Elphame's Choice (20 page)

He ached for her. Elphame was just coming to know that wonderful, terrible feeling. Suddenly she wanted to touch him; she wanted the reassurance of feeling his heartbeat and his warm, living flesh under her hands. He had been dreaming of her for all of her life. She had only dreamed of him for a fraction of that time, but already she knew that she wanted more than ethereal dreams and half-realized hopes.

Without allowing herself second thoughts, she slid from her rocky seat. She studied the castle. The distant workers were busy, no one was even glancing in her direction—and there was definitely no sign of Cuchulainn charging up on his gelding. And anyway, she told herself, if anyone was watching her, the fact that she stepped into the forest for a moment of privacy would not seem unusual at all.

She turned to Lochlan. He was watching her with an ex
pression that made her suddenly want to weep. He radiated a feral, masculine power, yet at that moment he looked heart-wrenchingly vulnerable.

“Elphame—” his voice sounded choked “—I should not stay.”

Elphame felt his words quiver low in her stomach. Her pulse pounded in her ears and her body moved toward him as if he were drawing her on an invisible string. She stopped a little less than an arm’s length in front of him.

Elphame shifted her legs nervously and her hooves made a liquid sound against the long grass.

“I know you shouldn’t stay, but I don’t want you to leave,” she said in a rush. Then she tried to smile, motioning to her head. “But maybe the bump on my head is tainting my judgment.”

Lochlan’s lips twitched. “Then it seems your wound has spread to me.” He raised his chin and peered at the side of her head. “And it appears that you are much improved. You heal quickly.” He glanced at her shoulder, glad that they had something less emotionally charged to talk about. “And I see the Healer has given you leave to stop using your sling.”

“Brenna,” she said. His nearness was intoxicating and she tried to dilute the effect he was having on her with simple, normal conversation. “The Healer’s name is Brenna. She is very gifted, and she is also my friend.”

He nodded his head thoughtfully then pointed at her side. “I would like to see how she has dressed that wound.”

Elphame held her hand protectively over the bandage that rested snuggled beneath her linen shift.

“I think you’ll just have to take my word that it’s healing well, too.”

Lochlan’s lips twisted in a lopsided smile that made him look like a mischievous boy. “I have already seen your naked side.”

Oh, Goddess…Her stomach rolled and she wished desperately that she had her brother’s gift for light, flirtatious repartee.

And Lochlan was no simple-minded maiden.

“Well, that was under duress. There’s no boar getting ready to attack me now,” she said, feeling ridiculous. She wanted him to touch her, but thought that if he actually did she might bolt back to the castle. “And anyway,” she continued. Her thoughts were like fireflies, flitting around in her head and she was unable to stop herself from babbling. “I’m not a very pretty sight right now, naked or otherwise. I haven’t really bathed since the accident.” She told her mouth to be quiet and nervously ran a hand through her long hair. It felt hopelessly dirty and lifeless. She even took a small, half step back, afraid she might actually smell as bad as she thought she did.

But Lochlan would not let her retreat. Without coming toward her, he reached out and snagged her wrist as her hand lifted to pat at her hair again. His hand felt warm and strong. He pulled gently, and she moved one step closer to him.

“How can I make you understand what I see when I look at you?” Lochlan asked. “My mother raised me with her beliefs. She taught me the ways of her people, the people of Partholon. And she passed on to me the love of her Goddess, Epona. I cannot count the times I heard her beseech Epona’s protection and aid—and ask special blessings for me and the others like me. She had a bond with her Goddess which stayed strong throughout her life.” He paused, his throat suddenly tight with the remembrance. “My mother was a woman of great faith. She died believing that her prayers would be answered.” Lochlan pulled insistently on Elphame’s hand, drawing her nearer. This time she followed the beating of her heart and came to him. “So you see, to me you have stepped from my mother’s prayers into my heart. When I look at you I see the love of my past coupled with the fulfillment of my deepest desires.”

Gently, as if he feared that she would shy away from him, he touched the side of her face with just the tips of his fingers. Slowly, he traced the smooth line of her jaw and let his hand slide down, caressing her neck and finally letting his palm come to rest lightly on her injured shoulder.

“Does it still cause you pain?”

“It?” She was so close to him that she could feel his body heat.

“Your shoulder.” His touch had shaken her, Lochlan could see that—her lips had parted and her eyes looked dewy and dazed. The thought that his touch could so obviously affect her made him smile, exposing very white, very pointed incisors.

Elphame looked away quickly, but Lochlan put one finger under her chin and turned her head back so that she had to meet his eyes.

“They are just teeth.”

“Stop reading my mind!” She covered her unease with irritation.

“I already told you that I cannot.”

“Then stop reading my face.”

“I cannot help it. It is a lovely, expressive face.”

When he smiled again she did not look away.

His teeth were definitely different—sharp and dangerous. Fragments of information from the history books in her mother’s library rattled through her brain. Fomorians were demons…were filled with uncontrollable bloodlust…especially during mating…fed on a living creature’s blood to live…preyed on humans….

“Can you—” she began abruptly and then paused, regrouped her thoughts and rephrased the question. “Do you feed on the blood of others?”

Lochlan blinked once, clearly surprised.

“No, I do not feed on the blood of others. I prefer my meals cooked.” The corners of Lochlan’s eyes crinkled, but he didn’t smile. “And dead.”

“Then why?” She looked purposefully from his eyes to his mouth, and then back to his eyes.

“Why do my teeth look like this?” he finished for her.

She nodded, watching him carefully.

“It is part of my heritage, Elphame. I am human enough that I do not need to feed from the blood of the living to survive, but I am Fomorian enough that I still carry within me the vestiges of that bloodlust.”

She drew a deep, shaky breath. “I have read that Fomorians drink each other’s blood.”

He sighed. “Your books are correct. A Fomorian lusts to taste his mate’s blood, as she, in turn, desires his. The blood exchange is a part of the bond they form together.” His smile was sad. “Does that seem a terrible thing to you?”

She looked at his mouth—his lips—the strong line of his jaw. “I don’t know,” she whispered. Then her gaze traveled up to look into his smoky eyes. What would it be like to kiss him?

Ask him.
The thought swept through her mind like dancing autumn leaves.
Ask him,
it echoed through her blood.

And to her surprise she heard her own voice ask, “If you kissed me, would your teeth cut my lips?”

“No. I would not cut you,” he said softly.

He mesmerized her. She heard the pounding of her blood in her ears.

“You said that you still carry the bloodlust within you. Do you want to taste my blood?”

Through their joined hands she could feel the tremor that passed through his body as an instant response to her question, but his eyes remained steady, holding hers.

“There are many things I want from you, Elphame, and
much that I desire. But I will not take anything from you that you do not wish to give.”

“I—I don’t know what I wish. I’ve never even been kissed before,” she blurted.

“I know you have not.” Lochlan’s eyes darkened from slate to thunder.

“I think I have been waiting for you.”

She spoke so softly that he felt the words more than he heard them.

“As I have been waiting for you,” he whispered back.

Go gently…don’t rush her…the rational part of his mind ordered. She is young…inexperienced…easily frightened.

But he had to taste her.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away from him, he bent and brought his lips to meet hers.

It was so different from what she had imagined. She had thought that kissing would be awkward, especially at first. She had been so naive. Lochlan’s lips were warm and firm against her softness, but they were also inviting. Her mouth fit against his perfectly, and when their tongues met her mind stopped thinking and she let her body take over. Elphame closed her eyes and drank him in. He was the forest—wild and beautiful and untamed. And he beckoned to her. He deepened the kiss. He buried one hand in her hair, and with the other he pulled her against his body. Elphame came willingly, pressing herself along the length of him. Automatically, her arms reached up to wrap around his neck.

Even lost in the kiss she was aware of something brushing against the outside of her forearms, and the foreignness of the sensation brought her eyes open as she broke her mouth from his.

His wings. They were what she had felt against her arms as they had begun to unfurl and spread over him. Her eyes darted
from the erect wings to his face. His breathing had deepened with hers and his gray eyes were dark with desire.

“They mirror my passion.” His voice was thick. “I cannot stop them. Not when you are so close, and I desire you so much.”

“You make it sound like they are not a part of you.”

“They are from a darker part of me, a part I struggle against.”

Her eyes slid back to his wings. They were spread over her, as if he was poised to carry her away. She thought that the downy underside was the exact color of a harvest moon.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

Lochlan jerked his head back as if she had slapped him. “Do not say such a thing in jest.”

“Why would I be jesting?” Hating the hurt she saw in his eyes, she unlaced a hand from around his neck. “May I touch them?”

He could not speak; he could only nod his head slowly, as if he were moving through deep water.

Without hesitation, Elphame’s hand lifted to touch the part of one wing that was spread over his left shoulder.

“Oh,” she breathed the word. “They
are
soft. I thought they would be.” She opened her hand so that she could brush her palm gently across the creamy fluff. The wings shivered under her touch, and then they seemed to fill and expand as Lochlan’s breath exploded from his lungs in a wrenching moan.

Instantly, Elphame pulled her hand away.

“Did I hurt you?”

His eyes were pressed tightly closed and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across his face.

“No!” He half laughed, half sobbed the word. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

The raw desire in his voice intrigued her almost as much as his exotic body. She didn’t want to stop touching him—ever.
Elphame lifted her hand back to the seductive softness of his wing, but before she could stroke him again he stopped her by capturing her hand in his.

Surprised, she looked up to see him staring over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“Someone approaches,” he said. He cocked his head to the side and added quickly, “It is the centaur Huntress.”

“You have to go! She can’t see you.” Fear for him jolted through her.

“I must be with you again. Soon.” His voice was a sharp blade of frustration.

“I’ll find a way. Just go now, please. The Huntress would think you’re attacking me.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand.

“Call for me, my heart. I will never be far from you.”

Lochlan bent and kissed her once more, pressing his lips to hers with a desperation that threatened to leak over into violence. But Elphame did not flinch or pull away from him. She answered his passion with her own inhuman strength.

He forced himself to break away from her and with a low cry of despair he turned and let the forest swallow him. He did not look back at her—he could not.

ELPHAME WIPED A
trembling hand across her lips as she hurried from the edge of the forest back to the cluster of boulders. She just had time to heave herself up on the rock and take two long, deep breaths before Brighid trotted around the curving tree line, calling a greeting to her. Elphame waved a hand in response and forced herself to smile. No one would know just by looking at her that she had just been kissed, she reminded herself—not even a Huntress. A Huntress couldn’t read faces, she could only read tracks…

…Elphame’s mind jerked like a frightened colt. Oh, Goddess! Brighid could read Lochlan’s tracks. The Huntress’s bright look of welcome changed to a worried frown when she noticed how pale Elphame’s face had become.

“Cuchulainn said I should fetch you back to the castle, that you had been gone long enough to tax your strength. By the look of you, he was right.”

“I hate it when he’s right,” Elphame tried for nonchalance, all the while being careful to stop her eyes from obsessively scanning the forest for the smallest telltale sign of Lochlan.

“We all hate it when he’s right. Come on, I’ll give you a hand down.” Brighid steadied her as El slid from the boulder. Then she cocked an eyebrow at the disheveled, breathless young woman. “Do you need to ride back to the castle?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you certain? You know I truly do not mind,” Brighid said.

“Yes, I know.” She smiled at the serious-looking Huntress. “Thank you, Brighid, I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m just stiff from sitting so long.”

Elphame was touched by Brighid’s offer of aid, just as she would not forget the night Brighid had carried her—and Cuchulainn—from the forest to the castle. During the past five days Brighid had visited her as often as possible, even though her hunting schedule was taxing. Brenna and Brighid had done everything they could to make her forced captivity bearable. And Elphame felt like a traitor as she prayed to Epona that Brighid wouldn’t notice Lochlan’s unusual tracks.

Relax and talk to her, Elphame ordered herself. Stop acting so guilty.

“I’m glad you came to get me. I’ve missed your company the past day or so,” Elphame said.

“Yesterday five more men, all with young wives, joined us.”

“I hadn’t heard.” Elphame’s eyes narrowed. “Cuchulainn…” She drew out her brother’s name like a curse. “That overprotective oaf! He didn’t tell me more people had joined us. He’s treating me like I am a damned invalid.”

“Your brother is most definitely annoying,” Brighid said, but she couldn’t help grinning at his sister. At least he was never boring or, for all his irritating faults, awkward to be around.
Except for Elphame, Brenna and a handful of others, too often she found humans difficult to interact easily with. They were, of course, not as powerful as centaurs physically, but it seemed to her that their limited physical abilities too often defined their personalities, too. She’d spent little time with humans until lately, but even in that short time she’d noticed that humans tended to act unnatural around those of her race. The humans either went too far—to the point of embarrassment—in exuberant displays of acceptance and brotherhood. Or they seemed to need to puff up, to preen, and to try to act superior. Mentally, Brighid shook her head. She didn’t agree with the Dhianna herd’s views on the separation of species, but they were right about one thing—most humans were difficult to understand.

She glanced at Elphame, who was neither human nor centaur, and smiled at her sullen expression. Although she disliked being set apart, Elphame never tried to pretend to be anything except what she was—a natural leader who had been touched by Epona. Brighid respected that about her, even before she had begun liking her.

“If you’re feeling well enough to fight with Cuchulainn you must be healing. That will certainly make Brenna happy,” Brighid said.

“But not Cu,” Elphame said with a satisfied smirk.

They were walking slowly back to the castle, with the Huntress being sure to shorten her long strides to accommodate Elphame’s injuries. When Brighid started angling more toward the forest than the sea, Elphame felt alarm bells go off in her head and she hastily pointed to the imposing cliffside.

“Let’s walk along the edge. I like looking at the sea.”

Brighid changed direction, but she shook her head as they made their way slowly along the treacherous edge. “I do not know why you like it. It makes me nervous.”

Elphame gave her a surprised look. “I didn’t think anything made you nervous.”

The Huntress snorted. “Falling does—very nervous.” She gave Elphame a gentle nudge with her elbow. “That should be something you understand.”

Elphame shivered in not so mock horror. “You’re right about that. It’s not an experience I ever want to repeat.”

Brighid was silent for several more strides. She needed to talk with Elphame about the accident, or more specifically, about the disconcerting evidence she had discovered. Elphame seemed more relaxed than she had been earlier. She was walking comfortably beside her, letting her hands trail over the longest of the grassy tufts that grew in bunches near the cliff. Now seemed as good a time as any. Brighid cleared her throat and shot her a sideways glance.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something about that night, but I thought I should wait until you were recovered—or at the very least thinking clearer.”

“By the Goddess! I couldn’t be more tired of having my thinking questioned. I promise you I’m thinking clearly. Would you like me to recite an epic poem or two as proof?”

Brighid put her hands up as if fending off an attack. “I’ll take you at your word, Goddess.”

Elphame scowled at her. “You’ve hauled me around on your back. You should know better than to call me Goddess.”

“You’re right. A proper goddess wouldn’t be so heavy,” Brighid said without thinking.

At the horrified expression on the Huntress’s face, Elphame burst into laughter, holding her side and wincing at the unexpected pain.

“Oh, stop! Don’t make me laugh.” She leaned against Brighid, trying to catch her breath, but every time she looked at the Huntress she started laughing again.

“You can quit laughing now. It wasn’t that funny.” Brighid frowned at her. “Or are you hysterical?”

Elphame shook her head, gulping air. “No, it’s just that what you said is so true. I’m not exactly petite.”

Brighid snorted. “Someone called you petite?”

“No.” El got herself under control and limped slowly on, holding her aching side. “Until I came to MacCallan Castle no one except my family called me anything normal at all. I’ve always been The One Touched By Epona, The Special One. It’s a lovely change to be nagged and told that my butt is too big.”

“I do not nag and I said nothing about your hindquarters.” Brighid huffed.

“Not directly you didn’t, but it’s nice that you feel free to tease me a little. And you’re not the nag, that’s Brenna.”

“She certainly is,” Brighid said. “Do you know she has been insisting that I drink one of her herbal concoctions? She said it will help boost my strength so that the hunting will not overfatigue me.”

“It tastes terrible?” Elphame asked sympathetically.

“Yes.” Brighid grimaced.

“Does it work?”

“Of course.”

The two shared a long-suffering look.

“Perhaps we should tell her Cuchulainn’s looking overtired lately,” Elphame said mischievously.

“Excellent idea.” Brighid laughed. “And you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with your thinking.”

“Well, do me a favor and pass the word. I’m tired of people treating me as if the fall permanently disabled my powers of reasoning.”

“It would be my great pleasure.”

“And now that we have established that I can give you a coherent answer, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

Brighid paused and collected her thoughts before speaking. When she did her voice had lost its teasing edge.

“That night, when you killed the boar, were there any other creatures in the ravine with you?”

“Other creatures? What do you mean?” Elphame had to fight to keep her expression open and neutral.

“I’m not sure,” Brighid said slowly, as if trying to put a puzzle together aloud. “I found the boar with its throat slit, dead, in the middle of the stream. And I could easily see where you had fallen. But I saw other things, too. Tracks that I did not recognize very near your own.”

“Other tracks? I don’t understand,” Elphame said, feeling her chest constrict. She did not like to lie. Until the accident she’d had no practice at it, and it pained her to mislead her friends.

“I don’t understand, either. Granted, it was dark and the rain had already begun washing away the tracks, but I’m sure what I saw was unusual. They were the tracks of an animal I have never before encountered.” Brighid looked at Elphame, concern clearly showing in her eyes. “And I have seen similar tracks since in the forest surrounding MacCallan Castle.”

Elphame fought down the panic that threatened to choke her throat. In the most nonchalant voice she could muster, she said, “Could it be some kind of large bear? You know these woods have been underhunted for most of the past century. There’s no telling what wild animals have been allowed to thrive unculled and roam free.”

Brighid sighed. “It could be, but the tracks are not a bear’s. It is a two-legged creature. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I wonder if dragons have returned to Partholon.”

Elphame did not have to pretend her surprise. Dragons had been the stuff of bedtime tales and ballads for centuries. If they had ever existed, they hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years.

“You do think I’m imagining things,” Brighid said.

“No! I don’t doubt your word. Maybe there are dragons in this forest.” Elphame looked up at Brighid and gave her an impish grin. “Just don’t tell Cuchulainn. He’ll insist on a lance and a dragon-slaying party.”

Brighid laughed.

“Brighid, it would put my mind at ease if you would promise me something.”

The Huntress raised her eyebrows at her friend.

“Whatever this creature is, don’t go after it. Just let it be—at least until we’re more settled here and you can call in extra Huntresses to join you.” Elphame felt that her dissembling words branded her as the blackest of traitors, to both Lochlan and her friend, but she didn’t know what else to say—or what else to do.

Brighid shrugged her shoulders. “As you wish, Elphame. I’m busy enough providing the daily meat for this growing horde.”

They walked on in silence, both thinking of the talon-edged tracks in the forest.