me.”
“Yes.” Powerless, she flexed the hands he held above her head.
“Look at me,” he murmured, easing back as she trembled. “And see.” He gentled his hands, lowered them to stoke her shoulders. “Beautiful Bryna. Mine. Only mine.”
“Calin.” Her heart wheeled when his lips brushed tenderly over hers. “You love me. After it’s done, after it’s only you and only me. You love me.”
“I was born loving you.” The kiss was deep and sweet. “I’ll die loving you.” He sipped the tears from her cheeks.
“This is real,” she said in a whisper. “This is true magic.”
“It’s real. Whatever came before, this is what’s real. I love you, Bryna. You,” he repeated. “The woman who puts whiskey in my tea, and the witch who weaves me magic sweaters. Believe that.”
“I do.” Her breath released on a shudder of joy. She felt it. Love. Trust. Acceptance. “I do believe it.”
“It’s time we made a home together, Bryna. We’ve waited long enough.”
“Calin Farrell.” She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. “Your boon is granted.”
E VER A FTER
To my sisters in magic—
Ruth, Marianne, and Jill
1
“T HIS,” the old woman said, “is for you.”
Allena studied the pendant that swung gently from the thickly braided links of a silver chain. Really, she’d only come in to browse. Her budget didn’t allow for impulse buys—which were, of course, the most fun and the most satisfying. And her affection for all things impulsive was the very reason she couldn’t afford to indulge herself.
She shouldn’t have entered the shop at all. But who could resist a tiny little place tucked into the waterfront of a charming Irish village? Especially a place called Charms and Cures.
Certainly not Allena Kennedy.
“It’s beautiful, but I—”
“There’s only one.” The woman’s eyes were faded and blue, like the sea that slapped and spewed against the stone wall barely a stone’s throw from the door. Her hair was steel gray and bundled into a bun that lay heavy on her thin neck.
She wore a fascinating rattle of chains and pins, but there was nothing, Allena thought, like the pendant she held in her bony fingers. “Only one?”
“The silver was cured in Dagda’s Cauldron over the Midsummer’s fire and carved by the finger of Merlin. He that was Arthur’s.”
“Merlin?”
Allena was a sucker for tales of magic and heroics. Her stepsister Margaret would have sniffed and said no, she was simply a sucker.
“The high king’s sorcerer wandered through Ireland in his time. It was here he found the Giant’s Dance, and coveting it for Arthur, floated it away over the Irish Sea to Britain. But while he took magic from this land, some he also left.” Watching Allena, she set the pendant swaying. “Here is some, and it belongs to you.”
“Well, I really can’t…” But Allena trailed off, her gaze locked on the pendant. It was a long oval, dulled and tarnished a bit, and centered in it was a carving in the shape of a bursting star.
It seemed to catch the murky, cloud-filtered light coming through the small shop window, hold it, expand it, so that it glittered hypnotically in Allena’s eyes. It seemed the star shimmered.
“I just came in to look around.”
“Sure and if you don’t look, you can’t find, can you? You came looking, all the way from America.”
She’d come, Allena tried to remember, to assist Margaret with the tour group. Margaret’s business, A Civilized Adventure, was very successful—and very regimented. Everyone said that Allena needed some regimentation. And Margaret had been clear, brutally clear, that this opportunity was her last chance.
“Be organized, be prepared, and be on time,” Margaret had told her as she’d sat behind her polished desk in her perfectly terrifying and perfectly ordered office in New York. “If you can manage that, there might be a chance for you. If you can’t, I wash my hands of
“Yes.” Powerless, she flexed the hands he held above her head.
“Look at me,” he murmured, easing back as she trembled. “And see.” He gentled his hands, lowered them to stoke her shoulders. “Beautiful Bryna. Mine. Only mine.”
“Calin.” Her heart wheeled when his lips brushed tenderly over hers. “You love me. After it’s done, after it’s only you and only me. You love me.”
“I was born loving you.” The kiss was deep and sweet. “I’ll die loving you.” He sipped the tears from her cheeks.
“This is real,” she said in a whisper. “This is true magic.”
“It’s real. Whatever came before, this is what’s real. I love you, Bryna. You,” he repeated. “The woman who puts whiskey in my tea, and the witch who weaves me magic sweaters. Believe that.”
“I do.” Her breath released on a shudder of joy. She felt it. Love. Trust. Acceptance. “I do believe it.”
“It’s time we made a home together, Bryna. We’ve waited long enough.”
“Calin Farrell.” She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. “Your boon is granted.”
E VER A FTER
To my sisters in magic—
Ruth, Marianne, and Jill
1
“T HIS,” the old woman said, “is for you.”
Allena studied the pendant that swung gently from the thickly braided links of a silver chain. Really, she’d only come in to browse. Her budget didn’t allow for impulse buys—which were, of course, the most fun and the most satisfying. And her affection for all things impulsive was the very reason she couldn’t afford to indulge herself.
She shouldn’t have entered the shop at all. But who could resist a tiny little place tucked into the waterfront of a charming Irish village? Especially a place called Charms and Cures.
Certainly not Allena Kennedy.
“It’s beautiful, but I—”
“There’s only one.” The woman’s eyes were faded and blue, like the sea that slapped and spewed against the stone wall barely a stone’s throw from the door. Her hair was steel gray and bundled into a bun that lay heavy on her thin neck.
She wore a fascinating rattle of chains and pins, but there was nothing, Allena thought, like the pendant she held in her bony fingers. “Only one?”
“The silver was cured in Dagda’s Cauldron over the Midsummer’s fire and carved by the finger of Merlin. He that was Arthur’s.”
“Merlin?”
Allena was a sucker for tales of magic and heroics. Her stepsister Margaret would have sniffed and said no, she was simply a sucker.
“The high king’s sorcerer wandered through Ireland in his time. It was here he found the Giant’s Dance, and coveting it for Arthur, floated it away over the Irish Sea to Britain. But while he took magic from this land, some he also left.” Watching Allena, she set the pendant swaying. “Here is some, and it belongs to you.”
“Well, I really can’t…” But Allena trailed off, her gaze locked on the pendant. It was a long oval, dulled and tarnished a bit, and centered in it was a carving in the shape of a bursting star.
It seemed to catch the murky, cloud-filtered light coming through the small shop window, hold it, expand it, so that it glittered hypnotically in Allena’s eyes. It seemed the star shimmered.
“I just came in to look around.”
“Sure and if you don’t look, you can’t find, can you? You came looking, all the way from America.”
She’d come, Allena tried to remember, to assist Margaret with the tour group. Margaret’s business, A Civilized Adventure, was very successful—and very regimented. Everyone said that Allena needed some regimentation. And Margaret had been clear, brutally clear, that this opportunity was her last chance.
“Be organized, be prepared, and be on time,” Margaret had told her as she’d sat behind her polished desk in her perfectly terrifying and perfectly ordered office in New York. “If you can manage that, there might be a chance for you. If you can’t, I wash my hands of
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