“And haven’t you?” He got to his feet as well, wishing he’d found a way to tell her without frightening her. “Haven’t you felt it, from time to time? Felt that stirring, that burn in the blood, wondered at it?”

“No.” That was a lie, she thought and backed away. “I don’t know. But you’re wrong, Liam. I’m just ordinary.”

“You saw pictures in the flames, dreamed your dreams as a child. Felt the tingle of power under your skin, in your mind.”

“Imagination,” she insisted. “Children have wonderful ones.” But she felt a tingle now, and part of it was fear.

“You said you weren’t afraid of me.” He said it softly, as he might to a deer startled in the woods. “Why would you be afraid of yourself?”

“I’m not afraid. I just know it’s not true.”

“Then you’d be willing to test it, to see which of us is right?”

“Test what? How?”

“The first skill learned and the last to leave is the making of fire. What’s inside you already knows how it’s done. I’ll just remind you.” He stepped to her, taking her hand before she could evade. “And you have my word that I won’t do it myself, just as I want your word that you won’t block what comes.”

It seemed even her soul was trembling now. “I don’t have to block anything because there isn’t anything.”

“Then come with me.”

“Where?” she demanded as he pulled her outside. But she already knew.

“The dance,” he said simply. “You won’t have control just yet, and it’s protected.”

“Liam, this is ridiculous. I’m just a normal woman, and in order to make a fire I need kindling and a match.”

He paused just long enough to glare at her. “You think I’m lying to you?”

“I think you’re mistaken.” She had to scramble to keep up with his ground-eating strides. “There probably was a Rowan O’Meara who was a witch. There probably was, Liam, but she wasn’t my great-grandmother. My great-grandmother was a sweet, slightly dotty old woman who painted beautifully and told fairy stories.”

“Dotty?” The insult of that brought him up short. “Who told you that?”

“My mother … That is …”

“So.” He nodded as if she’d just confirmed everything he’d said. “Dotty,” he muttered as he began to stride along again. “The woman gives up everything for love and they call her dotty. Aye, maybe she was at that. She’d have been better off staying in Ireland and mating with one of her own.”

Then he wouldn’t be stalking down this path with Rowan’s trembling hand in his, he thought.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was pleased or annoyed with that particular twist of fate.