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He had to capture it. Now. Immediately. Surely such magic couldn’t last. He bolted out of the room, clattered down the short flight of steps, and burst out into the gentle sun with the cat scampering at his heels.
He grabbed the Nikon off the front seat of his car. His hands were quick and competent as he changed lenses. Then swinging his case over his shoulder, he picked his position.
The fairy-tale cottage, he thought, the abundance of flowers. The light. Oh, that light. He framed, calculated and framed again.
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Bryna stepped throughthe arched doorway of the ruin and watched him. Such energy, such concentration. Her lips bowed up. He was happy in his work, in his art. He needed this time, she thought, just as he’d needed those hours of deep, dreamless sleep.
Soon he would have questions again, and she would have to answer. She stepped back inside, wanting to give him his privacy. Alone with her thoughts, she walked to the center of the castle, where flowers grew out of the dirt in a circle thick with blooms. Lifting her face to the light, raising her arms to the sky, she began her chant.
Power tingled in her fingertips, but it was weak. So weak that she wanted to weep in frustration. Once she had known its full strength; now she knew the pain of its decline.
It was ordained, this I know. But here on ground where flowers grow, I call the wind, I call the sun. What was done can be undone. No harm to him shall come through me. As I will, so mote it be.
The wind came, fluttering her hair like gentle fingers. The sun beat warm on her upturned face.
I call the faeries, I call the wise. Use what power you can devise. Hear me speak, though my charms are weak. Cast the circle for my own true love, guard him fast from below, from above. Harm to none, my vow is free. As I will, so mote it be.
The power shimmered, brighter, warmer. She fought to hold it, to absorb what gift was given. She thrust up a hand, the silver of the ring she wore exploding with light as a single narrow beam shot through the layering clouds and struck. The heat of it flowed up her arm, made her want to weep again. This time in gratitude.
She was not yet defenseless.
Cal clicked the shutter again and again. He took nearly a dozen pictures of her. She stood, still as a statue in a perfect circle of flowers. Some odd trick of the wind made it blow her hair away from her glowing face. Some odd trick of the light made it beam down on her in a single perfect diagonal shaft.
She was beautiful, unearthly. Though his heart stumbled when her fingers appeared to explode with light, he continued to circle her and capture her on film.
Then she began to move. Just a sway of her body, rhythmic, sensual. The wind whipped the thin fabric of her dress, then had it clinging to those slim curves. The language she spoke now was familiar from his dreams. With unsteady hands, Cal lowered the camera. It was unsettling enough that he somehow understood the ancient tongue. But he would see beyond the words and into her thoughts as clearly as if they were written on a page.
Protect. Defend. The battle is nearly upon us. Help me. Help him.
There was desperation in her thoughts. And fear. The fear made him want to reach out, soothe her, shield her. He stepped forward and into the circle.
The moment he did, her body jerked. Her eyes opened, fixed on his. She held up a hand quickly before he could touch her. “Not here.” Her voice was raw and thick. “Not now. It waits for the moon to fill.”
Flowers brushed her knees as she walked out of the circle. The wind that had poured through her hair gentled, died.
“You rested well?” she asked him.
“What the hell is going on here?” His eyes narrowed. “What the hell did you put in my tea?”
“A dollop of Irish. Nothing more.” She smiled at his camera. “You’ve been working. I wondered what you would see here, and need to show.”
“Why did you strip me?”
“Your clothes were damp.” She blinked once, as she saw his thoughts in his eyes. Then she laughed, low and long with a female richness that stirred his blood. “Oh, Cal, you have a most attractive body. I’ll not deny I looked. But in truth, I’m after preferring a man awake and participating when it comes to the matters you’re thinking of.”
Though furious, he only angled his head. “And would you find it so funny if you’d awakened naked in a strange bed after taking tea with a strange man?”
Her lips pursed, then she let out a breath. “Your point’s taken, well taken. I’m sorry for it. I promise you I was thinking only of giving you your ease.” Then the humor twinkled again. “Or mostly only of that.” She spread her arms. “Would you like to strip me, pay me back in kind?”
He could imagine it, very well. Peeling that long, thin dress away from her, finding her beneath. “I want answers.” His voice was sharp, abrupt. “I want them now.”
“You do, I know. But are you ready, I wonder?” She turned a slow circle. “Here, I suppose, is the place for it. I’ll tell you a story, Calin Farrell. A story of great love, great betrayal. One of passion and greed, of power and lust. One of magic, gained and lost.”
“I don’t want a story. I want answers.”
“It’s the same they are. One and the other.” She turned back to him, and her voice flowed musically. “Once, long ago, this castle guarded the coast, and its secrets. It rose silver and shining above the sea. Its walls were thick, its fires burned bright. Servants raced up and down the stairways, into chambers. The rushes were clean and sweet on the floor. Magic sang in the air.”