A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,46

damp eyes. "I heard you wanted your old violin. She's upstairs in my room, waiting for you."

It didn't begin to compute. "I meant for Mum to mail it." Not send an eighty-two-year-old woman as fiddle courier. Not that it had likely been Mum's idea.

Nan's eyebrows pulled together. "You've been away from home for twenty-six years, Cassidy Meagan Farrell. And not once in all that time have you asked for Samantha. I came to see why."

Oh, crud. Cass squirmed away from the wise steel in her grandmother's eyes. "There's a boy here who likes the music. I thought he might like a chance to play, that's all."

"Mmm." Someone was entirely unconvinced. "And there are no music stores in this great land, is that it? Or you're short on pennies to buy the boy a violin?"

She'd bought more than one over the years, for eager eyes all over the continent. And it truly hadn't occurred to her to do so this time. Cass blinked. "I just... Samantha's a good violin. She deserves to be played."

"Indeed." Nan helped herself to a muffin. "We've hardly let her sit in a closet and molder. She's gotten two fine musicians off to a nice start."

That possibility hadn't occurred to Cass either. "Oh, no - was someone using her?"

"No, child." Nan patted her hand. "Don't you fret about that. She was sitting idle in my spare bedroom. Waiting for that boy of yours, I expect."

It kind of felt that way. Which didn't ease the voices in Cass's head any. And she was still feeling gobsmacked. "You've never left Ireland. You hardly ever leave the county."

Nan smiled gently. "I go where I'm needed."

That usually meant sick patients or breeding cows. Cass frowned, very sure she was neither. "You felt pulled here?" No one questioned Nan's instincts - she'd saved countless lives showing up moments before the crisis arrived.

"No one is ailing, girl." The hand reaching for hers was warm and sure. "I came to see you. The rocks were calling."

Damned interfering boulders. Cass squeezed back, so very glad to see the person she loved most in all the world. And for the first time in her life, truly cursed the rocks and their antics.

Such a delight it was to have a guest at her table who spoke in the melodies Moira had grown up with. Especially one with a desire to chat - it was hardly an accident that Nan had shown up on her doorstep not two hours after she'd arrived. And come alone.

Moira sat down, tea happily steeping in two cups. "I've a lovely scone or two, if you're wanting something to eat."

"Perhaps by and by. Young Aaron took good care of my stomach. He's a good man, he is."

Aaron was one of Fisher's Cove's best treasures. "Wait until you taste one of his stews."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Nan's smile spoke of more than just the stew. She looked out the window at the mostly dormant gardens. "You came over the waters, just like my Cassidy."

She had. "Aye, but without her talent. She must make you very proud."

"She does." Eyes gleamed bright with it - and with sadness. "I miss her dearly every day that she's gone."

Such love. Moira reached out a comforting hand. "She's a traveler still seeking roots, I think. Perhaps she'll yet find her way home." They both knew it was a lie - but the Irish knew the value of one that comforted.

"She has a heart with a singular focus. I believe she'll settle when her heart is ready to make space for more." Nan looked out the window again. "You've grown strong roots here. Hardy ones that still love a bit of pretty frippery now and then."

Conversational meandering - it was the way of their people. "Aye. Nothing wrong with a pretty bloom or two."

"Or a glass of good green medicine, I'll wager." Nan shifted her gaze from the window and winked. "Miss Lizzie took me on a tour of your herbals pantry. You teach the old ways here."

Moira chuckled. "Don't be telling our wee girl that." Their youngest healer fancied herself a modern scientist these days, and they were doing their best not to disabuse her of the notion. Herbal lore was a long road of learning, and anything that kept a student's feet happy on the journey was welcome.

"The traditions die, even at home." Deep-green eyes swam with power and heartache. "What you do here, it pleases me greatly to see. A home for the old magics."

And