Elphame's Choice
P.C. Cast
From the bestselling author of the "House of Night" series comes the award-winning world of Partholon, rich in goddesses, intrigue and magic.Part-human, part-centaur, Elphame has always been different. OK, make that very different. The hundreds of shimmering butterflies sent by the goddess Etain to mark her birth were only the beginning. When Elphame is asked to breathe new life into the remote MacCallan Castle, she goes along with it (well stranger things have happened. . . ) and finally she's found her true calling.But Elphame hadn't banked on her life being threatened when the bizarre Fomorian descendents (bat-like humans - it's a long story) return to MacCallen with their own devastating agenda. Nor the fact that she may have finally found her lifemate. . . at the most inconvenient time!
She burst out of the forest and into a small clearing to find herself suddenly shrouded in fog. Breathing hard, Elphame came to a halt. The mist curled around her, thick and grey. She blew on it and suddenly the misty colour changed and it became tinged with a hint of red.
The colour beckoned her.
It swirled in an unending circular pattern that reminded her of one of Epona’s holly-hedged labyrinths that decorated the temple grounds. In her dream the familiar comparison made her smile and she stretched out her arms, spreading her fingers wide. Slowly, she began to turn and as the mist caressed her body she realised that she was naked.
“Elphame…” The disembodied voice floated around her on the mist. It was a man’s voice, but she didn’t recognise it.
“Come to me, Elphame…”
The GODDESS OF PARTHOLON series by New York Times bestselling author
P.C. CASI
DIVINE BY MISTAKE
DIVINE BY CHOICE
DIVINE BY BLOOD
ELPHAME’S CHOICE
BRIGHID’S QUEST
Find out more at www.mirabooks.co.uk
Elphame’s Choice
P.C. Cast
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To my amazing daughter, Kristin Frances, the perfect blending of two and the inspiration for Elphame.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, I thank my agent and friend, Meredith Bernstein. In this particular case you deserve The Big Thank You!
I am so appreciative of my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey. Thank you, M-T, for keeping me on track during the complex task of world building.
Thank you to my father, Dick Cast, for his invaluable information about wolves (it’s turned out to be a good thing that you’re a member of a pack!) and about flora and fauna in general.
I appreciate my sister-in-law, Carol Cast, RN, BSN, for detailed info pertaining to horrid wounds and dead bodies. Any bodily fluid errors are mine and mine alone.
And I would like to express a soul-felt thank-you to my fabulous fans who fell in love with Partholon years ago and kept/keep asking for more and more and more…I truly appreciate you all so very much!
PROLOGUE
That day had started with deceptive normalcy.
The dawn offering to Epona had been particularly moving. The Goddess had filled Etain so completely that afterward she carried the glow of Her presence throughout the morning, and for once she was allowed some time alone—temporarily freed from the duties of Goddess Incarnate.
The contractions began as a vague sense of unease. She couldn’t find a comfortable place on her well-cushioned chaise longue. She snapped with uncharacteristic impatience at the enthusiastic servant who checked to make sure her mistress didn’t need a refill of hot water. Not even the thought of a long soak in the mineral springs bathing pool seemed appealing.
Etain hoped a stroll through her magnificent flower garden would ease what she thought was just a little difficulty digesting the strawberries from lunch. The walk appeared to be helping—until she paused to sniff a brilliant crimson blossom and her water broke violently all over the Goddess Incarnate’s silk-lined slippers.
Normalcy had also been broken.
“Isn’t that always the way of it?” She grimaced and clenched her teeth as another wave of pain blanketed her body. Bending at the waist she leaned heavily against the woman whose arm was linked through her own.
“Sssh, Etain.” Fiona spoke soothingly in her light, melodic brogue. “Donna speak, my friend. Just concentrate on your breathing.”
Etain jerked her head in a sharp imitation of nodding agreement and tried to match her panting gasps to Fiona’s calm, deep breaths. The contraction peaked and receded.
A flurry of activity ensued. The Goddess Incarnate’s clothes were changed by her bevy of attendants, who then began notifying the Wise Women who lived in the villages closest to Epona’s Temple. Wrapping her arm around Fiona’s waist, and using her sturdy presence from which to draw strength, Etain continued her stroll through the temple gardens. The Chosen One’s friend and advisor had assured her that walking would aid in the child’s birth.
As the day crawled methodically past, the image of Etain’s oasis of tranquility dissipated, but the residue of Epona’s morning possession calmed her—as always, Epona’s Chosen drew upon the familiar thread that bound her to the Goddess and found strength and comfort.
Fiona smiled encouragement and the two women turned around, heading back toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that led from Etain’s bedchamber to her private garden. Gauzy curtains the color of liquid gold fluttered from within the open leaded-glass panes that served as door and windows. The Goddess Incarnate breathed deeply, trying to steady the racing of her heart and ready herself for the inevitable next contraction.
“I think that really is the worst part.” As always, she spoke her mind aloud to Fiona.
ELPHAME’S CHOICE
“What?” She looked thoughtfully at her friend and mistress.
“The inevitability of what’s happening. I can’t stop it. I can’t pause it. I can’t really affect it at all. The truth is that I’d like to say, ‘This has been interesting, but I’m ready for it to cease now. I want to bathe, eat a lovely meal and get a good night’s rest. We’ll just begin from here tomorrow, shall we?’” Fiona’s expression of polite curiosity changed to bubbling laughter.
“That would be nice.”
“Nice?” She grimaced in a very ungoddess-like manner. “It would be wonderful.”
Etain took another deep breath, appreciating the intoxicating sweetness of the voraciously blooming lilacs that framed that part of the walk. The path curved to the left and the lilacs gave way to a profusion of violet-colored roses, which were in full bloom. The delicate drapes billowed from the entryway, and fluttered like the wings of giant butterflies over the tips of the roses. They paused a few feet from the bedchamber that had housed Partholon’s Beloved of Epona for countless generations. The breeze carried the enchanting sound of women singing praises.
“We are the flow of water
The ebb and tide
The rush of knowing
All truth inside”
The words were woven together in a harmony of pitch; the underlying beat was hypnotic. It beckoned to Epona’s Chosen and soothed her frayed nerves. Slowly, her swollen body relaxed as she was filled with the women’s greeting song.
“We are the sound of growing
A Goddess root
Stretched strong and knowing
An endless shoot”
The words propelled Etain forward so that she eagerly entered her bedchamber. The Wise Women filled the room. At the Goddess Incarnate’s appearance, the tempo of the song increased. Spinning gracefully they seemed to float around the room until Etain and Fiona formed the center of their joyous circle.
“We are the soul of woman
A wondrous gift
Both rich and knowing
In praise we lift!”
With the word lift the women raised their arms to the domed ceiling and spun, humming the melody together. The silky clothing they wore drifted around their bodies like falling leaves, framing them in shimmering rays of changing light. All of the women were smiling, as if they were taking part in an event filled with such wonder that it was impossible to contain within them, and the happiness came spilling out of their bodies. As Fiona helped her mistress settle back into the cushions of the chaise longue they could clearly see formless glitter outlining each dancer like spiritual halos.
“Magic,” Etain whispered.
“Of course,” Fiona responded in her no-nonsense tone. “Would ye expect less at the birth of a goddess?”
“Of course not.” But the truth was that although Etain had been Epona’s Chosen for almost a decade, she still found it easy to be awed by the power of her Goddess.
The song ended and the dancers stepped gracefully out of their circle. Some of them approached Etain, each with a smile and a kind word.
“Epona has richly blessed you, Chosen One.”
“This is a great day for the Goddess, Epona’s Beloved.”
Seen separately they lost a little of their magic and once more became what they were—simple human women who were there to support and encourage the birth of a much-awaited child. They ranged in age and beauty, but they were of a single mind.
The next contraction started high on Etain’s abdomen. She felt herself tense. The pain peaked. The contraction caught her, trembling through her body. It was a wave in which she was drowning.
A young woman cradled Etain’s shoulders with her hands.
“Do not fight it, Goddess.” Her voice whispered softly into the laboring woman’s ear. “It is not a battle to be won. Think of it instead as the wind.”
Another woman’s voice spoke earnestly when she paused. “Let it fill you, Chosen One.”
Yet another woman added, “Yes, fly with it, my Lady.”
“And breathe with me, Etain.” Fiona’s reassuring face swam back into view. The Goddess Incarnate struggled to slow her breathing as she was swept into the vortex of the contraction.
After a series of endless moments the pain flowed temporarily away. A cool, damp cloth wiped the sweat from Etain’s forehead. Fiona held a goblet of clear, icy water to her friend’s parched lips.
“Let me check the progress, my Lady.”
Etain opened her eyes to peer up into the calm aquamarine gaze of the Healer. She was a stoutly built, middle-aged blonde who carried with her the unmistakably confident air of a woman who knew her job intimately and performed it well. The Chosen One nodded and obediently raised her knees. She was wearing only a cream-colored cotton chemise so fine it felt like it had been spun from clouds. The Healer pushed it up around Etain’s nonexistent waist. Her touch was gentle and thorough.
“It goes well, Beloved of the Goddess.” She smiled encouragingly and patted her thigh before rearranging Etain’s clothing.
“How much longer?” she asked wearily.
The Healer met the Goddess Incarnate’s gaze, understanding her impatience. “Only the Goddess can tell you that for sure, my Lady, but I do not think it will be too much longer before you will greet your daughter.”
Etain smiled and nodded at her before the Healer faded back into the group of women, whom she ordered about with a voice made of velvet steel. Fiona bent to stroke an escaping curl from her friend’s damp face.
“He’s not going to be here in time, is he?” Etain couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice.
“Of course he will,” Fiona said firmly.
“I should have never insisted he go. What was I thinking?”
Fiona tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter as she answered. “Let me see… Ah, yes! I think I remember what you said. Something about if he didn’t get out from under your feet and stop asking how you were feeling every moment you were going to flay the skin from him.” She mimicked Etain’s tone so exactly that it made several of the nearby women laugh.
“I’m a fool,” Etain moaned. “Only a fool would send her husband away when she is so pregnant she could give birth at any moment.”
“My friend.” Fiona sat next to Etain and squeezed her hand. “Midhir will be here in time for the birth of his daughter. You know Moira will find him.”
And she did. At least the Goddess Incarnate’s mind told her that of course Moira, the Lead Huntress of Partholon, would be able to track and find her husband, whom she had shooed away yesterday in the company of several of his comrades for an all-night (and, she cringed as she remembered the crisp annoyance in her voice when she had told him to make it all day, too) hunting trip. But her heart and her laboring body said that this baby was coming soon. With or without her father’s presence.
“I need him here, Fiona.” Tears made her vision shimmer.
Before Fiona could reply another contraction began to build, and she tightened her grip on the other woman’s hand.
“Oh! This one is bad.” Etain gasped, feeling a little nauseous and panicky.
And then the Chosen One was blanketed with the cool, soothing voices of women as they hummed the melody of the birthing song. In harmony with the rhythm, several of them spoke joyously, one at a time.
“We are with you, my Lady.”
“You are doing well!”
“Breathe with Fiona, Chosen One.”
“Relax, Goddess. Remember each pain brings your daughter closer to this world.”
“We cannot wait to greet her, my Lady!”
Their voices became Etain’s rocks and she used them to anchor her concentration as she again matched her breathing with Fiona’s calm breaths. She slid down the bottom side of the contraction and managed to smile her appreciation to the surrounding women.
The women laughed with a sweet sound that was infectious. Etain rested one hand on her taut stomach as a giggle slipped from her lips and she closed her eyes, willing her body to relax and rest.
Oh, please, please let him arrive in time.
Patience, Beloved. The voice tickled within Etain’s mind. Her lips curved upward at the gentle admonishment. The shaman will not miss the birth of his daughter.
“Thank you, Epona,” she whispered. Reassured by her Goddess’s promise she felt a new surge of energy. “Fiona! Let us walk again.”
“Are you quite sure, Etain?” Fiona’s brow wrinkled in worry.
“You said walking would make the child come more quickly.” Etain held out her hands and Fiona helped pull her awkwardly up from the chaise. “And quickly sounds wonderful to me at this moment.” She winked and the concern in Fiona’s face lightened. The Chosen One tossed her head and smiled at the attending group of women. “Ladies, please sing for me while I hurry my daughter’s arrival.”
The women clapped their hands happily. Some of them broke into a little celebratory dance that caused magic to sparkle in their wake. Linking her arm through Fiona’s, the two women walked slowly through the diaphanous curtains.
Etain inhaled deeply. “This is something I will miss about being pregnant.” Fiona looked at her quizzically. “My incredible sense of smell. All through this pregnancy my sense of smell has been amazingly acute.” She lumbered to the nearest rosebush and gently passed a finger over the velvety petals before continuing down the path.
“Yes, this is amaz—” The word ended in a grunt as the next contraction took her by surprise.
“Slowly, remember not to fight it, Etain.” Fiona spoke softly in her ear as her friend leaned heavily against her. “Should we go back to the other women?” she asked.
Etain shook her head and panted. “No. I feel like I can breathe better out here.” The contraction subsided and she straightened slowly, wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve. “And I like how their song sounds on the breeze—like the whole world is filled with the magic of this baby’s birth.”
Fiona’s eyes sparkled suddenly with tears and she hugged Etain. “It is, my Lady, it is!”
The Chosen of the Goddess cleared her mind of pain by focusing on her blessings as they continued their halting trek through the garden. The nation of Partholon honored many gods and goddesses, but Epona would always hold a special place in her peoples’ hearts.
Epona breathes life to the morning sky, and Epona’s face is reflected in the fullness of the moon. She is Warrior Goddess of the Horse, as well as Benefactress of the Fruits of the Harvest. And Partholon would always revere her as their protectress. It was Epona’s Chosen, along with her shaman lifemate, who repelled the invasion of demonic Fomorians and saved Partholon from enslavement. That it had been almost one hundred years since the Fomorian war mattered little in the minds and hearts of the Partholonians. Epona’s largess would never be forgotten, and her Beloved would always be honored.
She was Beloved of the Goddess, Epona’s Chosen One, Etain reminded herself as she panted through another contraction. And that meant that her firstborn would be a daughter, and that she, too, would be touched by the Goddess. She would be the granddaughter of the legendary Fomorian-slaying Rhiannon. The thought that her child would probably be destined to follow her as Epona’s Chosen was exciting, and it made the tedium of labor somewhat easier to bear.
The wave of the next contraction scattered Etain’s thoughts, and she quickly understood that it was different than the others. It was accompanied by a deep burning sensation and a need to push that was so overwhelming it made her gasp. Her knees buckled and Fiona struggled to help her gently to the ground.
“I have to push,” she panted.
“Wait!” Fiona said sharply, then yelled over her shoulder in the direction of her bedchamber. “Women! Come to me! The Goddess needs you!”
Etain couldn’t tell if anyone had heard her because her entire being was focused within. The urge to push was raw and primal, and it took all the strength of the fear for her daughter’s life to struggle against it.
Then a sound pierced through The Chosen’s concentration, and her soul leaped with joy as she recognized it. It was the sound of hooves beating against the firm ground of the path. Etain blinked the sweat out of her eyes as the centaur burst around a curve in the path and slid to his knees before her.
“Here, love. All will be well now. Put your arms around my shoulders.” Her husband’s deep voice seemed to chase away the pain as the contraction eased and then dissipated completely.
Wordlessly she wrapped her arms around his granite-like shoulders and let her head fall against him as he effortlessly lifted her. In a few long strides the bedchamber was in view. Seconds later he was laying his wife gently on the chaise longue. She clutched him, but needn’t have worried. He had no intention of releasing her.
“I am so glad you are here,” she said slowly, still trying to catch her breath.
“I belong nowhere but here.” He smiled and brushed a limp curl away from his wife’s sweaty face.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. I didn’t think Moira would find you in time.”
“She didn’t,” he said with a cryptic shrug of his shoulders. “Your Goddess did.” And he kissed her softly.
Oh, Epona, thank you for bringing him to me in time—and thank you for fashioning him to be my lifemate. Through eyes filled with tears she watched her handsome centaur husband fuss with the pillows on which she was propped. Even after five years of marriage, the strength and virility of his centaur form still thrilled her. Of course, as High Shaman he had the ability to shape-shift so that they could truly mate, but she loved him completely, and reveled in the fact that her Goddess had crafted such a wondrous being to be her lifemate.
Before she could tell him once again how much she loved him, Etain felt the stirrings of the next contraction. Her moan summoned the Healer.
“My Lord, help us get her into the birthing position.” She gave deft orders and Midhir’s strong arms once again lifted his wife. This time he stood behind her with his hands linked under her arms and her back pressed firmly against him as he easily supported her weight. Fiona stood on Etain’s right, holding her hand, and another woman took her left hand. The Goddess Incarnate looked down at the Healer who was crouched between her legs and was vaguely surprised to realize that somehow she had become naked. The Healer’s fingers gently probed.
“You are fully ready. You must push with the next contraction.”
And it enveloped her. Etain became nothing but a push. Brilliant colors exploded against her tightly closed lids. She saw splashes of gold and red and heard a guttural, inhuman sound, and with a strangely detached thought she realized it must be her own voice making that animal-like noise. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.
Then a wordless humming registered through the fog of bearing down. Etain could not see the women, but she felt them. Their birthing song filled her and she was able to breathe again.
“Once more, Goddess. I see your daughter’s head!” the Healer encouraged.
She heard Midhir’s whispered litany of prayer. The words from his old language, which always sounded so magical to his wife, seemed to mirror the rhythm of the birthing song just as the contraction took control of her.
Again Etain became nothing but a push. She was being torn in half. Struggling against panic and fear, her mind reached out to tap into the power that surrounded her. She let the enchantment of the birthing circle fill her, and focused on pushing with the combined power of will and magic. With a liquid feeling of release the warm wetness that was her daughter slid from her body.
Then time seemed to speed up and things happened very quickly. Etain struggled to catch a glimpse of her daughter, but was only able to see disjointed images of the Healer bundling the wet form against the folds of her robe. The old woman’s hands shook as she cut the cord.
Silence.
Etain’s knees buckled, and Midhir and Fiona supported her back to the chaise.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Etain gasped.
Midhir’s eyes narrowed in concern and he turned quickly back to the Healer who was still huddled on the floor over the small bundle.
Then the sweet, strong cry of a newborn pierced the air and Etain felt her fear thaw. But it was only a momentary reprieve because almost instantly she registered the look of shock that had immobilized the Healer’s pale face.
The women who surrounded them had noticed, too, because their joyous song of welcome had fallen suddenly still.
“Midhir?” She sobbed his name as a question.
The centaur moved with inhuman speed to stand over the bundle that was his lustily crying daughter. The Healer looked up at him, confusion and dismay glazing her eyes. Swiftly Midhir dropped to his knees and reached out to unwrap the covering that concealed his child. And he froze.
His body was shielding the view of the baby from Etain and she fought against exhaustion to sit up so that she could see what was happening.
“What is it?” she cried, her stomach clenching with much more than the pains of afterbirth.
At her words a quiver ran through Midhir’s muscular body, then he reached forward and scooped the baby from the floor. In one motion he turned to his wife, his eyes alight with joy.
“It is our daughter, my love.” His voice was thick with emotion. “And she is a wee goddess!”
With those words he strode to Etain and gently handed her the now silent, but still kicking bundle. The Chosen of Epona gazed for the first time at her daughter.
Etain’s immediate thought wasn’t shock or surprise, but simply that she had never seen anything as exquisitely beautiful. She was perfect. Even though birth fluids still covered her, the infant’s head was feathered with dark wisps of amber-colored hair. Her skin was a lovely creamy brown, a shade somewhere between bronze and gold. She looked exactly as if someone had poured her skin and Midhir’s skin together, was the abstract thought that drifted through Etain’s mind, which was hazy with wonder. Her gilded skin shaded down to her waist, where her body suddenly became covered with a fine coat of hair, the same color as the hair on her head, but in which speckles were already appearing in drying patches, as if it was the coat of a newborn fawn. She squirmed and kicked her two legs that tapered gracefully down to form two tiny hooves, which still glistened damply. Then she opened her perfect little mouth and let out an indignant cry.
“Sssh, my precious one,” Etain cooed, kissing her face and marveling at the amazing softness of her skin. Love for her daughter poured into her, filling Etain more completely than she had ever believed possible. “I am here and all is well.” At the sound of her mother’s voice, the infant’s incredibly dark eyes seemed to widen and her cries instantly quieted.
“Elphame.” Midhir’s deep voice was choked with emotion. He knelt beside them. One of his arms went around his wife so that she could rest securely against him, and his other hand reached down to touch his daughter’s body. “Elphame,” he repeated. His deep, wonderful voice added magic to the word, like he had just ushered the Queen of the Fairies into their midst. The name seemed to hang suspended in the air around them.
Etain gazed at him through her tears. The name was vaguely familiar, like she had heard it spoken in a dream. “Elphame…What does it mean?”
His warm lips first brushed his wife’s forehead and then his daughter’s forehead before he answered. “It is the shamans’ ancient name for the Goddess as a maiden. It is She who is most exquisite, filled with the magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew.”
“Elphame,” she murmured as she guided her daughter’s hungry mouth to her aching breast. “My precious one.”
Yes, Beloved. The Goddess’s voice drifted through her Chosen’s mind. The Shaman has named her truly. She shall be called Elphame—announce to Partholon the name of your newborn, who is also Beloved of Epona.
Etain smiled brilliantly and raised her head. In a voice magnified by the power of Epona her words joyously split the air.
“Rejoice, Partholon! We have been given a gift worthy of a goddess in the birth of my child.” Her gaze shifted from the staring women who still silently surrounded them to her husband, whose face was wet with tears. “Her name is Elphame. She is truly a wee goddess, most beautiful and exquisite!”
At the Goddess Incarnate’s announcement there was a stirring in the air, like a crackle of lightning. Then the breeze that had been pulling the billowing drapes out of the open doorway shifted direction, and the golden gauze blew into the chamber in a rush of fragrant, warm air—and suddenly they were enveloped in a gossamer cloud of delicate wings. Hundreds of shimmering butterflies fluttered around and above the gathering, fanning them with their magic.
“Thank you, Epona!” Etain laughed, delighted with the demonstration of her Goddess’s pleasure.
Then the women began to hum and twirl. Slowly at first, then more quickly and joyously they took up the ancient ceremony that was the traditional greeting for the birth of a child of Partholon.
Etain rested within her husband’s arms as he cradled his family against his strong chest.
“The magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew,” she whispered to her daughter. Etain touched the infant reverently, unable to look away from her, not wanting to miss one breath or one movement. Her fingers ran down Elphame’s body wonderingly, as she caressed her unique legs and learned the contours of each delicate hoof. Satyr. The name fluttered through her mind. But, no. She wasn’t at all goatlike; she was too delicate and finely formed to resemble Pan. She was simply a perfect blending of human, centaur and goddess.
A sense of awe rushed through Etain, and laughter bubbled from her chest.
Midhir squeezed his wife’s shoulders in response. “I, too, am filled to overflowing with the wonder of her.”
She nodded her head, agreeing with him. Then, through more laughter she added, “Yes, but that’s not why I’m laughing.”
He arched an eyebrow questioningly.
She grinned and stroked one of Elphame’s little hooves. “I used to think that she must be clothed and wearing boots, as hard as her kicks sometimes felt. Now I see exactly what it was I was feeling.”
Midhir’s laughter joined his wife’s as they reveled in the magic of their newborn daughter.
Chapter 1
Power. Nothing was that good. Not Partholon’s finest chocolate. Not the beauty of a perfect sunrise. Not even…no, she wouldn’t know about that. She shook her head, purposefully changing the pattern of her thoughts. The wind whistled sharply through her hair, and some of the long strands blew into her face making her wish she had tied it back out of the way. She usually did, but today she had wanted to feel its heavy weight, and she admitted to herself that she liked the way it flowed behind her when she ran, like the flame-colored tail of a shooting star.
Her stride faltered as her concentration wavered and Elphame quickly regained control of her stray thoughts. Maintaining speed took focus. The field she ran in was relatively flat and free of most rocks and obstructions, but it wouldn’t be wise to let her thoughts wander. One misstep could snap a leg all too easily; it would be foolish to believe otherwise. For all her life, Elphame had made it a point to shun foolish beliefs and behavior. Foolishness and folly were for people who could afford everyday, normal mistakes. Not for her, for someone whose very design said that she had been touched by the Goddess, and was, therefore, held apart from what was accepted as normal and everyday.
Elphame deepened her breathing and forced herself to relax her upper body. Keep the tension in your lower body, she reminded herself. Keep everything else loose and relaxed. Let the most powerful part of your body do the work. Her teeth glinted in an almost feral grin as she felt her body regather and shoot forward. Elphame loved the way the corded muscles in her legs responded. Her arms pumped effortlessly as her hooves bit into the soft green carpet of the young field.
She was faster than any human. Much faster.
Elphame demanded more of herself, and her body responded with inhuman strength. She may not have been as fast as a centaur over long distances, but few could outdistance her in a sprint, as her brothers liked to frequently boast. With a little more hard work, perhaps none would be able to best her. The thought was almost as satisfying as the wind on her face.
When the burning started she ignored it, knowing that she had to push herself beyond the point of simple muscle fatigue, but she did begin to angle her strides so that her run would take her in a huge spherical path. She would end up back where she had begun.
But not forever, she promised herself. Not forever. And she pushed herself harder.
“Oh, Goddess.” Watching her daughter, Etain whispered reverently, “Will I ever get used to her beauty?”
She is special, Beloved. Epona’s voice shimmered familiarly through her Chosen One’s mind.
She pulled the horse to a halt well within the stand of trees that flanked one end of the field. The silver mare stopped and twisted her head around, cocking her ears at her rider in the horse’s version of a question. And Etain knew that her mare, the equine incarnation of the Goddess Epona, really was asking a question.
“I just want to sit here and watch her.”
The Goddess blew imperiously through her nose.
“I am not spying!” Etain said indignantly. “I am her mother. It is well within my right to watch her run.”
The Goddess tossed her head in a reply that proclaimed she wasn’t so sure.
“Behave with the proper respect.” She jangled the mare’s reigns. “Or I shall leave you at the temple next trip.”
The Goddess didn’t dignify the comment with so much as a snort. Etain ignored the mare who was now ignoring her, and muttered something about grumpy old creatures, but not loud enough for the mare to hear. Then she squinted her eyes and held her hand up to block the setting sun from interfering with her view.
Her daughter was running with a speed that caused her lower body to blur, so that it appeared that she flew above the brilliant green shoots of new wheat. She ran bent forward slightly at the waist, with a grace that always amazed her mother.
“She is the prefect blending of centaur and human,” Etain whispered to the mare, who swiveled her ears to catch the words. “Goddess, you are so wise.”
Elphame had completed the long loop in her imaginary track, and she was beginning to turn toward the grove in which her mother waited. The setting sun framed her running body, catching the girl’s dark auburn hair on fire. It glowed and snapped around her in long, heavy strands.
“She certainly didn’t get that lovely straight hair from me,” Etain told the mare as she tried to tuck one of her ever-escaping curls behind her ear. The mare cocked an ear back attentively. “The red lights that streak her hair, yes, but the rest of it she can thank her father for.” She could also thank him for the color of those amazingly dark eyes. The shape was hers—large and round, resting above high delicate cheekbones that were also copies of her mother’s, but where Etain’s eyes were mossy green, her daughter’s eyes were the entrancing sable of her centaur father’s. Even if Elphame’s physical form hadn’t been completely unique, her beauty would have been unusual—coupled with a body that only the Goddess could have created, the effect was breathtaking.
Elphame’s pace began to slow, and she changed direction so that she was heading directly for the stand of trees in which her mother and the mare waited.
“We should make ourselves known so that she doesn’t think we were lurking around in the shadows watching her.”
They emerged from the tree line, and Etain saw her daughter’s head snap in their direction in an instinctively defensive gesture, but almost immediately Elphame recognized them and raised her arm to wave hello at the same time the mare trumpeted a shrill greeting.
“Mama!” Elphame called happily. “Why don’t you two join me for my cooldown?”
“Of course, my darling,” Etain shouted back. “But slowly, you know the mare is getting old and—”
Before she could finish the sentence the “old mare” in question sprang forward and caught up with the young woman, where she pranced spryly sideways before easily matching her gentle canter with Elphame’s gait.
“The two of you will never be old, Mama.” Elphame laughed.
“She’s just a putting on a show for you,” Etain told her daughter, but she reached down and affectionately ruffled the mare’s silky mane.
“Oh, Mama, please. She’s putting on a show…” Elphame let the sentence trail suggestively off as she quirked her eyebrow and gave her mother a knowing look that took in her glittering jewelry and the seductive wrap of her buttery leather riding outfit that fitted snuggly over her still shapely body.
“El, you know wearing jewelry is a spiritual experience for me,” she said in her Beloved of the Goddess voice.
“I know, Mama.” Elphame grinned.
The mare’s snort was decidedly sarcastic, and Etain’s laughter mingled with her daughter’s as they continued compatibly around the field.
“Where did I leave my wrap?” Elphame muttered half to her mother, half to herself as she searched the edge of the tree line. “I thought I put it on this log.”
Etain watched her daughter scramble over a fallen limb as she searched for the rest of her clothing. She wore only a sleeveless leather top, which was wrapped tightly around her full breasts, and a small strip of linen that hugged her muscular buttocks, and was cut high up on her hips, before it dipped down to a triangle to cover her in the front. Etain had designed it herself.
The problem was that although the girl’s muscular body was covered with a sleek coat of horsehair from the waist down, and she had hooves instead of feet, except for the extraordinary muscles in her lower body she was otherwise built very much like a human female. So she needed a garment that would allow her the freedom to exercise the inhuman speed with which she had been gifted, as well as keep her decently covered. Etain and her daughter had experimented with many different styles before happening upon one that successfully accomplished both needs.
The result had worked well, except that it left so much of Elphame’s body visible. It mattered little that the women of Partholon had always been free to proudly display their bodies. Etain regularly bared her breasts during blessing rituals to signify Epona’s love of the female form. When Elphame uncovered her hoofed legs, people stared in outright shock and awe at the sight of the Chosen’s so obviously Goddess-touched body.
Elphame loathed being the recipient of the stares.
So it had become habit for Elphame to dress conservatively in public, only shedding her flowing robes when she ran, which was almost always alone and well away from the temple.
“Oh, I found it!” El cried, and trotted over to a log not far from where they stood.
She picked up the length of fine linen that had been dyed the color of emeralds and began winding it around her slim waist. Her breathing had already returned to normal; the fine sheen of sweat that had caused the downy hair on her bare arms to glisten had already dried.
She was in spectacular shape. Her body was sleek, athletic and perfectly honed, but there was nothing harsh or masculine about its casing. Her lovely brown skin looked silky and seductively touchable; it was only after actually touching her that the finely wrapped strength of the muscles beneath the skin could be fully realized.
But few people dared to touch the young goddess.
She was tall, towering several inches over her mother’s five-foot-seven-inch frame. During early puberty she had been thin and a little awkward, but soon the curves and fullness of womanhood had replaced that coltishness. Her lower body was a perfect mixture of human and centaur. She had the beauty and allure of a woman, and the strength and grace of a centaur.
Etain smiled at her daughter. As from the moment of her birth, she had embraced Elphame’s uniqueness with a fierce, protective love. “You don’t have to wear that wrap, El.” She hadn’t realized she had spoken her thought aloud until her daughter looked quickly up at her.
“I know you do not think I need to.” Her voice, usually so like her mother’s, suddenly hardened with suppressed emotion. “But I have to. It is not the same for me. They do not look upon me as they do you.”
“Has someone said something to hurt you? Tell me who it is and he will know the wrath of a goddess!” Green fire flashed in Etain’s eyes.
Elphame’s voice lost all expression as she answered her mother. “They do not need to say anything, Mama.”
“Precious one—” the anger melted from Etain’s eyes “—you know the people love you.”
“No, Mama.” She held up her hand to stop her mother from interrupting. “They love you. They idolize and worship me. It is not the same thing.”
“Of course they worship you, El. You are the eldest daughter of the Beloved of Epona, and you have been blessed by the Goddess in a very special way. They should worship you.”
The mare moved forward until her muzzle lipped the young woman’s shoulder. Before she answered, El reached around the mare’s head to stroke her gleaming neck.
She looked up at her mother and said with a conviction that made her sound older than her years, “I am different. And no matter how badly you want to believe that I fit in, it’s just not the same for me. That is why I must leave.”
Etain’s stomach clenched at her daughter’s words, but she forced herself to remain silent and allow her to continue.
“I’m treated like I am a thing apart. Not that I’m treated badly,” she added quickly, “just apart. Like I’m something they are afraid to get too close to because I might…” Here she faltered and laid her cheek against the broad forehead of the silver mare. “…I don’t know…might shatter. Or perhaps cause them to shatter. So they treat me like I am a statue that has come miraculously to life right in front of them.”
My beautiful, lonely daughter, Etain thought, feeling the familiar ache of not having the solution to end her firstborn’s pain.
“But statues aren’t loved, not really. They’re cared for and kept in a place of honor, but they aren’t loved.”
“I love you.” Etain’s voice sounded choked.
“Oh, I know, Mama!” Her head flew up and her eyes met her mother’s. “You and Da, and Cuchulainn and Finegas and Arianrhod all love me. You have to, you’re my family,” she added with a quick smile. “But even your private guards, who adore you unquestioningly and would give their lives for either of us, believe I am something essentially untouchable.”
The mare moved a step forward and El leaned against the side of the horse. Etain ached to take her daughter in her arms, but she knew that the young woman would stiffen and tell her she was no longer a child, so she contented herself with stroking her satin hair, willing Epona’s comfort from her hands into her daughter’s body.
“That’s why you came out here today, wasn’t it?” El asked quietly.
“Yes,” her mother responded simply. “I wanted to try one more time to talk you out of going.” Etain paused thoughtfully before she spoke again. “Why not stay here and take my place, El?”
Her daughter jolted upright and started to shake her head violently from side to side, but Etain doggedly continued.
“I have had a long, rich reign. I am ready to retire.”
“No!” Elphame’s voice was adamant. Just the thought of taking her mother’s place sent a thread of panic through her. “You are not ready to retire! Look at you. You look decades younger than your age. You love performing the rituals of Epona, and the people need you to continue. And you must remember the most important thing, Mama. The spirit realm is closed to me. I have never heard Epona’s voice or felt the touch of her magic…” The sadness of the truth of her words settled resolutely on Elphame’s face. “I have never felt any magic at all.”
“But Epona speaks to me of you often,” Etain said softly, touching her daughter’s cheek. “Her hand has been upon you since before your birth.”
“I know. I know the Goddess loves me, but I am not her Chosen One.”
“Not yet,” her mother added.
Elphame’s only response was to lean against the warm familiarity of the horse’s neck while the mare nuzzled her affectionately.
“I still do not understand why you must leave.”
“Mama,” Elphame said, turning her head so she could look up at her mother. “You sound like I am traveling to the other side of the world.” She raised one dark eyebrow in exasperation, which her mother always thought made her look so much like her father.
Etain’s answering smile was sardonic. From the moment of each of their births, she had been devoted to her children. Even now that they were adults, she preferred that they stay near her. She honestly enjoyed their company and appreciated them for the individuals they were growing into.
El spoke slowly, willing her mother to really hear her words. “I don’t know why it upsets you so much that I’m going. It’s not like I’ve never been away from home. I studied at the Temple of the Muse and that didn’t seem to bother you.”
“That was different. Of course you had to study with the Muse. It’s where all the most spectacular females of Partholon are educated. Arianrhod is there now.” Etain’s smile was selfsatisfied. “Both of my daughters are spectacular, which is one reason I enjoy having you near me,” Etain said logically.
“If I had married, I might have moved to his home.” El’s voice had lost its frustrated edge and she just sounded exhausted.
“Don’t talk like you’ll never get married. You’re still young. You have years and years left.”
“Mama, please. Let’s not start this old argument again. You know no one will marry me. There’s no one like me, and no one who wants to get that close to a goddess.”
“Your father married me.”
El smiled sadly at her mother. “But you’re all human, Mama, and besides, the High Shaman of the centaurs is always mated to Epona’s Beloved. He was created to love you—it’s what is normal for him. It is obvious that the Goddess has touched me, but I am not Her Chosen. Epona has not prompted any centaur shaman to come forward as my mate. I don’t think anyone, man or centaur shaman, was created to love me. Not like you and Da.”
“Oh, Fawn!” Etain’s voice broke on the childhood nickname. “I don’t believe that. Epona is not cruel. There is someone for you. He just hasn’t found you yet.”
“Maybe. And maybe I have to go away to find him.”
“But why there? I don’t like to think about you being there.”
“It’s just a place, Mama. Actually it’s just an old ruin. I think it is past time that it was rebuilt. Remember the stories you used to tell me at bedtime? You said that once upon a time it was beautiful,” El coaxed.
“Yes, until it became home to slaughter and evil.”
“That was more than one hundred years ago. The evil is gone, and the dead can’t hurt me.”
“You can’t be sure about that,” her mother retorted.
“Mama,” El reached up and took her hand. “The MacCallan was my ancestor. Why would his ghost harm me?”
“There were more who died at the slaughter of MacCallan Castle than the Clan Chieftain and the noble warriors who gave their lives trying to protect him. And you know the castle is said to be cursed. No one has dared to enter its grounds, let alone live there, for over a century,” Etain said firmly.
“But all of my life you have watched over the MacCallan shrine and its ever-burning flame,” she countered. “We have kept alive the memory of The MacCallan, even though the clan was destroyed. Why should my wish to restore his castle surprise you? After all, his blood runs in my veins, too.”
Etain didn’t answer her immediately. For an instant she actually toyed with the thought of lying to her daughter, of saying that she had Goddess-given knowledge of the veracity of the castle’s curse. But only for an instant. Mother and daughter had a deep reservoir of trust as well as love between them, and Etain wasn’t willing to damage or take advantage of that—and she would never lie about knowledge given to her by Epona.
“I do not truly believe The MacCallan would harm you, though it is quite possible that restless spirits inhabit the old castle. And I admit that the curse is just a tale to frighten errant children. It’s not so much that I fear for your safety—it’s just that I don’t understand why you must go with the workers who will clear out the ruins. Why not wait until the mess has been cleaned away and they have rebuilt it so that it is actually habitable? Then you can oversee the final stages of construction.”
Elphame sighed fondly at her mother. The Chosen of Epona was used to living in luxury, surrounded by servants and handmaidens. It wasn’t possible for her to understand her daughter’s desire to get her hands dirty and live rough until the job was done.
“I need to be involved in every aspect of this. I’m going to rebuild MacCallan Castle, and I’m going to be mistress of it. As Lady of the Castle and of the surrounding lands I will have something of my own, something I’ve had a hand in creating. If I can’t have my own mate and my own children, then I can at least have my own kingdom. Please understand and give me your blessing, Mama.” Her eyes pleaded with her mother.
“I just want you to be happy, my precious Fawn.”
“This will make me happy. You have to trust me to know my own mind, Mama.”
You must let her go, my Beloved. The Goddess spoke the words gently within Etain’s mind, but still it felt as if the blade of a knife had passed through her soul. Trust her to find her own destiny, and trust me to care for her.
Etain closed her eyes, struggling against second thoughts and loss. With a deep breath she opened her eyes, and wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
“I do trust you. And you will always have my blessing.”
Elphame’s face was transformed, and the lines of worry that so often clouded it dissipated, leaving her looking heart-wrenchingly young.
“Thank you, Mama. I believe that I am fated to do this. Just wait until you see MacCallan Castle alive again.” She happily gave the silver mare’s neck an enthusiastic squeeze. “Let’s hurry back so I can finish packing. You know I’m supposed to leave at dawn tomorrow.”
Elphame chattered brightly as she kept pace easily with the mare and her mother. Etain made meaningful, attentivesounding noises, but she couldn’t stay focused on her daughter’s words. Instead it seemed that she already felt the weight of Elphame’s absence as if it were a black hole in her soul. And, even though the late spring evening was warm, a chill marked its finger down the back of Goddess Incarnate’s neck.
Chapter 2
“Cu, remind me why I agreed to let you come with me.” Elphame looked slantways at her brother and tried to increase her gait without being too obvious. He was singing what seemed like verse five hundred of a semi-raunchy military marching song and the never-ending chorus pounded through her right temple in time with her headache, almost making her wish she had not insisted that the two of them travel separate from the rest of their party.
The big buckskin gelding on which Cuchulainn rode automatically picked up his pace to match El’s long strides. Her brother’s infectious laugh rang around them. “I came, sister-mine, to protect you.”
Elphame gave an unlady-like snort. “Oh, please, spare me. Protect me? It’s more likely you needed a break from chasing the temple maidens hither and yon.”
“Hither and yon?” His handsome face broke into a boyish grin. “Did you really say hither and yon?” He shook his head in mock seriousness. “I knew you were spending too much time reading those tomes in mother’s library. And it’s not the maidens I’d be after.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his sister.
Elphame tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile as she gave him a fond look. “Next you’ll be reminding me that you don’t have to chase any woman anywhere.”
“Now that, sister-mine, is the simple truth…” He let the words trail off and grinned at her.
“Hmm, I thought you might be staying at home to welcome the…” Elphame cleared her throat and tossed back her hair, doing a perfect imitation of their mother’s tone of voice as well as her body language. “…lovely and unmarried daughter of the Chieftain of Woulff Castle who will be sojourning at Epona’s Temple on the way to begin her training at the Temple of the Muse.”
Cuchulainn’s mouth tightened, and for an instant Elphame regretted her teasing. Then, with his usual good humor he shrugged his shoulders and gave her a long-suffering grin.
“Her name is Beatrice, sister-mine. Can you image anyone named Beatrice not having a high forehead and regal carriage?” He spoke the words putting a simper in his deep voice, which made Elphame laugh out loud.
“She’s probably a very handsome woman,” El said through giggles.
“No doubt fertile, with ample hips and the ability to bear many children.”
Brother and sister exchanged looks of complete understanding.
“I’ll be glad when Arianrhod and Finegas are old enough for Mama to start matchmaking for them.” El said in a tone that sounded more serious than she had intended.
Cuchulainn sighed heavily. “The twins will be eighteen this summer. In three more years Mother will be in her matchmaking glory.”
El slanted a look at Cu. “Poor kids. It almost makes me wish we hadn’t picked on them so much when we were children.”
“Almost!” Cuchulainn laughed. “At least we’re all in this together—it’s not like Mother singles out one of us.”
Elphame just smiled at him and quickened the pace again, forcing herself temporarily ahead of her brother on the narrowing trail. But it’s not the same for me. Thoughts whirred incessantly through her restless mind. Her siblings were humans—attractive, talented, sought-after humans. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to picture Cuchulainn. His face was as familiar to her as her own—and very like her own. She smiled wryly. Cu was just a year and a half younger, and from the waist up they, too, could be twins. He had her high, well-defined cheekbones, but where hers were delicate and feminine, his were ruggedly masculine. Her chin was (according to their mother) rather defiant, and his was stubborn and proud (according to his eldest sister), complete with an adorable cleft. Instead of his sister’s sable eyes and dark auburn tresses, he had eyes that were a unique color shaded somewhere between blue and green, and thick, sandycolored hair that refused to give up its childish cowlicks. So he kept it slicked back and cropped short, which made their mother cluck and complain over the waste of not letting it grow like a proper warrior’s.
But Cuchulainn, son of Midhir, High Shaman and Centaur Warrior Lord, did not have to be a “proper warrior.” Named after one of Partholon’s ancient heroes, he already looked and acted the part, whether he always behaved properly or not. Tall and well-formed, he excelled at tournaments, was the finest human swordsman in Partholon and had never been bested in archery. Elphame had heard more than one young maiden sigh longingly and say that he must indeed be Cuchulainn reincarnated.
No, Cu had never lacked for female companionship. He had just not yet found his lifemate. Elphame’s shapely lips tilted up. “But not for lack of trying,” she muttered to herself.
That was one way she was very unlike her brother. He was suave and experienced with the opposite sex. She had never been kissed.
Even her youngest siblings, whom she and Cu had nicknamed the Little Scholars, had no trouble finding partners for moon rituals. While Arianrhod and Finegas weren’t as athletic as their older brother and sister, they were certainly growing into intelligent, poised young adults. Looking almost like mirror images of each other, their tall, graceful bodies were completely human—totally normal. And, Elphame admitted to herself, Arianrhod was as pretty as Fin was handsome.
The path that cut through the ancient forest curved to the right and widened. Cuchulainn urged his gelding to his sister’s side.
“She reminds me of Mama,” El said suddenly.
Cu looked around in surprise. “Who?”
El rolled her eyes. She always expected her brother to read her mind, and was annoyed the few times he didn’t. “Arianrhod, who else? That’s why the boys already moon over her. Of course it’s not like she cares or even notices—not unless she’s completely changed during her first term at the Temple of the Muse.”
Her brother’s turquoise eyes crinkled with his smile. “Arianrhod’s head will always be in the clouds.”
“Astronomy and astrology are inexorably linked to the Fates, and as such it is wise to study them carefully.” El mimicked their younger sister.
Cu laughed. “That’s one of our Little Scholars, all right. The irony is that young, besotted men will chase her all the harder because of her indifference. You see the maidens are already starting to follow Fin around, and his beard is still like duck’s down.”
“Well, for whatever reason they certainly like her a lot.”
Cuchulainn looked closely at his sister. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she answered automatically without meeting his eyes.
“It will be different here, Fawn,” he said quietly.
“I know.” She glanced quickly over at him, and then just as quickly looked away, afraid that he would see the tears that were beginning to make her eyes too bright.
“No, I mean it.” His serious tone caused her to slow her stride so she could listen more carefully. “You will find what you have always desired at MacCallan Castle. I have had a Feeling.”
Her brother’s words hung in the fragrant spring air. She knew exactly what he meant. It was a part of the code between them. Just as she was her Goddess Incarnate mother’s firstborn daughter, and therefore had been marked by Epona, Cuchulainn was truly the firstborn son of their shaman father. From an early age he had simply known things. When he was a child he had explained it to his sister by saying it was like he could hear words that were hidden in the wind. Sometimes this “wind” told him where lost items could be found. Sometimes it told him when someone was coming to visit the temple. And sometimes it foretold portentous news, like the untimely death of a beloved child or the breaking of a blood-given oath.
The preternatural knowledge had frightened the young Cuchulainn. It wasn’t an enemy he could best with the prowess of his muscles or outwit through his cunning. It was something that made him feel like an aberration; it gave him power he hadn’t asked for and didn’t have any desire to wield.
It was a thing his older sister understood all too well.
So he had come to Elphame whenever he’d had a Feeling about something or someone. And his sister had empathized with his fear. She had not turned from him—instead she had become his closest confidante, even though Elphame’s attitude toward things of the spirit realm was decidedly different than his. She was, after all, a physical manifestation of the magic of the Goddess. She didn’t understand why her brother would reject gifts from the spirit realm, especially when she longed to feel even a whisper of the power her mother wielded so easily, but she supported his desire to do so with a calm, no-nonsense attitude. As he grew older, Cuchulainn had learned to repress his burgeoning psychic abilities and not allow them to overwhelm him.
Now Elphame looked searchingly at her brother. He’d never lied to her before. And his Feeling had never been wrong.
“Do you promise?” she asked a little breathlessly, the sudden flush that suffused her cheeks the only outward sign that betrayed her inner excitement.
“Yes.” He nodded tightly.
Joy surged through Elphame. “I knew restoring MacCallan Castle was the right thing to do!” Then she gave him a sisterly glare, thinking of all the cajoling it had taken to get their mother to agree to let her go. “You couldn’t have shared this knowledge with Mama?”
“If I had told Mother that I knew you would meet your destiny at MacCallan Castle do you think there would have been any force on Partholon that could have kept her from accompanying us there?”
“Excellent point,” Elphame agreed quickly. Then her thoughts navigated through her rush of emotions and she asked, “But why did you wait to tell me?”
Cuchulainn’s forehead furrowed in thought and he answered her slowly. “The Feeling is indistinct.” Then, seeing his sister’s face fall in disappointment he hurried on to try and explain. “No, it doesn’t make it any less certain. I know you’ll meet your destiny at MacCallan Castle. I know that destiny is tied up in your lifemate, but when I try to focus on details about the man I get only fog and confusion.” He shook his head and smiled sheepishly at Elphame. “Maybe that’s because you’re my sister and knowing details about your love life is actually pretty disturbing.”
“I know exactly what you mean. When the maidens wax poetic about your various body parts—” she shuddered and made a face “—I cover my ears and run screaming in the opposite direction.”
“Hrumph.” He huffed at her succinctly, chuckling in spite of himself, glad his sister had stopped asking specific questions about the Feeling.
He had struggled with what to say to El about his vision. He knew it caused his beloved sister pain to believe that she would never find a mate, and he knew that he had to tell her about his Feeling. It was clear to him that she would meet her lifemate and her destiny at MacCallan Castle, but he also knew there was more to it than simply falling in love. A part of his premonition had been vague and ominous. It had been nothing like the typical “love” visions he had received in the past, which were usually glimpses of a friend in a young woman’s arms, followed by a Feeling that the two people belonged together.
He had experienced a vision of his sister in a man’s arms, but he had been unable to see the man. Maybe that was because the first thing he had been able to see clearly was the look of tender happiness that radiated from his sister’s usually serious face, and that particular vision had been so surprising that his concentration had been irreparably fractured. Maybe not. And, yes, there had been a definite Feeling that the two were meant to be together. When he tried to refocus the scene and study the man, the vision had been bathed in a blinding scarlet light, as if the scene had been dipped in blood. Then, just as quickly, it had been covered in darkness, like the lovers had been wrapped in a velvet curtain, and the man had faded away, leaving his sister alone.
How very like the realm of spirits, to leave him with unanswered questions and a sense of unease. He had always loathed the elusive, slippery nature of the power. It wasn’t like the sure weight of a sword, or the clear aim of an arrow.
Cuchulainn swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, glad Elphame had, once again, pulled ahead of him. She read his expressions too easily. He didn’t want her to see that his latest vision had reached into his soul and truly frightened him with its strange, red-tinged whisperings. He flexed his right hand. He could feel the phantom weight of his claymore as in his mind he gripped it and held it at the ready.
Yes. Lifemate or not, Cuchulainn was prepared to protect his sister from all who might cause her harm.
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