“Cabhan. He’s in the fog. Maybe he is the fog. Can’t you hear him?”
“I can’t.” And so far, never had. He wouldn’t mind keeping it that way. “I’m thinking you’ll work with Meara again tomorrow.”
“What? What?”
“I’ll want her go-ahead before you take any guests out on your own.” He spoke easily, drove slowly. He could navigate this road blindfolded, and thought he damn nearly was. “And I’ll want to see how you handle instruction. We’ll have you work with Mick there, or with me from time to time. Do you do any jumping?”
He knew she did, and had the blue ribbons and trophies to prove it, the certification to teach it. He’d read her resume.
“Yes. Competitively since I was eight. I wanted to try for the Olympic team, but . . .”
“Too much commitment?”
“No. I mean, yes. In a way. You need a lot of family support for that kind of training. And the financial backing.” While her eyes tracked right and left, she rubbed a hand from between her breasts up to her throat, back again. “Did you hear that? God, can’t you hear that?”
“That I did.” The wild howl shot cold fingers up his spine. And that, he thought, was new, at least to him. “I expect he doesn’t like us talking over him.”
“Why aren’t you afraid?”
“I’m riding with a witch, aren’t I? What have I got to worry about?”
She choked out a laugh, struggled to steady her pulse. “I learned to levitate a feather today. I don’t think that’s going to do a lot of good.”
And he thought he had his two fists, and the utility knife in his pocket, if needed. “It’s more than I can do. See now, the fog’s thinning, and there’s Ashford up ahead.”
So it was, the glamorous fairy-tale spread of it, windows lighted pale gold.
“They went there. The first three. They came back, years after their mother sent them away to save them. They stayed in the castle, walked the woods. I dreamed of the youngest coming back, riding back as she’d ridden away as a child. On a horse named Alastar.”
“Ah, well then. I didn’t know the name of the horse. That explains it, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what it explains. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“What you must.”
“What I must,” she murmured as he stopped at the hotel’s entrance. “Okay. Okay. Thanks for the ride, and for talking me through the weird.”
“Not a problem. I’ll see you in.”
She started to object. She was only steps from the door. And thinking of the voice in the fog, changed her mind. It was just fine to have a big, strong man walk her in. No shame in it.
With him she walked into the warmth, into the rich colors, the flowers. And the smile of the woman on duty at the lobby table.
“Good evening to you, Ms. Sheehan. And Boyle, it’s good seeing you.”
“Working late, Bridget?”
“I am. A good night for it, as it’s gone wet again. I’ve your key right here, miss. I hope you enjoyed your day.”
“I did, very much. Thanks again, Boyle.”
“I’ll see you to your door.”
“Oh, but—”
He just took the key from her, glanced at the number. “This is in the old part, isn’t it?” So saying, he took Iona’s arm, pulled her along and down the corridor.
“It’s that way now.” Iona made the turn.