A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,84
of breath and far too casual. To practice.
A message from the careful Scots of Margaree. They hadn't sent Buddy. They'd sent a young girl ready to stake her life on all things being possible.
Cass listened to the same raw teenage angst she'd heard a week before - and felt the music land its punches. Ellie's talent. The soaring comfort of being back in a part of the world where fiddles were limbs and music was just another way of breathing.
And the daring.
It reverberated in her bones and shook the heart that stood poised on the edge of a limitless abyss. Cass had jumped before - but Rosie had been in her hands and Ellie's teenage exuberance had been in her veins. Now she was old, cautious, and aware the world wasn't simply Cassidy Farrell's plaything.
Ellie didn't know fear, yet.
There were hearts at stake. A tiny girl with purple eyes. A man who had walked through hell and come out the other side still able to love. A boy who didn't share Ellie's flamboyance, but might well share her talent. A quiet healer who had made room for a new friend and a wise Irish matriarch who dispensed truth and comfort and so touched the part of Cass's heart where Nan had always lived.
Somehow, in less than a fortnight, she'd acquired a clan.
And clans came with rules.
Ellie had switched music now, to something less angsty and more complicated. A girl trying to grow up. It tormented something painful and raw in Cass's chest. She reached for Rosie and started picking out a harmony. Soft, insistent sound that flowed underneath the notes of a young woman contemplating what freedom might look like.
A warning. Freedom's cost was very high.
Ellie grinned and played faster. Brighter.
Oh, sweet girl. Be careful. Cass doubled down on her harmony. Long, slow notes. A foundation. Holding the feet of brightness to the ground. Remember your roots.
Brightness only laughed, content to float and fly and dance toward the horizon.
The urge to protect - to ensnare, to warn of things that lay over the horizon - was fierce.
And then the words of Nan, twenty-six years in the past, floated up through the pain. Go, child. Fly. And when you're done and ready to come home, you'll know.
The younger Cassidy Farrell had only laughed, sure that day would never come.
Only now did the older Cassidy, travel weary and heartsore, realize how terribly hard it must have been for Nan to toss her into the sky.
Cass drifted Rosie's harmony to an end, no longer fighting Ellie's shining flight. This wasn't about Ellie. It was about the woman who had flown away long before her time.
And was perhaps ready to come home.
From one misbegotten village in the middle of nowhere to another.
Marcus jerked his car to the side of the road next to an enormous barn and cursed his empty stomach, his foolish quest, and the green-eyed witch who'd brought him here.
Eight hours ago, he'd felt like the knight errant Warrior Girl dared him to be. A long, hungry drive later, punctuated by ridiculous treks across barren beaches in search of exactly the right pebbles, and he was ready to plant his sword and hand over the keys of the kingdom to whichever dragon was ready to promise him a warm bed for the night.
Which probably meant he was hallucinating, on top of all his other woes.
There was an impressive crowd of cars parked outside a place known only as The Barn. The gratingly genial man at the front desk of the inn had said he would find Cassidy here.
And while the man's mind had teemed with questions, he'd asked not a word. Only promised to set aside a room key for Marcus should he need it.
Knights errant weren't supposed to think of rooms and beds and earthly comforts. The smart ones didn't drive lonely roads in the middle of dark winter nights, either. Marcus jammed a wool hat on his head, pulled his sweater up around his ears, and made a run for the door.
A lady twice his age held it open for him, smiling sweetly. "Coming to hear the music, dear? You should wear a jacket - you'll catch your death running around dressed like that."
He scowled, disoriented by the bright light, the warmth, and the friendly lecture.
"Don't harass the man, Mildred." A large hand clapped down on his shoulder. "He's new here. Let's buy him a beer before the ladies get their hands on him."
That sounded ominous - both the beer