Maeve took a deep breath before she entered the barracks with something Mags called ibuprofen. In the five days it had taken him to heal, they’d all agreed—behind his back instead of risking poking the bear—that Roderick was not a good patient. He wasn’t even a halfway decent patient. He was a bloody nightmare to care for.
He was chafing at how long his bullet wounds were taking to heal. They all understood his impatience. Out there, fates alone knew where, Rhiannon had Bronwyn. As the only living corporeal coimhdeacht, Roderick had taken it as a personal affront and was desperate to find her.
Mags appeared in the corridor ahead of her, brow furrowed. “We’re in fighting fettle this morning.”
“Oh, marvelous.” Despite Roderick’s attempts to shield her from a full assault of his pain and guilt through their bond, it nagged at her like a toothache. He had taken it as a failure that he hadn’t reached Bronwyn in time to stop Fiona. “Is he still abed?”
“Ah, no.” Mags looked disconsolate. “He insisted on trying his sword arm this morning. Nothing I said could stop him.”
“Bloody hell.” Maeve hurried along. If she had been by his side last night, this would never have happened. She’d been sharing his bedchamber since they’d dragged him back to Baile pouring blood from five bullet wounds. In those early hours, she’d stayed with him and then through the next three nights. Last night, Mags had finally persuaded her to sleep in her own chamber and let somebody else stay with Roderick.
Unfortunately, the other witches were still partially in awe of him—except Sinead, who’d been busy with Alannah—and let him bully and bluster them into seeing matters his way. She found Roderick in the practice hall, blood already seeping through his shirt. He raised his sword, grimaced and cursed.
“Roderick.” Maeve needed to put a stop to his nonsense, and she was the only one who could.
He turned and scowled at her. Then he picked up his sword and went through a careful range of motions. “I don’t have time for this now.”
“Then make time.” She stepped close enough to him that if he swung that sword, he would hit her.
With a curse, he stopped his sword arc short. “Bugger it, Maeve. She’s out there, and I’m the only one who can get her.”
“I know that.” Through their bond, his impotent fury pulsed, and she put a hand on his chest, trying to settle him with the contact. “But you need to heal before you go after her.”
“Has Mags found her?”
Mags stepped into the practice chamber. “I’m trying, Roderick, really I am.” She shrugged. “But I can’t…my gifts have never worked that way. I can’t will my seeing.”
Mags should be able to see through time whenever she wanted, and also to scry someone who needed finding. For the hundredth time, Maeve wished for a seer from her old coven. Even an apprentice seer would be able to do what Mags could not. She tamped down on her impatience. Mags was hardly to blame for her stunted abilities. Without becoming a conduit to Goddess power, their gifts were like sparks to the powerful conflagration of a true cré-witch. Their two pitiful attempts to bond Goddess to the new witches had fizzled and died without elemental magic to draw on. And without waking the cardinal points, there was only a flutter of elemental magic available to them.
“We will find her.” Maeve patted his chest. “And then you can kill that bitch once and for all.”
Fierce determination flared in Roderick’s eyes. “I’m going to end her, Maeve. For all that she’s done to all of us.”
“And I’ll help you do it.” She slid an arm around his waist and turned him toward his bedchamber. “But you need to get strong first. We need you to be strong.”
He grunted but let her lead him off the sand and into his bedchamber. “I need to learn about guns.”
“What about them?” Such deadly weapons, these modern guns, that the thought of them made Maeve shudder.
Roderick’s arm tightened about her shoulder. “I need to know my enemy, Maeve. I am useless if I cannot fight them with their weapons.”
“You will learn.” She eased him to sit on the side of his bed and gently tugged his shirt over his head. “We are both adapting to this time.”
“Like your jeans?” He managed a ghost of a smile.
Maeve laughed. “You have taken to them as well.”
“Rhiannon is already so far ahead of us in this time. We need to catch up, and we have no time to do so.”
“We will do it. She didn’t beat us before, and we won’t let her win now either.” She handed him the ibuprofen and a glass of water. “Take these.”
“What are they?”
“I don’t know, but Mags says to take them.”
Roderick shrugged, popped the pills into his mouth and took a swallow of water. “We were right, Maeve. Bronwyn must be the daughter of life. Rhiannon went to a lot of trouble to take her alive. It would have been much simpler to just kill her.”
Rhiannon’s soul was stained scarlet with all the witch blood she had shed. “Then they’ll keep her alive until she can bear this child.”
“Yes.” Roderick looked grim. “But she needs to be impregnated before that can happen.”
Neither of them could bear to utter the word that would entail. “Do you think Alexander will do it?”
“Before we found ourselves in this time I would have said without a doubt.” Roderick shrugged. “But this new version of Alexander…I am uncertain.”
Uncertain was still too near to Alexander obeying his mother for Maeve’s taste. They were all anxious about Bronwyn.
Mags came in with a basin of water and some cloths. “Let’s see how much damage you did.”
Grumbling, Roderick allowed her to examine his wounds. Fortunately his stitches were holding, and already the wounds were closing.
Mags wiped away the blood seeping from his wounds. “You really do heal super fast.”
Which was fortunate for them all because his wounds would have killed a normal man.
“Mags!” Niamh’s bellow preceded her. Of all of them, Niamh was the most desperate to find Bronwyn. She’d been trying to connect with animals and find out if they’d seen anything. “Where are you?”
“Here!” Mags yelled back,
Roderick winced and shot Maeve an amused glance. No, these new witches were nothing like the old ones, and that wasn’t always a bad thing.
“Anything?” Niamh and her pack streamed through the door. Today a rabbit, three foxes, two dogs and a weasel made up her menagerie. As she tried to connect with animals, her existing furry friends surrounded her more than usual. “Did you scry?”
“I tried.” Mags smeared ointment on Roderick’s wounds. “Nothing.”
“Bugger it.” Niamh peered over her shoulder and grimaced. “Ouch!” She patted Roderick’s shoulder. “You’re one tough motherfucker, Hot Rod.”
Roderick looked confused, frowned, and then slid Maeve a sideways glance. He mouthed Hot Rod and she nearly giggled. Nagging worry about Bronwyn cast a pall over Baile, but it felt good to laugh.
Niamh plopped on the bed beside Roderick. “What we need is more like you.”