The House Of Gaian by Anne Bishop

precious Fae, you wouldn’t give a damn if they died or not. No, Fae Lord, I wouldn’t trust my sister to a man like you. So go back to Tir Alainn and stay away from us.”
    The man glared at him. Then he disappeared and a black horse, with flickers of fire in its mane and tail, reared, wheeled, and galloped up the shining road.
    Liam took a deep breath and blew it out. He gathered the reins carefully, too aware that if he lost control of the power now, he could burn himself and Oakdancer. He didn’t dare try to ground the power out here in the woods. He didn’t have the skill yet to do it safely. Which meant doing it the only way he knew wouldn’t harm anyone.
    “Well,” he said to Oakdancer as he turned the stallion and headed back to Breanna’s house, “there are a lot of people living in the Old Place these days. Someone is bound to need hot water for something .”
    “What do you think?”
    Perched on a stool in the pressing room, Breanna watched her grandmother fold camisoles and pantalettes, finding comfort in the familiar. Nuala always seemed to know when talking required her undivided attention and when giving hands a simple task made it easier to find the words. She’d taken one look at Breanna’s face, led her to the pressing room, and shooed the girls who had been folding clothes out the door.
    “About what?” Nuala asked, folding another camisole and putting it in the stack. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
    Too restless to be idle, Breanna plucked a camisole out of the basket. With so many people living in the house now, there was always laundry to be done—and plenty of hands to do the work. No one was idle in Nuala’s house, and even the children had assigned chores. No one resented doing their share of the work.
    Breanna’s hands curled into tight fists.
    Except Jean.
    Nuala tugged the camisole out of Breanna’s hands. “It’s a good thing this one is yours. You can’t complain about the creases in it since you made them.”
    Breanna shrugged. Nuala calmly continued folding clothes.
    “Do I think you were wise to threaten a Fae Lord?” Nuala said. “I don’t know. Based on what you told me, he looks at us and sees a surplus of witches in one Old Place and sees nothing wrong with selecting one or two to take elsewhere to suit his own purpose and the needs of his own family. While I sympathize with his desire to help his family, thinking of us as servants or tools for the Fae’s use is unacceptable.”
    “You think my threat was excessive.”
    Nuala hesitated. “You frightened a powerful Fae Lord. What he will do with that fear is something we can’t know. Did you act rashly? Yes. Did you act honestly?” She reached over and rested a hand against Breanna’s face for a moment—and smiled. “I would have been surprised if you’d said anything more ...
    tactful.”
    Breanna snorted softly, then reluctantly returned Nuala’s smile.
    “As for Jean,” Nuala said, returning to her folding, “I’m not blind to the girl’s faults. I can tell when sweetness is a deep well and when it’s nothing more than surface water. So I’m troubled by Fiona’s suspicions. More troubled by the fact that Jean was hunting for plants and didn’t want any of us to know.
    ” She sighed quietly. “Her mother was a hedge witch, and that kind of magic is connected to plants and charms rather than the branches of the Great Mother. Like any gift, it can be used for good or ill. In Jean’
     
    s case, she has enough connection with earth to draw some power from that branch of the Mother. That’
    s a dangerous combination in someone who believes her every wish and whim should be indulged and becomes resentful when it isn’t. Fiona’s always been able to see people clearly, so her suspicions that Jean has used magic to cause mischievous harm can’t be dismissed.”
    “Does she see me clearly?” Breanna asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.
    Nuala folded clothes for a