Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

“It’s around six in the morning and the rolls are still rising. I’ll cook them when I get back.” She felt a twinge of concern about leaving him alone, even for a short time. “Will you be okay alone for an hour or so?”

“Mom, come on . . . if anything happens I can defend myself. Not that anything will.”

“Your father has people watching our cabin,” she warned him.

“I know,” he said. “I heard them talking in the woods last night. I caught parts of their conversation. They’re . . . protecting us.”

Protecting or spying? Both, probably. But she knew in her heart Dylan would never allow his son to be harmed. Just as she knew he would do everything in his power to keep him from leaving. And for the first time she felt secure in that knowledge, appreciating Dylan’s protection, especially when it came to Joshua. “You have your weapons nearby?”

He sighed. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, she patted his leg and stood. “I’ll just be running a circle around the cabin. If you need me, all you have to do is holler.”

“Mom . . . Go. ” He rolled in a cocoon of blankets, covering his head and already falling back asleep.

“Don’t forget your uncle will be here at eight,” she reminded him as she headed to the door. “That’s only two hours away.”

He grunted.

Sophie checked on her mother before going back downstairs, closing the door softly after finding her still asleep. She pulled her hair into a rough ponytail and brushed her teeth. Under her sweatshirt rested her gun, tucked tightly against her side. She secured the knives and extra magazines to each calf, her own special jogging weights.

According to Dylan, a gun wouldn’t kill one of his wolves, but she was betting it would slow one down. Or piss it off. Hopefully she would never find out. Regardless, she wasn’t leaving the house unarmed. She even debated wearing the serpent but opted against it; yesterday’s events combined with the dream had left her feeling edgy. Accepting gifts from talking serpents had that effect on her, even a serpent of dreams.

The outside air was crisp. She stretched on the porch, keeping her ears open for signs of the guards’ whereabouts. Somewhere close, she was sure. Patches of snow lingered beyond the trees but the road was dry and clear, perfect for a morning run.

A sad feeling settled in her chest as she took off down the gravel-covered road, starting at a steady jog. She missed her dog . . . Well, Matthew’s dog. Tucker had always run with her in the mornings. She had felt safer with the Great Dane by her side.

Matthew, or Taliesin , or whatever his real name was, hadn’t returned her call, nor had she tried to call him back. What was the point? She had left a message and he knew her number. And frankly, she was tired of being lied to.

Birds sang in the forest, the sound a delicate accompaniment to the steady rhythm of her strides, nature’s orchestra soothing her tattered nerves. She increased her speed; her side started to ache and her calves protested but she fought through the pain, focusing on her breathing and her surroundings.

DYLAN WATCHED ELEN TAKE A SIP FROM HER MUG AND then set it down on her kitchen table. The scent of coffee drifted through the room, mingling with dried herbs tied with string that hung from the kitchen rafters.

Elen sat across from him, still in her sleeping garments, covered by a soft pink robe. The sun filtered in through her front window, making her hair shine golden white around her shoulders.

A massive wolf stood by her chair, his eyes filled with human resentment. Even confined to all fours, Cormack towered above Elen.

She stroked her hand down the wolf’s neck and whispered something into his ear, low enough to mask the content of her words from Dylan but not the tone, a tone of warmth, of tenderness.

Cormack retreated, although with obvious reluctance.

Dylan waited until the steps of the beast had left the house and retreated to the woods. “You’ve become close with Cormack?”

Her eyebrows rose, mocking. “You can lose that fatherly tone. Cormack and I are friends. He keeps me company when others are . . . uncomfortable around me.”

“Who’s uncomfortable around you?” Dylan sat up in his chair. “Not our people from the village?”

“Don’t be angry with them,” she said. “They still call on me when they’re hurt.” She waved her hand around her cottage. “Can you blame them for being wary of me? They know I’m different.” Her voice turned melancholy. “Do you remember the witch who lived in the hills when we were children?”

“Maelorwen.” Dylan supplied the name.

“Yes.” A brief smile touched her lips, suggesting her memories of the witch were not unpleasant ones. “Maelorwen taught me a great deal about plants and their uses. I always wondered why she befriended me. I was such a nuisance, constantly underfoot asking questions, but now I understand how she must have felt; she was lonely.”

“Are you lonely, Elen?”

She gave a delicate shrug with one shoulder. “Like Maelorwen, I’ve become a healer . . . and yet the people I help are too wary to come to me unless in need.”

Troubled by the comparison, Dylan glanced around his sister’s kitchen. It had been a while since he had visited Elen in her private quarters. Although a short distance from the clinic, her cottage remained secluded, and like her front yard and private garden out back, plants grew around the windows and over the walls, a greenhouse effect in early April that gave Dylan due cause to worry. “Your gift is growing stronger.”

She looked down at her hands. “I know.”

Elen might not have the ability to call the wolf, but she wasn’t powerless. Quite the opposite, in fact. Like Dylan and Luc, she could call on nature and any living thing in her immediate surroundings. But unlike her brothers, or any others of their kind, she could give that gift away. In her own way, she had the ability to give life. And when the power ran strong it showed in her surroundings, because she always gave it back to the earth.

Dylan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, pondering the consequences of his next suggestion, but having enough faith in his sister’s innate goodness to make it. “Perhaps it’s time you explore your gift beyond plants.”

“I cannot.” She kept her eyes downcast but the conviction in her voice refused argument, and yet there was deep longing that filtered through the fear. “I’m afraid once I open that door . . . I’ll never be able to close it.”

“You may be able to use your gift to help others . . . You may be able to use it to help others like Cormack.”

“Not without taking an equal life. And I’m not willing to do that.” She shook her head with vehemence. “I will never do that.”

Dylan gave her a low nod, respecting her choice. “I’m always here for you.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Your apartments are still available . . . if you want to move back in with your brothers.”

“Oh no,” she said with a tad more force than necessary. “I may be lonely at times . . . but I still value my independence, such as it is.” She stood quickly, her chair almost toppling over in her haste, and walked toward the sink and away from her brother’s good intentions. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to discuss my problems,” she continued, effectively changing the subject. “Luc informed me he’s called everyone back home from the cities. I’ll make a point to stop in and see Beatrice when she arrives. She’ll probably stay with her mother. And Joseph . . .”

Dylan nodded absently. Luc had indeed called everyone back home, and some had begun to arrive, but his mind was on another matter entirely. “Sophie has possession of the Serpent of Cernunnos.”