“It scared me,” Breen repeated. “It just shot out of me.”

“He meant it to. Oh, maybe the force of it took him by surprise, else he’d have blocked it at least a bit. He was hard on you, I know, and I didn’t like it. But I see his methods and his means now. You’ll have some bruises, I’ll wager.”

“That’s a bet you’d win, but I’m getting pretty good at healing them.”

“So Aisling said.” Waving both hands, Morena scattered more light.

“Show-off. I guess I don’t have to wonder how you’ll light your own way home.”

“You won’t, though I’m after going back to the farm after the wine.” She tossed her miles of luxurious hair. “And settling in bed with Harken.”

“Show-off,” Breen repeated, and made Morena laugh.

“Is there no one wishing for you in their bed back in Philadelphia?”

“No. Not for quite awhile now.”

“You’ve got good looks, a good brain and heart. I think the men in Philadelphia must be gits, one and all.”

“I was different there. I’m different here.”

“There are plenty who’d be happy to give you a roll if you want one. We should have a ceilidh, so you can look over your choices.”

“I think with writing, lessons with Nan, with Aisling, with Keegan—and recovering from lessons with Keegan—I don’t have much time for a roll.”

“Ah, sure and there’s always time for that.” With a shake of her head, Morena scattered more light as they came to the edge of the woods. “If you think otherwise, I have to say the men, or women if you like, in your Philadelphia aren’t very skilled in the matter.”

“You may be right, at least the men I ended up with.” As they crossed to the cottage, she looked down at the light in her hand. “He didn’t tell me how to put it out.”

“Will it away,” Morena said easily.

“Will it away.”

It took a moment, but Breen watched the ball dim, shrink, then vanish. “Hah! Wine! You pour that, I’ll feed the dog.”

“A good bargain.”

Breen glanced back as they went inside. “I’m not attracted to women, sexually.”

“As I’m not either, I wasn’t after planning to seduce you.”

On a laugh, Breen shook her head. “But it occurs to me I didn’t have any close girl friends—women friends—in Philadelphia.”

“Something wrong with them as well?”

“No, it was me.” A strange and lowering admission, she realized. “I had Marco, always. And Sally and Derrick and the people who worked at Sally’s.”

“Sally’s a girl’s name.”

“For Salvador in this case. And it occurs to me, the three people I’m closest to in Philadelphia are gay men.”

“Happy friends make a happier life.”

“They’re pretty happy, but I meant . . . They’re all attracted to men. Sally and Derrick are married.”

“Ah, aye, that’s one of the meanings of the word on this side. In Talamh, gay is just happy. And there’s no special word for what you mean as love and sex, well, they’re just love and sex.”

“That’s so . . . sensible.”

Breen filled the dog’s bowls while Morena poured wine.

“It’s nice, reconnecting with you. It’s nice having a glass of wine with another woman at the end of the day.”

“It is,” Morena agreed. “So we’ll have two.”

They had two, and after the wine, after Morena left, Breen practiced bringing the light, letting it go.

When she took Bollocks for his last walk of the night, she stood on the shale by the bay while he splashed. And, curious, she tossed the light over the water, watched it fly, then pulled it back.

She bobbled it the first few times, but she got better. With the light in her hand, she looked up at the moon.

She stood in Ireland now, she thought, and still she held light and power in her hand.

No, she would never be less again.

In Talamh, in a sky with two moons, Keegan rode his dragon. He’d intended to take to his bed and read until the day washed out of him. But he could sense—no matter how he tried to block—Harken and Morena pleasuring each other. And the two of them, he had reason to know, could go on till dawn if the mood was on them.

So he left them to it, flew toward the Capital. Not for politics or meetings or judgments—his mother had those well in hand for the moment.

He needed a woman, and knew where to find her.

To avoid questions, conversations, he had Cróga hover over a balcony of the castle keep. He dropped down lightly. Cróga would take himself off, and come again when needed for the flight home.

Through the billow of the thin curtains he saw her sitting at her grooming table. She drew a brush, slowly, through her long flaxen hair.

She wore white, as she often did, as thin as the curtains.

Shana, whose father served on the council, whose brother had fought by his side, met his eyes in her mirror as he parted the curtains.

“Good evening, Taoiseach. We weren’t expecting you back.” Born and raised in the Capital, she had the accent of the east and the city. And the posh manners of both. “Your mother will be pleased to see you.”

She rose and the light from the low fire simmered through the thin white gown, as they both knew she intended.

“I didn’t come to see my mother.”

“Me then.” She smiled, slow, her eyes tawny as a cat’s. “I’m honored. Will you have wine?”

“I will, and thank you.”

She moved like a dancer. Her Elfin blood meant she could move quickly, but she took her time now so he could look his fill.

“And how do things go in the west?” She poured ruby wine into two glass goblets.

“Well enough. The peace holds still.”

“We’re grateful. But I meant with Mairghread’s granddaughter. I’m told you’re training her personally.”

“I am, as Marg is teaching her the craft. She needs it.”

She handed him a glass. “I’m told she has great beauty. The fiery hair of her grandmother, the storm-cloud eyes of her grandsire.”

“She has beauty enough.” He reached out, pulling a lock of hair that waved to Shana’s waist through his fingers. It, like her skin, smelled of the jasmine that bloomed in the night.

“But not the sort that draws my eye.”

A lie, one he hated to admit. He could still see the way she’d looked up at him, the globe of light in her hand, the joy and power alive on her face.

“But you think of her.” Pouting, Shana ran her fingers down the laces of his shirt.

“I have to think of her.” He tipped her face up. “But I’ve come to you.”

“Expecting me to open my arms and my bed to you. I might have been sharing them with another.”

“Happily you’re not.”

She laughed, sipped some wine before setting it aside. “Happily. I’ll always open them to you, Keegan, but a woman wants a bit of wooing first.”

“I’ve flown through the night for you, Shana. If that’s not wooing enough.” Knowing her, appreciating her, he flicked his wrist, and offered her a white rose.

“Ah now, is there a woman who could resist you?” She brushed the flower over her cheek as she looked up at him under her lashes. “I never have found the way, have I?”

She laid a hand on his cheek in turn. “So take off your sword, your boots, and the rest of it, and come into my arms, come into my bed. We’ll leave the west behind.”

He could take off his sword, and did. He could take off his boots and the rest. But he could never leave the west behind.

Because he knew her he accepted she’d never understand the why of it.

So he went into her arms, into her bed, and gave himself over to silken, perfumed skin, to the warm lips, the skilled hands of a woman who knew his needs and his body as he knew hers.

He closed off his mind, just for now, just for now, to everything else. Here were generous breasts to fill his hands, his mouth. Here a woman’s sighs and gasps to stir his blood. Her pulse quickened for him; her hair fell like fragrant curtains around him as she mounted him.

“I’ve missed you, Taoiseach.” Her head fell back with a moan as she took him in. “I’ve missed this.”

Her hips rocked, slow, torturous pleasure. He gripped them as he matched her pace, but lightly so as not to mark that soft white skin.

He watched her face, the stunning beauty of it, saw in her eyes when she went into herself. He let her ride, closed his eyes to center himself on only this, only her, to block out the images that wanted to intrude.

When she came, he rose up to her. He wrapped around her, driving himself to the end.

When she whispered his name, he cursed himself for wanting someone else.

He stayed with her another hour. He brought her wine, listened to her sleepy gossip, and stroked her hair until he felt her drift into sleep.

He rose quietly to dress again, felt some regret for leaving a warm, naked woman in a soft featherbed. And guilt—which sat poorly in him—for thinking of another woman.

“Won’t you stay?” She murmured it as she rose on an elbow. Her hair spilled over her breast as she reached out a hand. “Sleep with me, wake with me.”

“I have duties.”

“You have duties here as well.”

“I don’t forget them.” Whether it was guilt or regret, he couldn’t say, but he conjured another rose for her, laid it beside her. “I’ll come back when I can.”

She gave him the tart look that always appealed to him. “I may be otherwise occupied.”

He took her hand, kissed it. “Then it’s a fine thing you’re on the third floor so I can toss who occupies it off your balcony. Sleep now.”

He stepped back through the curtains. He’d already called the dragon in his mind, so Cróga circled the courtyard. When he glided down, Keegan stepped onto the balcony wall, swung onto his back.