And because of it, would be painful.

"Seed to leaf, leaf to flower. Soil and sun and rain. Remember."

His eyes changed, and his face looked carved from stone. Larkin started to speak, but Glenna tapped a finger to her lips to stop him.

There should be no voice, no words now, she knew, but Hoyt's. Power was already thickening the air. She couldn't help with the visualization as Hoyt hadn't described the garden to her. But she could focus on scent. Rosemary, lavender, sage.

He repeated the incantation three times, his eyes darkening further, his voice rising with each repet.i.tion. Beneath their feet, the ground shuddered lightly.

The wind began to lift, then swirl, then blow.

"Rise up! Return. Grow and bloom. Gift from the earth, from the G.o.ds. For the earth, for the G.o.ds. Airmed, oh ancient one, release your bounty. Airmed, of the Tuatha de Danaan, feed this earth. As once this was, let it return."

His face was pale as marble, his eyes dark as onyx. And the power flowed out of him onto, into, the trembling ground.

It opened.

Glenna heard Larkin suck in his breath, heard her own heartbeat rise up to drum in her ears. The plants rose up, leaves unfurling, blooms bursting. The thrill spun into her, released itself of a laugh of pure delight.

Silvery sage, glossy needles of rosemary, tumbling carpets of thyme and camomile, bay and rue, delicate spears of lavender, and more spread out of the ground and into the misting rain. The garden formed a Celtic knot, she saw, with narrow loops and pathways to make harvesting easier.

As the wind died, as the earth stilled, Larkin blew out a long breath. "Well, that's some d.a.m.n fine farming."

She laid a hand on Larkin's shoulder. "It's lovely, Hoyt. Some of the prettiest magic I've ever seen. Blessed be."

He pulled his sword out of the ground.

The heart that had opened to make the magic was sore as a bruise. "Take what you need, but be quick. We've been out long enough."

She used her bolline, and worked with efficiency, though she wished she could linger, just enjoy the work.

The scents surrounded her. And what she harvested, she knew, would be only more powerful for the manner of their becoming.

The man who'd touched her in the night, who'd held her in the morning, had more power than any she'd ever know. Any she'd ever imagined.

"This is something I miss in the city," she commented. "I do a lot of windowsill pots, but it's just not the same as real gardening."

Hoyt said nothing, simply watched her- bright hair sparkling with rain, slim white hands brushing through the green. It closed a fist over his heart, just one quick squeeze and release.

When she stood, her arms full, her eyes laughing with the wonder of it, that heart tipped in his breast and fell as if an arrow had pierced it.

Bewitched, he thought. She had bewitched him. A woman's magic always aimed first for the heart.

"I can get quite a bit done with these."

She tossed her head to swing back her damp hair. "And have enough left to season a nice soup for dinner."

"Best take them in then. We've movement to the west." Larkin nodded toward the west edge of the woods. "Just watching for now."

Bewitched, Hoyt thought again as he turned. He'd forgotten his watch, spellbound by her.

"I count half a dozen," Larkin continued, his voice cool and steady. "Though there may be more hanging back. Hoping to lure us, I'm thinking, into going after them. So they'll be more, aye, more hanging back to cut us down as we come."

"We've done what we need for the morning," Hoyt began, then thought better of it.

"But no point letting them think they've pushed us back inside. Moira," he said, lifting his voice enough to carry to her, "can you take one out at this distance?"

"Which one would you like?"

Amused, he lifted a shoulder. "Your choice. Let's give them a bit of something to think about."

He'd barely uttered the words when the arrow flew, and a second so quickly after he thought he imagined it. There were two screams, one melding into the next. And where there had been six there were four-and those four rushed back into the cover of the woods.

"Two would give them more than a bit to think about." With a grim smile, Moira readied another arrow. "I can wing a few back into the woods, drive them back more if you like."

"Don't waste your wood."

Cian stepped to the window behind her.

He looked rumpled and mildly irritated. Moira automatically stepped aside. "Wouldn't be wasted if they struck home."

"They'll move on for now. If they were here for more than a nuisance, they'd have charged while they had the numbers."

He walked past her to the side door, and out.

"Past your bedtime, isn't it?" Glenna said. "I'd like to know who could sleep through all this. Felt like a bleeding earthquake." He studied the garden. "Your work, I a.s.sume," he said to Hoyt.

"No." The bitterness from the wound inside him eked out. "My mother's."

"Well, next time you've a bit of landscaping in mind, let me know so I don't wonder if the house is coming down on my ears.

How many did you take out?"

"Five. Moira took four." Larkin sheathed his sword. "The other was mine."

He glanced back toward the window.

"The little queen's racking up quite the score."

"We wanted to test the waters," Larkin told him, "and see to your horse."

"I'm grateful for that."

"I'm thinking I could take him out for a run now and again, if you wouldn't mind it."

"I wouldn't, and Vlad could use it."

"Vlad?" Glenna repeated.

"Just my little in joke. If the excitement's over, I'll be going back to bed."

"I need a word with you." Hoyt waited until Cian met his eyes. "Privately." "And would this private word require standing about in the rain?"

"We'll walk."

"Suit yourself." Then he smiled at Glenna.

"You look rosy this morning."

"And damp. There are plenty of dry, private places inside, Hoyt."

"I want the air."

There was a moment of humming silence.

"He's a slow one. She's waiting to be kissed, so she'll worry less about you getting your throat ripped out because you want a walk in the rain."

"Go inside." Though he wasn't entirely comfortable with the public display, Hoyt took Glenna's chin in his hand, kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll be fine enough."

Larkin drew his sword again, offered it to Cian. "Better armed than not."

"Words to live by." Then he leaned down, gave Glenna a quick, c.o.c.ky kiss himself. "I'll be fine, as well."

They walked in silence, and with none of the camaraderie Hoyt remembered they'd shared. Times, he mused, they'd been able to know the other's mind without a word spoken.

Now his brother's thoughts were barred to him, as he imagined his were to Cian. "You kept the roses, but let the herb garden die. It was one of her greatest pleasures."

"The roses have been replaced, I can't count the times, since I acquired the place. The herbs? Gone before I bought the property."

"It's not property as the place you have in New York. It's home."

"It is to you." Hoyt's anger rolled off Cian's back like the rain. "If you expect more than I can or will give, you'll be in a constant state of disappointment. It's my money that bought the land and the house that sits on it, and mine that goes to maintaining both. I'd think you'd be in a better humor this morning, after romping with the pretty witch last night."

"Careful where you step," Hoyt said softly.

"I've good footing." And he couldn't resist treading on tender ground. "She's a prime piece, and no mistake. But I've had a few centuries more experience with women than you. There's more than l.u.s.t in those striking green eyes of hers. She sees a future with them.

And what, I wonder, will you do about that?"

"It's not your concern."

"Not in the least, no, but it's entertaining to speculate, particularly when I haven't a woman of my own to divert me at the moment.

She's no round-heeled village girl happy with a roll in the hay and a trinket. She'll want and expect more of you, as women, particularly clever women, tend to."

Instinctively he glanced up, checking the cloud cover. Irish weather was tricky, he knew, and the sun could decide to spill out along with the rain. "Do you think if you survive these three months, satisfy your G.o.ds, to ask them for the right to take her back with you?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Not everyone asks a question because the answer matters. Can't you see her, tucked into your cottage on the cliffs in Kerry? No electricity, no running water, no Saks around the corner. Cooking your dinner in a pot on the fire.

Likely shorten her life expectancy by half given the lack of health care and nutrition, but well then, anything for love."

"What do you know of it?" Hoyt snapped.

"You're not capable of love."

"Oh, you'd be wrong about that. My kind can love, deeply, even desperately. Certainly unwisely, which it appears we have in common.

So you won't take her back, for that would be the selfish thing. You're much too holy, too pure for that. And enjoy the role of martyr too much as well. So you'll leave her here to pine for you.

I might amuse myself by offering her some comfort, and seeing as we share a resemblance, I wager she'll take it. And me." The blow knocked him back, but not down. He tasted blood, the gorgeous burn of it, then swiped a hand over his bleeding mouth. It had taken longer than he'd a.s.sumed it would to bait his brother.

"Well now, that's been a long time coming, for both of us." He tossed his sword aside as Hoyt had. "Let's have a go then."

Cian's fist moved so fast it was only a blur-a blur that had stars exploding in front of Hoyt's eyes. And his nose fountaining blood.

Then they charged each other like rams.

Cian took one in the kidneys, and a second strike had his ears ringing. He'd forgotten Hoyt could fight like the devil when provoked. He ducked a jab and sent Hoyt down with a kick to the midsection. And found himself on his a.s.s as his brother slashed out his legs and took his feet out from under him.

He could have been up in a fingersnap, ended it, but his blood was hot. And heated, preferred a grapple.

They rolled over the ground, punching, cursing while the rain soaked them through to the skin. Elbows and fists rammed into flesh, cracked against bone.

Then Cian reared back with a hiss and flash of fangs. Hoyt saw the burn sear into his brother's hand, in the shape of his cross. "f.u.c.k me," Cian muttered and sucked on burned flesh and welling blood. "I guess you need a weapon to best me."

"Aye, f.u.c.k you. I don't need anything but my own fists." Hoyt reached up, had nearly yanked off the chain. Then dropped his hand when he realized the utter stupidity of it.

"This is fine, isn't it?" He spat out the words, and some blood with it. "This is just fine.

Brawling like a couple of street rats, and leaving ourselves open to anything that comes. If anything had been nearby, we'd be dead."

"Already am-and speak for yourself."

"This isn't what I want, trading blows with you." Though the fight was still on his face as he swiped blood from his mouth. "It serves nothing."

"Felt good though."

Hoyt's swollen lips twitched, and the leading edge of his temper dulled. "It did, that's the pure truth. Holy martyr, my a.s.s."

"Knew that would get under your skin."

"Sure you always knew how to get there.

If we can't be brothers, Cian, what are we?"

Cian sat as he was, absently rubbing at the gra.s.s and bloodstains on his shirt. "If you win, you'll be gone in a few months. Or I'll see you die. Do you know how many I've seen die?"