CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

When she opened her eyes again it was dark except for the low-burning hearth fire. For a moment she didn’t move-she just remembered.

Her mother was dead. Her sister was dead. Her brother was bent on beginning a bloody war of vengeance.

Tentatively she tested the knowledge within her. Her mother’s death made her feel relief, which was instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Brighid mentally drew herself up. She had no reason to feel guilty. Mairearad Dhianna had been her mother, but she had also been a mean-spirited, manipulative centaur. Power had corrupted her until she had eventually misused gifts granted to her by Epona, and used and discarded even her own children. The world would be a lighter place without the shadowy presence of Mairearad Dhianna, and Brighid would not mourn for something that was truly more of a gain than a loss.

But the knowledge of Niam’s death was profoundly different. It made her feel bruised and sad. All these years she had been blind to her sister’s true character. There had been a time during their youth when Brighid had been close to her brother, but not even then, before the years of dissension began, had she paid much attention to her little sister. She had believed Niam was a beautiful shell-witless about anything that did not focus on beauty and entertainment and luxuries. Niam had been right. She had fooled them all-even their powerful mother. In the end she had shown more heart than any of them. Brighid would be sure her sister’s memory was venerated, and that her strength was told and retold in the ballads sung around MacCallan campfires for years and years to come. Brighid only hoped she would be there to hear them. Her brother’s choices could make that impossible.

A shadow disentangled itself from beside the hearth, causing Brighid’s heart to hammer wildly. Was it an apparition? Had her mother’s spirit followed her here to deliver another hate-filled message? The Huntress was gathering herself to repulse the Otherworldly attack when the shadow became a man.

“You’ll want to drink this. Nara said you’d be thirsty when you finally awoke.” Cuchulainn handed her a goblet filled with cool water.

Relieved, her hands trembled only a little as she took the goblet and drank thirstily. Cu prodded the fire alive and then moved around the room, lighting several of her candelabrum, effectively chasing the lingering shadows from her chamber. Then he grabbed the basket of food and wine from the table, and brought it to Brighid, sitting down on the pallet beside her.

The Huntress unwrapped a cold sandwich of thick sliced cheese and bread from the basket and dug heartily into it.

“I feel like I haven’t eaten for days,” she said between bites.

He smiled at her and brushed a crumb from her chin. “You haven’t.”

She narrowed her eyes as she realized that his face was shadowed with what must be at least a day of stubble.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“It’s not long after dawn of the second day since your sister’s death,” he said gently. “I worried that your sleep was unnatural, but Nara assured me that you would wake when your spirit was ready.”

Slowly she lifted her hand to touch the roughness of his unshaven face. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you.” Without taking his gaze from hers, he cupped his hand over hers, turned his head slightly, and kissed her palm.

“Cuchulainn…” she began, pulling her hand from his face. “This thing between us-it doesn’t have to be any more than friendship,” she said awkwardly.

“Doesn’t it?” His smile was slow, and it made his turquoise eyes sparkle.

“You should know that after a soul retrieval-”

“The Shaman and the patient are bonded,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know that. But usually that bond isn’t more than respect and understanding. Usually.” He took her hand back and lifted it to his lips again. Then he held it, palm down, against his heart as he continued speaking. “The Shaman and the patient aren’t drawn together by desire, or if they are it quickly fades.” He could feel the beat of his heart against the warmth of her palm. “Remember when we awoke, and you were kissing me…breathing my soul back into my body?”

She nodded, transfixed by his deep voice and the impossible blue of his eyes.

“I told you that my mind understood that I shouldn’t desire you, but that my passion was overruling the logic of that understanding. You told me that my passion would recede. It hasn’t receded, my beautiful Huntress. Now where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“In the Great Hall, after the horror of your sister’s death you asked me to forgive you because you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t need me by your side.”

“I remember,” she said.

“You were in shock then, numb with grief and confusion. Now that your thoughts are clear, once more I have to ask you if you still need me by your side.”

It’s impossible, her mind told her. Then echoing from her memory drifted Brenna’s sweet voice: The most important thing I came to tell you is that I want your oath that you will keep an open mind…about everything that may seem impossible.

“I do. I know it’s impossible but I do,” Brighid said in a rush, before common sense and logic could stop the words.

“That’s what I needed to hear. Now all we have to do is discover how to overcome the impossible.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Brighid said with a hint of her normal caustic humor.

He smiled charmingly. “My mother seems to think it’s possible. And you know she knows everything important.”

“Your mother?” Brighid shook her head and reached for the wineskin. “You told your mother about us?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Do you think I had to?”

“By the Goddess! Have you ever been able to keep anything from her?” She felt flushed with embarrassment as she remembered that Etain had been with her during the journey to retrieve Cuchulainn’s soul. And then the flush changed to pleasure. Etain, the Chosen of Epona and High Priestess of Partholon approved of them!

“No one keeps anything from my mother.” Cuchulainn laughed at her stunned expression. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Maybe…I don’t know…” She looked away from him as her thoughts caught up with her. “It must be a great blessing to have a mother who loves you unconditionally.”

The warrior’s face instantly sobered. “It is.” He took her hand again. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

She nodded and her eyes turned slowly back to meet his. “I’ve known what I must do since the moment I saw Niam.” The centaur sighed. “Before that, actually. I think I’ve known it my whole life. I’ve just been trying to run from it.”

His hand tightened on hers. “You don’t run from things, Brighid.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Survival-bravery-independence. I would call it any of those things. Cowards and fools run.” His tone was acrimonious. “I should know. I ran from the grief of Brenna’s death.”

Brighid tried to smile. “You’re no coward.”

His bark of laughter made her soul feel considerably lighter. “And hopefully I’ve reached my limit of foolish actions.”

Brighid looked down at their joined hands and quirked a brow. They both laughed.

Which is exactly when Elphame rapped softly on the door and peeked into the room. Her eyes widened at the two of them, sitting on the centaur pallet with food spread around them, holding hands and laughing.

“Well, it’s good to see my brother is making some use of himself.” Her words were teasing, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“El! Just in time. Come join us,” Cuchulainn said.

“Actually I was coming to fetch you-both of you. Da’s here.”

“Good,” Cuchulainn said, standing up and brushing crumbs from his kilt. “If anyone can make sense out of what’s going on with the centaurs, it’ll be our father.” He held out a hand to Brighid, and she took it, rising reluctantly to stand beside him. He smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll like him.”