Free A Love Soul Deep by Amber Scott Page A

and trotted after her. “He’s perfectly enamored with you. Anyone can see that.” Finn’s tone brimmed with gloating sarcasm.
    “Oh? Even besotted, enchanted cats?” Breanne kicked a rock his way, knowing it would miss. She hated how right Finn was.
    “France did well by him, I think,” Finn said. “He’s gotten some pluck since he returned.”
    She’d hardly name the silly doe-eyed look as pluck. But, it seemed the only one Quinlan bestowed on her since his autumn return from six years abroad. Finn kept in stride with her, pouncing from rock to grassy dirt with springy ease.
    “And what would you know about it?”
    She knelt at a bush and retrieved the chalice hidden there. Setting the bundle of flowers down, she bent over the stream and captured water into it. Its encrusted rubies and sapphires warmed and brightened in the sunlight.
    “You’re not my first mistress,” Finn said, teetering on a rock to dip his mouth to the water. “Do recall that I did exist long before you came into my life.”
    Breanne resisted the strong urge to push him in.
    “Pluck. I would have used a more explicit word, myself.” They’d each grown up during the six years and apparently his feelings for her were now adult in nature. “Brute comes to mind.”
    Not a fortnight ago, he’d cornered her outside her chamber and kissed her soundly, pressing into her. His attraction was more than obvious, stabbing her hip. Although a curt slap had ended his assault, it had done little to dissuade him since.
    “Mayhap he’ll ask for you.”
    “Bite your tongue. I would rather marry you.”
    “How terribly flattering. But, not possible since you cannot see fit to lift the curse, and after last night’s miserable failure, I don’t see it happening anytime soon.”
    Breanne ignored the jab and his sour tone. She told herself again that she had so much more to learn, that it was still early to be expecting the kind of magick he needed to come readily. As Heremon always told her, magick takes more than talent. It takes persistence and study and practice, practice, practice.
    “Hush now, you old lecher, we need to focus,” she said.
    If a cat could roll its eyes, Finn nearly did, but quieted nonetheless. Craggy hillside met lush valley, carpeted with heather and grass. The gurgle of water grew louder. The grove lay ahead. Breanne paused at the base and breathed in a gulp of air to clear her head. If she joined Heremon preoccupied with Quinlan or the conversation between her mother and Niall, he might send her right back where she came from.
    Likely, Finn was saving the rest of his teasing for the jaunt home, as usual.
    Breanne exhaled, filling her heart with love and asked the goddess and ancestors for a blessing. She thanked the land and trees and asked for their welcome.
    Spring leaves shivered under the cool answering breeze and the two entered the grove in silence. The trees and bushes blocked out the cool air and warm light, giving way to a dim comfort. The place never lost its spell on her. Any doubts that ever grew about her choosing this path in life shrank away here.
    She approached the largest oak and knelt before it, spilling the water out of the chalice onto its roots with a silent prayer. Finn licked himself, lapping loudly. Breanne finished her offering and glared at her companion.
    “For a victim of curse,” she said. “You are certainly more and more insolent. Is it so much trouble to be reverent toward that which will aid your release?”
    Finn yawned.
    Breanne shook her head and continued to Heremon’s altar. The old Druid stood with his eyes closed and his face tilted skyward, one hand on the large stone slab. Seven white candles’ flames lit the small clearing. Heremon’s dull athame lay at rest, on a folded red wool square, with the white handle pointing south, blade north.
    Breanne sat before him and waited for acknowledgement. Finn trotted after a flitting object that she hoped wasn’t a fairy. Of all the