“Nan says you’re the strongest healer she knows.”

“It’s good of her to say so. Any of the Fey may find this gift in them. Opening to another’s pain or illness or distress can be a hard choice. You feel some of that pain and distress as you work to heal it, and that person may be a stranger, even an enemy. But once you accept the gift, you can’t deny it.”

“It’s an oath? Like doctors take in my world.”

“Very like, aye. I’m told, like Harken, you connect with animals.”

“I always thought it was . . . I don’t know what. But yes, and it’s stronger since I’ve come here.”

“What are we all, but animals, after all? Flesh and blood and bone, hearts and muscles. How do you know what your dog feels or needs or wants?”

Breen glanced toward the window. She heard Bollocks barking, and knew, just knew, he was barking with absolute joy.

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“You think of him, look into him. It’s harder, believe me, not to look and see than it is to look and see. And you open without thought. Ah, here’s a sweet little dog, or a fine-looking horse, or a poor bird with a broken wing. And you think, and care, and wonder. And open.”

Aisling took her hand. “Will you let me look?”

“At me? Or . . . in me.” Nerves popped. “I . . . that’s part of it?”

“It can be.”

“Okay. All right. Do I have to do anything?”

“Nothing at all.”

And nothing changed as Aisling kept Breen’s hand clasped in hers.

The kettle still sputtered, the dog still barked.

“You’re a healthy one, and that’s a fine thing. Fit as well, you are. Strong—stronger than most will think, and isn’t that grand? You have worries, of course, but so many come from thinking you’re not good enough or clever. I’ll say that’s bollocks, but you have to learn that yourself. But we’re connected now, not just hand to hand. What do you see in me?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Aisling laughed. “And didn’t I do just a bit of a glamour this morning, as Marg said you’d come. Vanity isn’t such a bad thing, is it?”

“I’d like to learn that one. I know you love your family. I can see that without magicks. And you must be clever because there’s a spinning wheel over there, and a loom there. You must be a good mother because your kids are happy and healthy and really charming. And—”

She jolted; her mouth dropped open. “The baby moved! I felt the baby move. How—”

“We’re connected, and I opened to you to help you see and feel.”

“It feels amazing. It makes you so happy. And . . .”

“What?”

“A little smug.”

Aisling laughed again. “Aye, it does. You’re a good one, empathic, and that’s helpful. Not all healers are empaths, not all empaths are healers. Having both makes each the stronger. Why not see what we have here?”

Aisling rose, went to her darning basket. She came back with a needle. She pricked her finger, held it out as she took Breen’s hand in her free one again.

“See the blood, just a drop. The skin broken. Feel the little sting. Just a tiny bit of a thing. Let yourself feel that, just as you did the life stirring in me. Feel it, imagine closing that tiny bit of a wound. Open to it, and it’s the light—the shine and the warmth of it—that heals what hurts.”

She didn’t know if she felt or just imagined the slight sting in her own finger. But she pressed her thumb against it, and Aisling smiled.

“Well done.”

“But I didn’t—”

“You did, with a bit of help guiding you.” Aisling wiped the drop of blood away, then held out her finger to show the unbroken skin. “A small thing, aye, a first step.”

Over Breen’s appalled objections, Aisling burned her finger on the stove, nicked her arm with a kitchen knife. And worked with Breen to heal the small wounds.

“You’ve a talent for it,” Aisling told her, “just as Marg said. More serious injuries take more, but you’ll build to that, and learn to combine what you have with the right potions, balms, other treatments. Now I think you could use another cup of tea.”

As she rose to make it, Keegan came through the door with a swirl of his duster.

“Morena said she was here. That’s good then, I’ve time to start on her training.”

“She has a name, as I’ll remind you.” Aisling spoke tartly as she continued making tea. “Breen and I have been working on her healing skills. She’s done very well indeed.”

“Well then, she’ll find them handy when dealing with the bruises she’ll have after training.” He turned to Breen. “Basic hand-to-hand for today, so we’ll see what you’re made of.”

If she could have glued her butt to the chair, she would have. “I don’t intend to fight anyone.”

“It’s not about bloody intent. Are you going to do nothing but kick and squeal if Odran sends one of his creatures after you? Will you sit and shiver next time he puts you in a cage? Why should any risk protecting you if you won’t work to protect yourself?”

“Out with you! Take your rude self outside. She’ll be along soon enough.” Aisling fisted her hands on her hips. “Out of my kitchen before I give you a bruise of your own.”

Keegan only shrugged, but he left.

“I’ll apologize for the boneheaded brother the fates have given me. Keegan does tend to be abrupt.”

“That’s a word we could use.”

With a smile Aisling offered Breen the tea. “Oh sure, I’ve used many others when dealing with him over these years—all, in my opinion, well earned, as taoiseach or no, he’s my idjit brother. But . . .” She sat again. “He’s also got the right of it. You must learn, as he said, for your sake and that of others. There’s not a one in this world who wouldn’t give their life to protect you.”

“I don’t want—”

“It’s not what you want, it’s what is.” Reaching out, Aisling took Breen’s hand, and her eyes—so clear and blue—looked deeply into Breen’s. “I remember when you were taken as a child. I remember the battle drums. I remember how many we sent to the gods who lost their lives to help bring you home safe. My father was one of them.”

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt strangled her. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not for you to be sorry.” In comfort, in strength, Aisling’s fingers tightened. “You were a child. And you fought, you fought with all that’s in you. The shield around you won’t last forever, and the fact of it is, it’s already been breached once. Keegan was there, and so you sit here now.

“He’s a man who strains for patience, and uses it up, I’ll tell you, in dealing with the council, the judgments, the politics, the weight of his rank. His approach on this is boneheaded, as I said. But that doesn’t make him wrong.”

Sitting in the kitchen that smelled of fresh bread and tea, Breen remembered the battle she’d seen through Marg’s eyes, and all the people who’d risked their lives for her.

“All right. He’s going to be really unhappy when I’m not any good at it.”

“That’s yet to be seen. And there’s no one better to teach you in this than Keegan. He was trained by our father, and then yours, and he’ll give you—in his way—what they gave him.”

As Breen saw it, she had two choices. Say no and deal with the guilt—and feel like a coward. Or go out and take her lumps—probably literal lumps.

She’d rather have bruises on her body than on her still-shaky ego.

She went out to see Keegan galloping bareback around the paddock on a dark brown horse with both boys—the younger in front of him, the older behind.

While her first reaction was he rode too fast, she couldn’t deny the absolute glee on both boys’ faces.

He spotted her, and slowed down. When he pulled the horse to a stop, he got pleas for more from front and back.

“Later,” he said. “Off you go, Fin.”

With obvious reluctance, Finian climbed down onto the paddock fence. Keegan swung off, plucked the younger off the horse, gave him a quick, high toss.

“Go on and pester your mother.” He gave them each a rub on the head before plunking Kavan over the fence, then swinging over it himself.

He looked strong, she thought, and pondered those lumps.

“Make a fist.”

She knew that one because Marco had shown her—thumb out, not in.

He gripped her balled hand, then annoyed the crap out of her by gripping her biceps with the other.

“You’re no weakling, but there’ll be times you’ll come up against the bigger, the stronger. You need to learn how to use what you have to defend, to use what they have—that strength and size—against them.”

“I took a course. I know SING.”

He just stared at her. “A tune isn’t going to stop a fist aimed at your face.”

“No, not that. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. S-I-N-G.”

Head cocked now, he gave a slight nod. “All right then, show me.”

“Well, if I were in a parking garage, for instance, and you were a mugger or a rapist who came up behind me.”

She turned her back. Keegan swept her legs out from under her.

Astonishment came first—no one had ever knocked her down. Resentment followed fast. “You said to show you.”

“I’m still waiting for that, and wondering why you’d turn your back on an enemy.”

She got to her feet. “To demonstrate.”

“And what if I’m coming at you, face-to-face?”

When he lunged forward, she stumbled back. And he knocked her down again.

“The tune might be more useful,” he commented, and pulled her up.