"I'm sorry," Moira said. "It's different, I know, but I do know what it's like to lose your da." Moira sipped her tea, wondering if she should just say what had driven her here in the first place. After all, according to Katrina, people knew the truth anyway, so it wasn't like she was revealing some big secret. No, the only person it had been a secret from was her, the one person who deserved to know. She looked up and saw Ian looking at her, concerned.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Ciaran MacEwan really was my grandfather," she blurted. "Mum told me everything after you left. It was all true. I feel like I'm, well, destined to be bad."
Ian made a sympathetic face. "Even if Ciaran was your grandfather," he said, "that doesn't change anything about you-you never even knew him, and he's gone now."
"But my mum let me believe someone else was my grandfather my whole life," Moira went on. "I feel like I don't even know her anymore. Like I hardly even know myself. Yesterday I was Moira Byrne. Today I'm Moira Byrne, granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. How am I going to face anyone?"
"Look I know, and I don't care," Ian said seriously, taking her hand. Moira felt her breath quicken and a tingle of awareness start at the bottom of her spine. "Anyone who thinks it's a big deal, just ignore them. And that's whether they think it's good or bad."
"What do you mean, good? How could anyone possibly think it's good?"
Ian looked at her. "Oh."
Dark witches. They'd be happy to find the granddaughter of Ciaran MacEwan. Without thinking, Moira glanced at the doorway, wondering if Lilith was out there. Had Ian known all along about Ciaran? Had Lilith?
Moira sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'd better go. They were starting dinner when I left." And my mum might be barreling down the road right now in her rusty old banger.
She put her mug down and left the kitchen. She looked over into the dining room as she passed by, where Lilith Delaney was still working, small, half-moon glasses perched on her nose.
"Good night, Moira," Lilith said evenly.
Had she heard what Moira had been saying to Ian? There was no way to know. "Good night, Ms. Delaney," said Moira, trying to smile normally.
Ian walked her outside. The mist had let up; some of the clouds had cleared away and the stars were beginning to assert themselves again. Most of the moon was visible, and it laid a cream-colored wash of light over the landscape. Going home would be much easier than coming.
"Thanks, Ian," Moira said. "Sorry again to barge in on you."
"Please stop apologizing," he said. "I always want you to come to me if you need help. About anything." He looked awkward for a moment, then said, "I wish I had a better place for you to come to."
Her heart went out to him. "Nobody's perfect," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "There's always something wrong with everyone's parents or house or whatever."
"Yeah. I just can't wait to be on my own."
Moira looked into his blue eyes, lighter than the night sky, and saw his impatience. He wasn't like Cal. It was so clear. I wish he would kiss me. And then suddenly he was, leaning over and blotting out the moon. His lips on hers were soft but exploring, as if he was trying to memorize everything about her. She put her arms around his shoulders, excitement coiling in her chest, and wished ludicrously that her stupid bike wasn't between them.
Ian slanted his head slightly and put his hands on her waist. The pedal of her bike was digging into her shin, but she ignored it. Could she just break the kiss, step around the bike, and grab him again?
Then he was drawing back, his eyes glittering. "Move your bike," he said intently, and quickly she stepped around the bike, letting it fall to the soft, muddy grass. Then they were pressed together tightly, and Ians hand was holding the back of her neck so he could kiss her. They seemed perfectly matched, their hips pressed together, their mouths slanting against each other, their arms wrapped around each other as if they were trying to meld.
She thought she might love him.
10. Morgan
Morgan thought she was going to explode. First she and Katrina had seen Hunter when they scried. Since Killian was there, they hadn't had a chance to talk about it alone. And when she hadn't been able to sense Moira outside, she'd scried for her and found her at Ian Delaney's house. Morgan had to find her, talk to her, tell her how sorry she was. She sent her a quick witch message. Moira, please come home. Please-or I will have to come and get you.
I'm on my way, Moira sent back, and Morgan almost sobbed in relief.
"Moira's coming back," she told Killian and Katrina.
"Oh, good. She'll be all right, you'll see," said Killian. "You'll make up."
Morgan smiled gratefully at her half brother, who'd grown up virtually without a father himself. Now Killian had three children of his own. He seemed more thoughtful, less self- centered. He stood, clearing the table, while Morgan just sat, her stomach knotting with tension. Just then she felt Moira coming up the front path. Leaping from the table, she ran to the front door just as Moira reached it. As soon as she saw her daughter, she burst into tears and gathered her close. Please don't push me away. At first Moira stood stiffly in her embrace, but she slowly loosened up and gradually put her arms around Morgan.
"I'm sorry, honey," Morgan said. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"I wish I wish you had just told me the truth," Moira said.
"I know. I wish I had, too." Morgan pulled back and looked at Moira, brushing some damp hair out of her face. "But you're my family, and I'm yours. And that's all that matters."
Looking a little teary-eyed herself, Moira nodded.
Morgan started to draw her into the warmth and light of the house, but Moira paused, looking at the walk.
"I stepped on something," she said.
"A stone?"
"No." Moira looked, then leaned over and picked up something shiny from the brick path. "Here," she said, handing it to Morgan. "Did you drop this?"
Squinting, Morgan turned sideways in the door so the inside light would fall on her palm. Small, silver, a bit crusty but still glinting. She brushed some of the dirt away as Moira eased past her into the house.
It was a ring-who could have dropped it? She brushed more of the dirt away. Keady, maybe? Katrina? Oh, Goddess.
Morgan's heart clenched, and she wondered if she were dreaming again. It was a silver claddagh ring. They weren't uncommon in Ireland-many people wore them. But no one had one with the rune Beorc, for new beginnings, engraved on the inside. This was Morgan's ring, the one Hunter had given her a lifetime ago. This was the ring that had flown off her finger that day in Wales, when the ferry went down. And now here it was, appearing on her doorstop an hour after she'd seen Hunter.
Her eyes huge, Morgan stared at Moira. There were no words to describe what she was feeling, the emotions she was being assaulted with. She was losing her mind-she felt like she was about to collapse right there, in front of all of them. Who was doing this to her? Making her heart break all over again, when it had broken so many times already?
"Is it yours?" Moira asked. "Do you recognize it?"
Morgan managed a nod. The room swam around her; her breath came shallowly.
"Mum? You don't feel right." Moira sounded worried. "Maybe you should sit down."
Morgan couldn't move until Moira took her elbow and led her to a dining chair. Her ring. It had fallen into the sea, with Hunter, her love. It had been torn away from her, wrenched away just as Hunter had been. How had the ring come back here? Only Sky, Bree, and Mary K. knew how she had lost it. Goddess, why was Hunter suddenly everywhere in her life, when he'd been taken from her so many years ago? The pain was too much, too much to bear.
Someone had deliberately put the ring there for her to find. Like the morganite. And it didn't make sense that it was Lilith-this had to be someone close to Morgan. Someone who knew her well. And the ring and the morganite, the vision and the dream, the scrying-they were all pieces of a puzzle, a horrible maze closing around her, scaring her, trying to drive her mad. I'm under siege. Goddess, I'm in danger. And Hunter-my Hunter-is the weapon.
"Mum, what's wrong?" Moira looked frightened. "What is it? The ring? Mum, you're scaring me!"
Morgan had no idea where to begin. Goddess, she didn't know if she could handle this. How many secrets had she kept from her daughter? Cal and Selene. Ciaran. Now Hunter? How many huge confidences could Moira handle in one week? How many more could Morgan handle? It was as if the whole tapestry of her life with Moira was becoming unraveled and not slowly, thread by thread-it was being torn, rent into pieces, and the ripping was painful and unexpected, leaving Morgan bare and vulnerable.
Her ring. She slid it onto the ring finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly, the silver warming instantly to the temperature of her blood. Her ring.
"Morgan" Killian looked at her with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Thank you," Morgan said, speaking as if from a great distance. "I think so."
"Perhaps we should give Morgan some time," Katrina suggested gently. "Maybe you want to return to your lodgings, Killian?"
"If you're quite sure," he said, looking at Morgan.
She nodded. "Yes, I think that might be best," she said, her voice strained.
"Well, then, I'll bid you all good night," he said, standing up. "I'm staying at Armistead's if you need me. Don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you." Morgan spoke automatically. He leaned over and pecked Moira on the cheek. "I'm glad I met you," he said. Then he and Morgan kissed each other's cheeks, and he let himself out.
"Mum, you look like you've seen a ghost," Moira said. "Are you going to tell me what is going on?"
Morgan was reluctant to speak in front of Katrina. Katrina knew all about Hunter, of course. But this was a moment that needed to happen between just mother and daughter, in private. She glanced at her mother-in-law.
As if divining her thoughts, Katrina stood. "I'd best be off," she said. "Didn't mean to stay so late."
"Let me give you a ride home-it's late," Morgan said, walking Katrina to the door.
"No, lass." Katrina shook her head. "The walk is good for me. You are needed here."
At the door Katrina paused, looking into Morgan's face. "It was Hunter we saw, wasn't it?" she said, glancing back to see if Moira could hear their conversation. "What do you make of it?"
"Yes, it was. I don't know what to make of anything anymore," Morgan said, feeling lost in a way that she hadn't felt since Colm had died.
"Call me if you want to talk," Katrina said, and Morgan nodded. They hugged quickly and Katrina began to walk down the path, her stiff leg making her gait awkward.
"Be safe, be quick, be home in a tick," Morgan murmured automatically. When she turned around, Moira was still sitting at the table, her head in her hands-someone waiting for bad news. She raised her head and glared at Morgan.
"Tell me what's going on," Moira said through clenched teeth. Morgan sighed. Goddess give her strength. "This ring was given to me by someone I knew before your dad."
Moira sat up straighten interested. "Someone? Who? Mum, just tell me."
Morgan sat at the table beside Moira. "How far have you gotten in my old Books of Shadows?" she asked.
Moira shrugged. "I've been jumping around," she said.
Morgan nodded. "Well, then, maybe you haven't read much about him yet, or at least about what he ended up meaning to me. Moira, there was someone special to me before your father." She looked into Moira's eyes, unsure of how to go on. "He he was my muirn beatha dan."
Moira flinched, pain flashing across her face. "Da wasn't?"
Morgan shook her head regretfully. "Your dad and I loved each other very much, but we weren't each other's muirn beatha dans. His name was Hunter. Hunter Niall. He was the Seeker who was sent after Cal and Selene." She stared at the worn tabletop, lost in the pain of remembering. "How I felt about him was unlike anything I had known. It was how love should be. We were made to be together, two halves of a whole."
Moira looked down at the table, shifting uncomfortably. "I always thought-I mean, that's what you and da seemed like to me."
Morgan's heart squeezed. "Moira, I'm sorry, I know this is hard."
Moira let out a harsh laugh. "What isn't, lately," she said. She stared out the window, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "So what happened?" she asked. "With you and this guy, Hunter?"
Morgan plunged on, just wanting to get everything out in the open. "Well, for a while it didn't seem like we could be together-I was here in Cobh, with Belwicket, and I felt like I needed to stay here. Hunter was one of the witches who created the New Charter, and he was traveling everywhere. We hardly saw each other. I had decided we had to break up and go our separate ways-"
"Break up with your muirn beatha dan?" Moira cut in. "That's crazy."
"Yes, well," Morgan said ruefully. "That was his response, too. Instead, he asked me to marry him, to have a handfasting." After so many years, those words still made her lip tremble, and a lump formed in her throat.
Moira turned to her. "What did you say?" she asked breathlessly.
"I said yes, of course." Morgan swallowed. "He was my soul mate. My other half. It was the happiest time of my entire life. All my wishes, all my dreams, my hopes-they were all coming true because Hunter and I would be together. Then the next day he had to go to a meeting of the New Charter. It was going to be his last one-he was going to tell them he had to quit traveling so much. Then he was going to come back and be with me and move to Cobh and we were going to start our lives together."
"Your lives together," Moira echoed, looking slightly ill. "Here in Cobh."
Morgan couldn't imagine what Moira had to be feeling, hearing how different Morgan's vision of her future had once been from how it turned out-how another man had been the one she saw herself living this life with, not Moira's father.
Moira swallowed. "So, what happened?" she asked. "He got on the early-morning ferry," Morgan said slowly, tracing a rune for strength on the tabletop. The lump in her throat got bigger, and she blinked back tears. She hadn't spoken about that day in many years.