Free Dark Witch by Nora Roberts Page A

trees, and landed on a branch overhead.
    “Oh my God, look at you! You’re just gorgeous.”
    He stared down at her, golden eyes steady, unblinking, his wings regally folded. She wondered fancifully if he’d left his crown at home.
    Slowly, she dug into her back pocket for her phone, holding her breath as she hit camera mode. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s not every day a woman meets a hawk. Or a falcon. I’m not sure which you are. Just let me . . .” She framed him in, took the shot, then a second.
    “Are you hunting, or just out for your version of a morning stroll? I guess you’re from the school, but—”
    She stopped when the hawk turned its head. She thought she caught it, too, a faint whistle. In response, the hawk lifted off the branch, swooped and dodged its way through the trees and was gone.
    “I’m definitely booking a falcon walk,” she decided, and checked her photos before she stuffed the phone away to hike on.
    She reached the upended tree, the wall of vines. Though the pull returned, she pushed it back. Not now, not today when the emotion of the dreams swam so close to the surface.
    Answers first.
    The dog waited at the edge of the woods as if he’d been expecting her. He swished his tail by way of greeting, accepted the stroke on his head.
    “Good morning. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one out and about early. I hope Branna’s not pissed when I come knocking, but I really need to talk to her.”
    Kathel led the way to the pretty blue cottage, straight to the bright red door. “Here goes.” She used the knocker shaped like a trinity knot, considered how best to approach her cousin.
    But the one she hadn’t yet met answered the door.
    He looked like some rumpled, sleepy warrior prince with his mass of waving hair, a burnished brown that spilled around a face as elegantly boned as his sister’s. Eyes green as the hills blinked at her.
    He stood tall and lean in gray flannel pants and a white pullover unraveling at the hem.
    “I’m sorry,” she began, and thought those words appeared to be her default when she came to this house.
    “Good morning to you. You must be cousin Iona from the States.”
    “Yes, I—”
    “Welcome home.”
    She found herself enfolded in a big, hard hug that lifted her up to the toes of her boots. The cheerful gesture made her eyes sting, and her nerves vanish.
    “I’d be Connor, if you’re wondering. Did Kathel find you and bring you ’round?”
    “No, that is, yes. I was already coming here, but he found me.”
    “Well then, come in out of the cold. Winter’s still got its teeth in us.”
    “Thanks. I know it’s early.”
    “That it is. The day will insist on starting that way.” In a gesture she found both casual and miraculous, he flicked a hand at the living room hearth. Flames leaped up to curl around the stacked peat. “We’ll have some breakfast,” he continued, “and you can tell me everything there is to know about Iona Sheehan.”
    “That won’t take long.”
    “Oh, I’ll wager there’s plenty to tell.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the house.
    She had a quick impression of color and jumble and light, the scents of vanilla and smoke. And space, more of it than she’d expected.
    Then they were in the kitchen with a pretty stone hearth, long counters the color of slate, walls of lake blue. Pots of herbs thrived on wide windowsills, copper pots hung over a center island. Cabinets of dark gray showed colorful glassware, dishes behind their glass fronts. In a jut ringed with windows stood a beautiful old table and charmingly mismatched chairs.
    The combination of farmhouse casual and the modern efficiency of glossy white appliances worked like magick.
    “This is really beautiful. Like something out of a really smart magazine.”
    “Is it? Well, it’s Branna who has very definite ideas, and this is one of them.” Tilting his head in study, he gave her another quick, charming smile. “Can you