“Is it Ms. Stanley then?”
“Megan Stanley. Connor O’Dwyer?”
The second surprise was the Yank in her voice. Fin hadn’t mentioned that either.
“We’re pleased to meet you.”
Sally, as advised, behaved well, merely standing quiet and watching.
“I didn’t realize you were an American.”
“Guilty.” She smiled as she walked toward Connor, and earned a point or two by studying the hawk first. “Though I’ve lived in Ireland for nearly five years now—and intend to stay. She’s beautiful.”
“She is that.”
“Fin told me you raised and trained her yourself.”
“She was born in the school in the spring. She’s a bright one, I’ll tell you that. She manned in no time at all. Hopped right on the glove and gave me a look that said, ‘Well then, what now?’ I have her file with me—health, weight, feeding, training. Did you hawk in America?”
“No. My husband and I moved to Clare—just outside of Ennis—and a neighbor has two Harris’s Hawks. I’m a photographer, and started taking photos of them, became more and more interested. So he trained me, then helped me design the mews, the weathering area, get supplies. By his rules I wasn’t to so much as think about getting a bird until I’d spent at least a year preparing.”
“That’s best for all.”
“It’s taken more than two, as there was a gap when my husband moved back to the States and we divorced.”
“That’s . . . difficult for certain.”
“Not as much as it might’ve been. I found my place in Clare, and another passion in falconry. I did considerable research before I contacted Finbar Burke. You and your partner have a terrific reputation with your school.”
“He’s my boss, but—”
“That’s not how he put it. When it comes to hawks or birds of prey, you want the eye, ear, hand, and heart of Connor O’Dwyer.” She smiled again, and the film-star face illuminated. “I’m pretty sure that’s a direct quote. I’d love to see her fly.”
“We’re here for that. I call her Sally, but if the match between you seems right, you’ll call her what suits you.”
“No bells, no transmitter?”
“She doesn’t need them here, as she knows these fields,” Connor said as he released the jesses. “But you’ll want them back in Clare.”
He barely shifted his arm, and Sally lifted, spread her wings. Soared.
He saw the reaction he wanted, had hoped for in Megan’s eyes. The awe that was a kind of love.
“You have a glove with you, I see. You should put it on, call her back yourself.”
“I didn’t bring a baiting pouch.”
“She doesn’t need baiting. If she’s decided to give you a go, she’ll come.”
“Now I’m nervous.” Her laugh showed it as she took her glove from her jacket pocket, drew it on. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Always.” He watched the flight of the bird, sent his thoughts. If you want this, go to her.
Sally circled, dove. And landed pretty as a charm on Megan’s glove.
“Oh, you beauty. Fin was right. I won’t go home without her.”
And, Connor thought, she would never come to him again. “Do you want to see her hunt?”