Cuchulainn dismounted with a grunt and stretched.

“I’ll take care of the gelding and switch your saddle to the bay while you go in and get us the stew.” At his questioning look, she added, “It’ll save time.”

He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, walking into the inn with an easy, confident grace. As she loosened the gelding’s sweaty girth, she could hear a delighted female voice crying Cu’s name, which was soon followed by other greetings.

“Like they’re welcoming home a damned hero,” she muttered to the gelding, who was still blowing hard. She sighed and pulled off the saddle, leading the exhausted horse to the watering trough, where he sank his muzzle and drank deeply of the cold, clear water. Under normal circumstances she would have joined him, splashing some of the water on herself, but she could feel watching eyes and instinctively she decided against making any move that could be mistaken for bestial.

She was a centaur Huntress, not a mindless equine.

She was just lifting the saddle onto the new mount when Cu came back through the door. She glanced up, frowning at the spryness of his step and the annoying gleam in his eyes.

What was it Elphame used to call him? An incorrigible rake.

“Here, let me do that.” He took the saddle from her hands and put it on the bay’s broad back. “The stew will be right out. Or we could go in and eat.”

She gave the narrow door a dismissive look. “It’s not centaur-size.”

“There’s plenty of room inside,” he said.

“I prefer a more open space,” she said. Ignoring the question in his look she set about securing the saddlebags on the buckskin gelding, double-checking the horse’s breathing…anything to keep from meeting Cuchulainn’s eyes.

Was she being overly sensitive? Was she imagining the tension around her? Before she could decide, a plump, attractive blonde rushed from the inn. She was carrying a wooden tray laden with two bowls of steaming stew, bread and fruit, as well as goblets brimming with what smelled like mulled cider. Giggling coquettishly she wiggled up to Cuchulainn. Brighid wondered at the balancing act she managed-with all that wiggling and giggling, she didn’t spill one drop of food or drink. The girl was truly talented.

“When you didn’t come back in I thought you might like it if I brought your meal to you, my Lord Cuchulainn.” She batted her eyes ridiculously.

Brighid felt her jaw setting.

“That was kind of you.” Cu smiled absently at the woman as he gave the girth one last pull. “I think we’re going to eat-”

“Right out here,” Brighid interrupted, pointing to the little porch. “You can just leave the tray there. We’re in a hurry to get back on the road.”

The blonde’s eyes slid to the Huntress and Brighid saw her acknowledge and then quickly discount her. She did set the tray down, though, being sure that she afforded Cuchulainn a deep view of her ample bosom. Brighid narrowed her eyes at her husband, who was obviously pleased at the additional scenery. The Huntress was contemplating how satisfying it would be to kick the blonde on her very round behind when a couple of men emerged from the doorway, pewter mugs of ale in their hands.

“Cuchulainn! It’s always a pleasure to see you,” the taller of the two said.

Cu nodded pleasantly before he took a bowl of stew from the platter and passed it to Brighid.

“Will you not come in and join us?” the shorter, more florid man asked. Then his eyes flicked to Brighid and stayed. He licked his liver-colored lips. “We could make room.”

Brighid took some pleasure in the fact that Cu’s voice flattened at the man’s obvious interest in her. “Afraid we don’t have time.”

“Little wonder you’re in a hurry. I hear there’s some trouble in the Centaur Plains,” the short man said. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from Brighid. She frowned at him, but realized that her dark look did no good. The man wasn’t staring at her face.

“It’s those Goddess-be-damned Dhianna centaurs. That herd never could act right, not since the Fomorian War,” the first man grumbled. “Like they were the only ones to suffer losses? Maybe you can teach them a thing or two about respect, Cuchulainn.”

Brighid felt her gut tighten as her initial reaction was to come to the defense of her herd. But she clamped her jaws closed. She couldn’t defend them. They didn’t deserve it. But that didn’t mean it was any easier for her to hear this man’s slander. She lifted her eyes to Cu’s and knew he could read the turmoil and hurt there. She heard his voice again, echoing from the night before… We are bonded, the two of us. Because somehow, miraculously, Epona fashioned your soul to match mine.

And she knew it was true. No matter what else might come between them, their souls completed one another.

Cuchulainn turned away from her and faced the men again, this time he was not smiling. “Funny that you would mention the Dhianna Herd. I was just about to introduce you to my traveling companion, Brighid Dhianna.”

Brighid enjoyed how the men and the plump blonde suddenly looked decidedly uncomfortable. She tilted her head in quick acknowledgment of Cu’s introduction.

“It’s charming to meet you,” she said, keeping most of the sarcasm from her voice.

“Of course she’s not just my traveling companion. She’s also MacCallan Castle ’s Huntress.” He paused and took a purposeful step closer to her. When his gaze shifted to her his expression changed and lost its dangerous edge, turning warm with open affection. “And as of yesterday, she is my wife.”

The blonde burst into a gale of breathy giggles. “Oh, Lord Cuchulainn! You do so love to jest.”

Brighid leveled her gaze on the woman. “He’s not jesting.”

“But that’s impossible!” sputtered the short man, who had finally managed to pull his eyes from the Huntress’s breasts.

“Do you mean to insult me by doubting my word?” Cuchulainn’s voice was low and dangerous.

“No!”

“Of course not!”

“I-I should get back to the rest of our patrons,” the blonde said, throwing nervous looks over her shoulder at Brighid as she scampered, amidst much jiggling of flesh, back up the stairs, and disappeared into the inn.

“Well then,” the tall man said, not looking directly at the warrior or the Huntress. “Good luck with your journey.”

“Yes.” The florid man wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Luck be with you.”

Both men retreated hastily into the inn, whereby the easy sounds of conversation died and soon Brighid saw several pairs of wide, shocked eyes peering through the single window.

She wanted to forget the rest of her food and bolt from the village, but when she glanced at Cuchulainn he had moved to lean against the edge of the porch and was leisurely wiping the bottom of his bowl with a thick piece of the bread.

If he wasn’t going to let the stares and the shocked whispers bother him, she damned well wasn’t going to, either. They ate the rest of their meal slowly, and only after they had finished every drop of the cider and eaten every speck of the fruit, did Cuchulainn toss a few coins onto the tray and then mount the bay. Side by side they trotted from the inn.

“I think that went well,” Cuchulainn said pleasantly.

“Oh, definitely. I don’t know why I ever thought people would be shocked at the news of our marriage,” she said in the same nonchalant tone.

Cuchulainn turned his head and looked at her-and they both laughed.