“This is my choice, Shannon. Never forget that—I do this willingly.”
Before I could question him he turned to Rhiannon. His voice was deep and soothing.
“I can’t leave you alone here. You know that.” His voice made the words an endearment. “That’s what went wrong to begin with. You were left alone too often, and there was no one to really guide you.”
Rhiannon didn’t answer him, but her eyes widened and her head made a jerky, nodding “yes” motion.
Clint smiled kindly at her. “I won’t leave you, or our daughter, alone again. Ever.”
Then he turned back to me. “I understand now. Remember you asked me to pity her? But it’s not pity she needs. It’s compassion. She needs to be cared for, to be watched and kept safe somewhere she can’t hurt others or herself, including the child she carries. She is, after all, just a broken part of you.” He touched my cheek. “How can I help but love her, Shannon my girl?”
Clint’s hand dropped from my cheek and it reached into the deep pocket of his down-filled coat. When it reappeared it held Rhiannon’s stiletto.
“Clint?” I asked, unable to keep the fear from my voice.
“Shush,” he said quietly. “It’s all decided.”
He pulled Rhiannon close to him, letting go of her wrist to loop his arm around her shoulders so he could press her firmly against his side. In one quick movement he reached up and brought the blade to rest against the soft flesh just under his left ear. Before I could move he slashed downward, slicing the skin of his neck and the two major arteries that lay so close to the surface there.
“Clint!” I screamed. My mind rebelled, not wanting to believe what he had just done.
He dropped the blade and pressed his now-empty right hand against the side of the tree. His head fell forward and his forehead rested against the trunk. Blood pulsed down Clint’s body, covering Rhiannon and him like a crimson cloak. She was sobbing wildly and trying to wriggle out of his iron grasp. I moved to touch him but his eyes froze me in place.
“Don’t,” he croaked. “This must be.”
I saw his eyes close and his aura pulsed wildly. He took a tremendous rattling breath. When his mouth opened, two words came out in a deafening shout that echoed from one world to another.
“CLANFINTAN, COME!”
The moss-covered bark beneath my bloodless palms quivered. I watched as Clint pushed forward and the tree swallowed part of his left shoulder and Rhiannon’s struggling body. With a Herculean effort he managed to turn his head so that our eyes met. His face was colorless except for spatters from the river of red that pumped in a thick torrent from his neck. His hand shook as beckoned to me.
“Come,” his mouth formed the soundless word.
I grasped his already cold hand and allowed him to pull me within the tree.
All sounds ceased and time suspended. It was as if we had plunged under a deep layer of water. Clint struggled forward, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, pulling the two of us with him. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think. Panic shrouded me.
Think of ClanFintan! The Goddess’s voice was a rope to which I clung. Instantly I obeyed her.
I made myself block out the gruesome sight of Clint and Rhiannon. I ignored the stabbing pain in my side and the suffocating weight that pressed in on me. I thought of my mate. His scent and the taste of his hot skin. His ready laugh and the way he tempered his strength with gentleness. I thought of the fact that he was the father of my unborn child.
And the thick darkness in front of me began pulsing with the blue of glistening sapphires. But the color wasn’t coming from Clint. He was no longer in front of me, nor was he holding my hand.
I looked over my shoulder. Both of Clint’s arms were wrapped around Rhiannon’s body. She was facing him and he was pressing her against his body as if they were lovers. I watched Rhiannon’s arms come slowly up and wrap themselves around his shoulders as she returned his embrace. Blood surrounded them, but instead of dimming his aura the crimson mixed with the pulsing sapphire until it created a new color. Purple—a deep, brilliant purple. I felt a start of recognition. It was the color that framed my silver aura.
He must have sensed my gaze because his half-lidded eyes focused briefly on me. His lips trembled and I saw them form the familiar endearment Shannon my girl. Then his eyes closed completely and his head turned to bury itself against the wildness of Rhiannon’s hair.
I felt the darkness around us begin to solidify and I turned my head to the place I had last seen the pulsing blue light.
A hand was there, reaching into the hardening darkness. Without another thought I grabbed it and held on with everything within me.
The tree expelled me in a rush of liquid. I lay on the ground and drew in a shaking breath, moaning at the agony in my side. Coughing painfully, I gagged and vomited violently. My eyes wouldn’t focus and there was a horrible ringing in my ears. I knew my breath was coming so quickly that I was hyperventilating. My body felt as if it was simultaneously freezing and burning.
I must be in shock, I thought detachedly.
I couldn’t see and I couldn’t hear, but I screamed in pain as a pair of strong arms lifted me from the ground. A familiar rocking motion pounded through my body and it seemed I was being hurled through space. My head fell forward onto bare skin and I recognized the scent of sweet grass, horse and warm man.
I’m home, I thought before I slid down into the abyss of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 7
I was in a place of great darkness, and my first thought was surprise that it wasn’t painful.
Hadn’t I just been stabbed?
I didn’t feel like it. Actually, I didn’t feel anything.
This must be a coma, I thought with the same detachment with which I had earlier diagnosed my body’s shock.
There was a brief sensation of settling, like a flock of birds coming to rest. Then more of the dark nothingness. It should be frightening. But it wasn’t. I’d always imagined a coma victim as living consciousness trapped in the suffocating cage of a nonworking body, perpetually wanting to scream but unable to communicate with the outside world.
Well, I certainly couldn’t communicate with the outside world, but it didn’t seem so bad. It was kind of comforting, like a warm bath when you’ve had the flu and now your aches and pains have been soaked away. A nice place to stay for a while, which, as we all know according to Oklahoma vernacular, can be a heck of a long time…
Shannon my girl.
The endearment shook the dark solitude I’d settled into so comfortably. Who was it? The question tickled at my consciousness. The words sounded familiar, and they brought with them both positive and negative connotations.
Too hard to concentrate…too much effort…
Shannon my girl! You have to wake up.
Clint. The name popped into my disjointed thoughts. An image of strength and comfort came with the name recognition, followed quickly by an overwhelming sadness.
Clint was dead.
Part of each of us lives forever.
My mind struck out wildly, remembering the flash of a cruel blade and the rush of his lifeblood.
No! I retreated from the memory back into comforting darkness.
You can’t give up. You can’t let it all have been for nothing.
It’s too hard. It was easier to simply float on the tide of blackness.
So, you’ll kill your daughter, too?
That’s enough. Now he’s gone too far. My anger stirred up specks of light against my closed eyelids.
The fog that covered my memory lifted and my thoughts became more my own.
Of course I would never kill my daughter. Who the hell did he think I was, Rhiannon?
And with that thought I took a deep breath. Pain spiked through my side.
That’s my girl…The voice was fading fast…. Live for me, Shannon. I want you to live….
I felt as if I was rushing up out of a well of darkness, being
sucked through a pain-spike tunnel of light.
My mouth felt really dry. Jeesh, I was thirsty.
My eyelids fluttered and the world blurred like I was trying to peer through a carnival mirror. I blinked rapidly, attempting to bring anything into focus. Well, at least I was out of that Goddess-awful tunnel.
I took another deep breath.
Oh, shit, that hurt.
Speckles of haloed light crossed, uncrossed and multiplied. Nothing held still.
But blinking rapidly was starting to help. The pinpoints of light divided again, then stayed put.
Oh, I realized, candles. Lots of them. The room was dark except for zillions of candles. Dozens of huge candelabra were filled with dripping pillars, and there were even more mounds of thick candles set ablaze on sconces that protruded from the smooth marble walls. I heard a crackling sound. And a fire burned brightly—in a hearth.
The room felt pleasantly warm. Actually, except for the horrid pain in my side, a terribly dry mouth and a hot heaviness on my left thigh, I didn’t feel too bad. A little disorientated, but not too awfully bad.
And the room was certainly familiar, my muddled thoughts reported.
You are home. The clear voice of my Goddess sang within my mind, chasing away the clinging effects of unconsciousness.
My eyes traveled fondly over the room I now easily recognized. My bedchamber. In Partholon! In reality I knew I had only been gone a little over a week, but it felt like decades. My room looked much as I remembered it, except I didn’t usually light this many candles, and there were normally fragrant bouquets of flowers covering any flat surface that would hold still long enough for my ever-busy nymphets to decorate it.
Well, it was almost winter. Maybe they couldn’t find anything that was blooming. Goddess knows it couldn’t be from lack of trying, those little teenagers were perpetually in a state of rushing hither and yon (I have hypothesized that they do so because they are usually so scantily clad that scampering is about the only way they can keep warm). The dreadful lack of flowers was probably driving them crazy. I should remember to tell them a couple nice pieces of artwork and some fragrant candles would do just as well for decoration during the colder months. Goddess knows I hate a stressed handmaiden.
But what the hell have they put on my thigh?
I looked down at the offending object and felt my heart quicken. ClanFintan was lying on the floor beside the huge down-filled mattress we had nicknamed our marshmallow. His head was resting against my thigh. His face was turned away from me. From the deep, constant rhythm of his breathing I knew he was asleep. I smiled softly. He always looked bigger in real life than he did in my memory. Wonder why that was. My hand was shaking as I reached out and touched the thick mass of his black hair.
His head jerked up and whirled to face me.
How could I ever have imagined living without him?
“You have awakened?” His voice sounded gravelly.
Tears choked me and I was unable to speak. I nodded.
He pulled his human torso slowly upright, studying me intently. “Who are you?” The words seemed to be torn from deep within him.
For a moment I was stunned. Then I felt my brow furrow. Who am I? I looked closely at him, wondering if he’d been in a battle recently and had received a head wound, which would account for his moronic question.
Except for having dark circles under his expressive eyes and looking a little thinner than usual, I couldn’t see any sign of injury. There did appear to be more gray in his hair than I remembered, but that could be a trick of the light. He certainly looked like the same guy/horse/whatever.
I took a deep breath and winced in pain, which didn’t help my tone when I answered him.
“Jeesh, I’m me! Who the hell do you think I am, friggin John Wayne riding in with the cavalry? Shit, I’ve been through hell to get back here and you don’t even know I’m me?” Men in any form are the ultimate goobers.
At my words his face broke into a wide smile that radiated pure joy.
“Shannon!” His shout of celebration would have been deafening, but the cheering of the throng, which at that instant burst into my room, drowned it out.
Alanna led the way, followed closely by a gaggle of squealing handmaidens. My heart did a little skip at the sight of her. She’s alive, my mind assured me. She’s alive. And she was carrying an armload of roses that were bursting with bloom.
Well, there are the flowers my room’s missing. I really wish Alanna would let the teenagers do the menial household chores. She’s supposed to be The Boss when I’m not around.
Before the group reached my bedside, the handmaidens dropped to the floor in graceful curtsies. I noticed they were all smiling even though tears streamed down their faces.
“Hello, girlfriend,” I said to Alanna, ashamed my voice cracked so badly.
Alanna pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as she tried to hold back a sob. With the other hand she clutched the bouquet of roses to her chest. Then the sob burst into laughter.
“Oh, Rhea! We knew you had come back to us when the roses started blooming again.”
I gave her a quizzical look, worried that they’d all gone a little crazy while I was gone.
ClanFintan answered my unspoken question. “With your loss the flowers would not bloom. They withered and died as buds. In mourning, the sun hid itself behind clouds. Even the birds did not sing.” He raised my hand to his lips.
A chill traveled down my spine as understanding of the enormity of what his words meant penetrated my mind. And with that understanding came the clear knowledge that I had made the right choice, as had Clint.
Partholon needs her Beloved.
Alanna handed the nearest nymph the roses, wiped her eyes and hurried to the head of my bed. She touched my forehead with a shaking hand and smoothed back my errant curls. Bending gracefully, she kissed me.
“Welcome home, my Lady,” she said through her tears of joy.
“Welcome home, Beloved of Epona!” echoed the happily sobbing nymphets.
But I had eyes only for my husband.
He leaned forward and very gently took me in his arms. “Welcome home, my only love.” The velvet of his voice covered me and every particle of my soul rejoiced.
EPILOGUE
“If the mare begins to act nervous, we leave. Immediately,” ClanFintan proclaimed for the hundred-zillionth time.
“Okay,” I agreed innocently.
“I do not jest about this matter, Rhea,” he said severely, then continued to mumble, “I do not know how I let you convince me to return to this Goddess-forsaken…”
“Talking to yourself is a sign of old age,” I said brightly, trying to maintain my perky facade.
He snorted through his nose and gave me a long-suffering look. I reached forward and ran my fingers though Epi’s waterfall of silver mane.
“You’re not nervous, are you, beautiful girl?” I crooned.
Her ears flicked back attentively and she whickered a reply.
“See! Epi says everything’s okay.”
ClanFintan was having none of it.
“Stay alert!” he snapped at the two centaurs that cantered easily alongside us.
I looked at Victoria and Dougal and rolled my eyes, but they were too busy scanning the forest for booger monsters to pay any attention to me.
“Epona said we were in no danger.” I repeated the words that I had said so many times they had become like a mantra.
“Hurmph!” ClanFintan said succinctly.
“We enter the forest here.” The Huntress’s voice was strained and serious. Before she turned to lead us off the path, she pulled her crossbow from its resting place across her back and notched an arrow in the sight.
Dougal and ClanFintan unsheathed their wicked-looking claymores.
Epi and I sighed and followed them into the heart of the forest. A healthy kick against my right rib made me shift in my seat and I smiled softly as I rubbed what I was sure was t
he heel of a tiny foot jutting out of my swollen belly.
Two months had passed since I’d returned to Partholon, and it seemed as if I’d quadrupled in size. I had certainly recovered from my aversion to food. If it didn’t run screaming from me I ate it.
It was late January. The winter had been mild and it looked like Partholon would be enjoying an early spring, but today the air still held the chill of winter, and I was glad of the ermine-lined cloak Alanna had insisted I wear.
ClanFintan pushed his way through the sparse winter foliage so that he and Epi and I were side by side again.
“I do not understand why you cannot be satisfied with the rituals you have been performing each full moon in remembrance of the Indian warriors.” His accent gave the word Indian a lovely mystical sound.
I had kept my promise to the forgotten warriors of Nagi Road. Every full moon my maidens poured libations of wine and honey and danced joyously in remembrance of their bravery. I hoped that somehow they knew.
But today wasn’t about those warriors.
At first I had been unable to think about Clint at all. I had to force him from my mind. The thought of him entombing himself with Rhiannon had been another open wound I could not bear touching.
As time passed and the wound in my side healed, so, too, did the horror of what Clint had done. I began to be able to think of him without being drowned in grief.
The first Partholonian snowfall smelled of him.
Birdsong reminded me of him.
Each time the soul of a tree called to me I heard the echo of his voice.
And I could not make love to my husband. He called the Change to him only once. When he stood before me in human form, all I could see was the image of Clint. Grief overwhelmed me. I couldn’t make my tears stop. ClanFintan shifted quickly back to centaur form and comforted me wordlessly within the shield of his arms.
He hadn’t attempted to make love to me since. And I haven’t asked it of him.
The centaur cleared his throat and I realized he was waiting for my answer. I met his eyes.
“Today is for Clint, not for them.”