sir
,
your father is Sin’s owner, not you. Therefore, with his permission I can ride this horse. Second, he’s the laird
,
”
she
finished
, with yet another sweet smile.