“Retaliation for what?”
Ma shook her head and her mouth grew tight. “I cannot speak of matters that I know nothing of.” When she turned to me, tears glimmered in her eyes. “And I tell you truly, Rose, I do not know the truth of his death.”
She fell silent, but that silence haunted me as we walked on. Aye, Ma might not have understood Da’s death, but certainly she knew more of the details than I. As usual, she wasn’t giving me enough pieces to patch the thing together in my mind.
I thought of Ian MacGreavy, of the way his body had loomed over the bloody pentagram. Had my father dabbled with taibhs, too? I cast my eyes to the distant moon, wondering.
The next day, after hiding the witch’s jar in a deserted thicket, I met Diarmuid at our secret place in the woods. On this day we wasted no time with small talk or teasing. He pulled me into his arms and placed his lips on mine. The kiss stole my breath away, and we tumbled onto the green moss and lay there, kissing and holding and stroking each other until the sun ventured below the treetops.
He told me that the magick in his own Esbat circle had paled in comparison to what we had done together.
“Aye,” I told him, “I felt the same way last night.” I went over to my small, makeshift altar and smoothed my hands over the surface of the boulder. Looking around, I realized that this was the perfect place for a circle—our circle.
I grabbed my broom and with measured steps walked farther than I had before. I would make the circle wider, this time including the moss bed we liked to frolic upon. Was not our love dedicated to the Goddess—a result of her blessings?
Diarmuid went to the four corners of the new, bigger circle, where he summoned the Watchtowers once again, drawing a pentagram in the air each time. Watching Diarmuid, I felt my world swelling with newfound knowledge and love. The rose stone between my breasts set my heart aglow, reminding me of my good fortune at having found a true love who was also a blood witch.
The day after that we met again, same time, same place. And the day after that and the day after that. My spring afternoons were lush affairs of lips trailing on skin and countless whispered dreams under the cool cover of spring leaves. Each day we maintained our altar, always thanking the Goddess for bringing us together, for bringing us so much pleasure.
“Our destiny is not clear to me yet,” I once told Diarmuid. “But I know there’s a reason we’ve been brought together.”
He dipped his face into the bodice of my gown, nuzzling there seductively. “’Tis not enough that we were brought together to love?”
“Love is a gift, indeed,” I said, slipping my hands into the top of his shirt to find his gold pentagram. “But I’m talking about a greater purpose. Bringing the Seven Clans together, perhaps.”
He moved up to kiss my neck. “Our love is truly beyond all others.” He stopped kissing me to look me in the eye. “I’ve known people who say they are mùirn beatha dàns. They truly believe they are soul mates for life. But I can’t imagine that they would understand the way I feel about you.”
He smoothed his hand over my bodice, cupping one breast gently. “I love you, Rose.”
I gasped, feeling myself melt at his fingertips. I had never known a man before, and Diarmuid swore I was his first love, yet he seemed to know so much of a woman’s body—the places to stroke, to brush, or to touch ever so lightly. Now he was down at my feet, his hands gliding up under my skirts. His fingers whispered over my knees to my thighs until I was unable to still the trembling inside me.
“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered.
“We’ll have no secrets,” I vowed.
“I shall be your first and only love,” he said, moving his hand up between my legs. “And you shall be mine.”
“So mote it be,” I whispered, offering our love to the Goddess.
There, in our secret circle in the woods, we met every afternoon. One day as Diarmuid and I lay together on the moss, I realized that we had been together for nearly a full cycle of the moon. The May celebration of Beltane was but a few weeks away, and Diarmuid and I had met just before the full moon of April.
I thought of the two charmed gemstones that had been the seeds of love: the rose stone and Kyra’s moonstone. Two charms with very different powers.
Oh, Kyra and Falkner were still together and very much in love. But not like Diarmuid and me. Just that morning I had seen Kyra at Sunday mass, and she had been full of giggles and squeals for her boy. Like a child. She knew that I met Diarmuid each day, and she couldn’t believe I’d allowed him a kiss, let alone other pleasures.
“But what do you do with Falkner?” I asked.
“I bring him biscuits and shortbread every time Ma and I bake,” she said. “And he stops by the cottage if he has to deliver a newly shod horse nearby. Which isn’t often. So sometimes Ma allows me to accompany her to market in Kirkloch and we stop in at the blacksmith’s shop.”
“Oh.” I didn’t tell her that it all sounded tedious and lackluster to me. If it suited Kyra, that was fine. But hearing about her love for Falkner made me realize the level of maturity Diarmuid and I had reached. We were far beyond blushes and giggles. Our love had ventured into passion, promise.
And commitment.
“Come back to me, my love,” Diarmuid said, pulling me onto my side. “You’ve wandered so far into the clouds, I’d dare not venture to guess your thoughts.”
“Ah, but I’m here,” I said, “thinking of you.”
As Beltane approached and preparations began, it became more and more difficult for Diarmuid and me to steal away for our afternoon meetings. One day he was late, and I worried the time away, despairing that I would not see him at all. I was about to leave when I received a tua labra from Diarmuid, a silent message that only witches can send: Wait for me, my love. I waited, and within moments he was dashing into my arms, apologizing and explaining about the tedious chores his father had given him that day. Another day Ma seemed more suspicious than usual, and I had to concoct a preposterous lie to sneak off to his arms.
“The strain of saying good-bye to you each afternoon is wearing on me,” I told him as we sat in the moss.
“Aye, and each time it’s without knowing that we’ll both make it back.” He sucked in a deep breath. “It’s getting more and more difficult for us to be together, Rose. Your ma is suspicious, and my da keeps loading me up with work.”
“I know it, and I thought the Goddess would ease our burdens.” He lifted his hand to my cheek, and I pressed against him longingly.
“Blast them all, we should tell them! Let them know of our love!”
His brash spirit made my heart soar. “Would you?” I said. “And would that be an act of courage or foolishness? For no one is ready to learn of us yet. They would either try to tear us apart—or banish us from our clans!”
Diarmuid’s blue eyes clouded with concern. “You’re right. And I will protect you, Rose. I won’t have you ostracized by Leapvaughns or Wodebaynes or anyone.”
“We must go forth with caution,” I said. I knew the Goddess had deigned that we be together, but how could we begin to clear the way with the rest of the world?
As Diarmuid stroked my hair gently, the answer came upon me.
Make final the bond.
“The Goddess wants us to be together,” I said. “Heart, spirit. and body.” Grabbing Diarmuid’s shirt, I pulled him closer. “We must seal our love with a physical union.”
His eyes sparkled with wonder. “ ’Tis the Goddess’s will?”
“Aye.” I nodded, thinking of the upcoming celebration. There would be maypole ribbons fluttering in the breeze, flowers and songs and the scent of burning sage. Each covener would take a ribbon and dance around the maypole, symbolizing the union of man and woman, the joining of all together. “And Beltane will be the perfect time.”