Shadows and Light

yelled at him, he probably thought he’d taken something that had far more value than a whittled piece of wood. While she weeded the flower beds, she chewed on a kernel of worry that the bird was giving his kills to her and was going without food because of it. Which was foolish, of course. He was a Fae Lord. He’d just go back up to Tir Alainn and stuff himself with food. And perhaps amuse the other Fae by recounting how he’d caught a rabbit for the witches in the Old Place?
    That thought didn’t sit any better than worrying about him, so she tried to keep her mind on the weeds instead of on the Fae. Unfortunately, the Fae provided more interesting thoughts than weeds did—or any of the other chores she did during that day to keep her hands busy.
    The following morning, Breanna was in the kitchen garden, hoeing her share of the rows, when the hawk flew over to perch on the garden wall, empty-handed—or empty-footed in his case.
    Leaning on the hoe, Breanna studied the bird. “Blessings of the day to you, brother hawk,” she said pleasantly.
    The hawk just watched her.
    “I thank you for the rabbits. They were very tasty, and the meat was much appreciated.”
    The hawk lifted his folded wings. The movement was so much like a shrug, if a man had done it, she would have translated the gesture as, “It was nothing.”
    “Since there aren’t many of us here,” Breanna continued, “there’s still plenty of meat left, so we don’t need another rabbit. You should do some hunting for yourself now.” Of course, that wasn’t true. Oh, there was a bowl of rabbit stew left, and a couple of pieces of the rabbit pies Glynis had made for yesterday’s evening meal, but six adults, especially when two of them were hungry, hardworking men, didn’t tend to leave much on the table after a meal.
    Since the hawk didn’t make any movements she could interpret as a response, she went back to hoeing the rows. He simply watched her, and she felt an odd pleasure in having his company. When he finally flew away, she was a bit sorry to see him go.
    When she finished the first row, Breanna stretched to ease the muscles in her back.
    The kitchen garden covered close to an acre of land. Most years, they planted half that land, leaving the other half to lie fallow. Clay dumped some of the horse manure in that fallow part, just as Glynis dumped the vegetable waste there. The combination could smell especially ripe on hot summer days, but it fed the land, keeping it rich and productive.
    This year, Keely had decided they needed to plant the whole garden, had insisted the food would be needed although she couldn’t tell them why she felt that way. But she’d been so insistent they’d given in and planted. There was still a small place for the compost piles, but the rest of the garden had been filled with seeds or seedlings. Traditionally, the kitchen garden was tended by the witch whose gift was earth because she was the one who could draw the best from the land. But the garden was too big for Keely to tend by herself this year, so Breanna and Nuala were doing their share of the work.
    Breanna started on the next row.
    What were they supposed to do with all the food? How were they supposed to can the surplus when they reached harvest time? Keely had insisted that Clay and Edgar plant extra acres of oats and winter feed for the animals, so they already had extra work. Not to mention that all the fruit trees and berry bushes and plants were showing signs of producing twice as much as last year. That, too, had something to do with the restless way Keely had walked the land this spring. Mentally and emotionally, she had retreated to remaining a child after the old baron had raped her all those years ago, but there was nothing diminished about her gifts as a witch—and after Rory’s visit, and the letter telling Nuala that their cousins would be coming for a visit, and Aiden’s tales about the Black Coats, Breanna knew Nuala had studied Keely’s call to the land with a different eye.
    Still, a handful of people spending a few weeks of the summer with them wasn’t going to empty the pantry.
    Nothing she could do about it except tend the land. At least she’d reassured the hawk that his debt for the clothes-peg had been paid in full.
    He brought her a salmon.
    It wasn’t a large salmon, and, judging by how dirty it was, it had seen a fair piece of the forest floor between the stream where it had been caught and the wood block