Betraying Season (31 page)

I think so,
Pen thought. For some reason her voice didn’t seem to want to work.

“Breathe, child.” Lady Keating sounded faintly amused. “Holding your breath weakens you. Don’t try to fight it.”

Pen forced herself to take a shallow breath and let it out.

“Yes, that’s right. Think about your breathing. Breathe in. Now breathe out that same amount. Again. When you direct your breathing like that, you create a balance, a stillness. Do you feel it?”

Pen concentrated on her shoulders, relaxing them, letting them regulate the ebb and flow of her breath.

“Now, let the power rest on that stillness in you. Lightly . . . yes. Good. It is not so heavy anymore, is it? When you hold it in balance, it is much easier. Stay there for a little while, and think about how it feels so that next time it comes around, you will be able to find that point again.”

The sweat had stopped beading on Pen’s forehead. She cautiously opened her eyes and murmured, “It
is
better,” careful not to let her breathing falter.

“Yes. Now, think about giving it back to me. As you pass it, think about making it grow. You are a vessel of the Goddess’s magic. Let it draw from you . . . oh, yes! Very good.” Lady Keating broke into a wide smile. “That is as much as we can safely manage on our own. I think that is enough for this morning. Let’s see.”

She turned her head and glanced around until her attention fell on one of the roses that was, for some reason, not as large and hale as its neighbors. “There we are,” she said. Releasing Pen’s hands, she reached toward the small shrub.

The energy rolled off her fingertips and hit the rosebush. Its leaves shivered as if caught in a wind and then began to grow, doubling in size and in number, till it was covered in glossy, dark green foliage. Pale, sickly shoots thickened and lengthened, and multiple buds swelled at their ends. Pen stared, and then laughed. “What will the gardeners think when they see that?”

Lady Keating smiled too. “They won’t think. They’ll know. My roses are famed over most of Cork for a very good reason. Come, my dear, let’s have a stroll. We have a few minutes before luncheon.”

Pen stretched, then glanced down at her watch pinned to her dress. They’d been standing in the rose garden for nearly three hours. No wonder she always needed a nap after luncheon.

Lady Keating took her arm and guided her up a short flight of stone steps from the rose garden to an old-fashioned herb garden. White gravel paths and low boxwood hedges trimmed into ribbons of knotwork surrounded the beds of plants, many of them just blooming. Ecstatic bees hummed among the lavender and hyssop, opening in the warmth of the sun.

“You know, Penelope, that you are much like that rosebush,” Lady Keating said after a few moments. “Look how you have changed since the Goddess’s power touched you.”

“Have I changed?” Pen’s skirt brushed a shrubby rosemary plant. Its fresh, almost piny scent wafted past her.

“Haven’t you? Didn’t you tell me that until you came to Ireland, your magic lagged behind your sister’s? It was because
this
is the magic that you were meant to do. You have come into your own at last.”

Pen stopped and bent to pick a twig of the rosemary. “I—I had been thinking something very like that,” she said after a moment. “In fact, I told Dr. Carrighar that I felt as if I’d come home.”

“And what did he say to that?”

She allowed herself a small sigh. “I’m not sure he was convinced.”

“My dear girl, Dr. Carrighar is a very learned man. But I am not sure that he understands the Triple Goddess or her ways.” Lady Keating resumed their slow circuit through the garden’s paths.

“No, I don’t think he does.” Pen thought about telling Lady Keating about Mary Margaret but decided it would be too complicated.

“I believe that you have come to where you ought to be,” Lady Keating continued. “We’ll know better tomorrow, though. I think it time Doireann joined us in our work, and we see how you fare with the Goddess’s magic raised by three, the way it truly should be.”

A tremor of excitement ran through Pen. What would it be like? “We had better be careful, or your rosebushes will turn into trees,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.

Lady Keating did not smile back. “There is an element of risk, of course. Working the magic through three participants makes it stronger by a factor of three. It will be that much more strenuous, but the rewards are also greater. As one of the Goddess’s ladies, I can keep you mostly safe if it proves too much for you. But I don’t think it will. You’re—” She hesitated, then spoke slowly, without her customary self-assurance. “There’s something about you. I’ve never met anyone who has taken so quickly and naturally to raising the circle.”

“Raising the circle?”

“What we were just doing—calling up the Goddess’s magic. When Doireann came of age, it took her nearly a year of work to make it to the point that you’ve reached in just a few days. You remind me . . . you remind me of myself, when I was a girl. My mother was amazed, not to mention gratified, at how quickly I progressed in the Goddess’s work. She knew right away that I would be a worthy successor to her as a
Banmhaor Bande
.” She squeezed Pen’s arm and smiled. “But there are many things we share. Did you know that my given name, Nuala, is short for Fionnuala, the Irish form of Penelope?”

“Really? What an odd coincidence.”

“Coincidence? Perhaps. When you told me your name the day we met, I took it for a sign. I’ve been watching you ever since and can’t help wondering if the Goddess made our paths cross for a reason.”

A shiver darted up Pen’s back, not of fear but of what? Recognition? “What reason could that be?”

“I don’t know, my dear. But I sense that we might find out soon. Ah, there’s Ellen, probably come to call us to luncheon.” She gestured to one of the liveried women servants marching down the gravel path toward them. Pen had almost gotten used to the exclusively female household staff at Bandry Court. A few men worked in the stables and gardens, but even there women predominated.

As they followed the servant past a large clump of rhododendron bushes on the way to the house, a sudden movement caught Pen’s eye. She stopped.

“What is it, Penelope?” Lady Keating paused too.

“N-nothing.” Pen squinted at the bushes, covered in just-opening clumps of pale rose pink, where overeager bees already hummed looking for nectar. Here and there the long, glossy green leaves swayed gently in the breeze. “I thought I saw something move in the rhododendrons. Or someone.”

Lady Keating shrugged. “This is a favorite nesting spot for birds. They’re always flitting in and out of them. Come, my dear.”

Pen let her lead them on, but glanced back at the bushes before they turned a corner in the path.

The next few days were rainy and chilly. Lady Keating decreed that the three of them would work in the tall and shadowy front hall, which she declared had the best resonance for magic work. It also, unfortunately, meant that the servants had to trudge across the courtyard in the rain in order to attend to their regular duties, but somehow Pen didn’t think Lady Keating would be too concerned.

Doireann was frequently late for their sessions, but bore her mother’s chiding with a shrug and a smile. “I’m here, Mother dear.
Don’t get your stays in a twist,” she’d say as she breezed in and plunked down on a bench. “I told you before that I keep my promises—just not always in the way you expect me to.”

But once they got underway, she worked just as hard and intently as Pen and Lady Keating herself did. Pen privately did her own shrug and smile. The best way to deal with Doireann was to accept her on her own terms, and after all, she’d been pleasant enough since they’d arrived. In fact, Pen rarely saw her, except at dinner and their work. But since Lady Keating made no comment on Doireann’s absences, Pen put them out of mind.

When the warm spring sun returned, Lady Keating decided that they should go out to the small stone circle that capped the hill a short distance from the house, and practice raising the circle there. Pen was unprepared for the result. The stones had a curious effect, amplifying and yet containing the power they raised. They were even able to stop holding hands and let the circle of stones hold their magic for them. It hovered above them like a whirlwind tethered with invisible ropes, much to Pen’s fascinated awe.

“I didn’t think that was possible. So that is why there are so many stone circles in Great Britain,” she said as she paced restlessly around the perimeter. It took a great deal of restraint not to kick off her shoes, yank the pins out of her hair, and dance like a frenzied wood nymph around the stones while their magic crackled and rippled above them. The energy was infectious.

Lady Keating smiled at her. “I can feel your excitement, child. It can have that effect, sometimes.”

“I can’t help it. I should like to—to fly, just now.” Pen threw her arms back and stared up at the sky, turning in a slow circle, and then another. The bright afternoon sun sparkled above her, all alone in
the sky with only a few wisps of cloud for company, and their magic drew her like a moth to a candle—

A sudden jerk at the hem of her skirts startled her. She glanced down and saw that she was hovering several feet above the grass. Doireann stared up at her, one hand shading her eyes and the other firmly holding the edge of Pen’s dress.

“Going somewhere?” Her expression was difficult to read, half hidden by her hand.

But Lady Keating laughed then, a joyful, exultant sound. “
A thaisce!
You are indeed a treasure, my dear.” She held out her arms, and Pen drifted back down toward her. Lady Keating caught her in a fierce hug. “It calls to you, doesn’t it?” she whispered in Pen’s ear. “The Goddess’s power burns bright in you, brighter than I’ve seen it in anyone else. Oh, my dear, this is . . . well, perhaps not so unexpected.”

They stayed in the circle a little longer while Lady Keating gathered the magic they’d raised and sent it down into the stones “so we can use it later.” Pen held her hand flat against the surface of one of the gray pillars and felt a tingling warmth on her palm.

“It’s there—I can feel it,” she exclaimed. “Oh, I can’t wait until we come back again and use it.”

Doireann gave a short laugh. “Mother did choose you well, didn’t she?” She ran off down the hill to the house as if hounds were after her.

Pen sighed as she watched her. “I don’t get the feeling that was supposed to be a compliment,” she said to Lady Keating, who had come to stand with her.

“Doireann is—well, I expect she is a little jealous. She can’t help seeing how advanced you are and how well you and I work together. Don’t let it trouble you.”

“More advanced than she is?” Pen did not want to comment on the other parts of Lady Keating’s speech. She remembered how she had been jealous of Persy and Ally’s closeness at times, during magic practice back in the schoolroom.

“In many ways, yes.” Lady Keating stood silently for a moment after that, looking at her with a meditative expression. “Come, my dear,” she said at last. “It’s nearly time to dress for dinner, but there’s something in the library I should like you to read, something that Doireann is not ready for and that I’d rather she didn’t know about. We’ll stop there first.”

In the library she went to a paneled wall between two bookcases and pressed delicately on a flat section between two carved swags. It slowly fell outward, like a miniature drawbridge. She reached into the small cavity that was revealed and drew out a small, leather-bound book, flipped through it quickly as if looking for a particular section, and slipped a faded purple ribbon to mark a page.

“Here you are. Remember, not a word to Doireann.” She handed the book to Pen and pushed the secret hatch shut.

Pen opened it and looked at the yellowed pages and cramped, dense writing with a sinking feeling. Hadn’t she done enough poring over dusty old books with Dr. Carrighar? “Er . . . ,” she began.

Lady Keating shook her head solemnly. “Just give it a chance, Penelope. It is my many-times-great-grandmother’s grimoire on circle magic. I want you to understand what it was we did today and what we can do with the power we raise. I think that in a few days’ time, we will be ready to do the
draiocht
—the spell—that will help bring poor Niall and the duke together. Are you still willing to help me in this?” She looked down at the rug. “I’ll understand if you feel you can’t.”

Pen reached for her hand, feeling contrite. “Of course I’ll help you. You’ve given me so much—what else can I do to thank you?”

“Ah, my dear one.” Lady Keating looked up, her eyes bright. “You are a treasure. Now bring that up to your room, and read as much of it as you can tonight. We will discuss it in the morning.”

As soon as dinner was over, Pen went to her room, pleading tiredness. After such a day she should have been exhausted. But the afternoon’s exhilaration refused to leave her: Raising the circle within the stones was the most stimulating, inspiring magic she’d ever done, and Lady Keating’s confidences and giving her the book on circle magic—to
her,
not Doireann—was even more so.

“I’m doing it,” she murmured, ringing the bell for the maid to come help her undress for bed. “I’m becoming as good a witch as Ally and Persy. Lady Keating wouldn’t be so complimentary if I weren’t.”

Niamh arrived then to undo the row of hooks down the back of her dress, unlace her corset, and unpin and brush out her hair.

“Anything else I can do for ye, miss?” she asked, arranging Pen’s dress over the door of the wardrobe to air until morning. “Shall I close the window an’ draw the curtains?”

“No, thank you. It’s a beautiful evening—leave them open for now. That will be all for tonight,” Pen said, crossing to the window in her nightgown and dressing gown as the maid bowed herself out of the room.

It
was
a beautiful night. The moon, although still four or five days from full, illuminated the lawn under her window and, below it, the edge of the sunken rose garden. A spectacular end to a spectacular day—

Something was moving about in the rose garden.