Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cuchulainn hadn’t expected to sleep, but he’d returned to his quarters to find privacy. To think, to reacquaint himself with…himself. And to understand what had happened between Brighid and him.

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared into the dying firelight. By the Goddess, it was a bizarre feeling! He knew the events that had taken place during the past several cycles of the moon. He remembered loving Brenna and the tragedy of her death. He remembered traveling to the Wastelands and being snowbound with the New Fomorians. He could recall everything that had happened to them on their journey into Partholon and their return to MacCallan Castle. And yet a part of him marveled at the memories like they were foreign tales told by a visiting bard.

The strangest thing was that he felt inexplicably light with joy. The thought made his hands tremble as he sipped slowly from the goblet of rich red wine he’d poured himself. It wasn’t the kind of joy he’d known in Brenna’s touch-or the youthful exuberance he’d felt at breathing in life and knowing that the world was waiting for him. It was more the possibility of joy than the unbridled emotion itself. It was something he’d thought he’d never experience again, and the part of him that had been bereft of it felt more alive than he’d been since the terrible day Brenna had been murdered.

He still grieved for Brenna. She was his lost love. Part of him would always miss her and even yearn for her, but he knew he could go on. He knew he could live-and even love-again.

Brighid…

The Huntress had shaken him to his core. Was it because she had literally touched a part of his soul? Had she been right to say that as soon as he became accustomed to being whole once more his feelings for her would go back to their proper place? What exactly was their proper place?

In his twenty-four years he had seduced many women, but had been in love with only one. His love for Brenna had been new and young and easy. Their life together would have been full-their children many. He would have happily grown old by her side. She would have been the only one for him. The first and last woman he would have loved.

And he would never have known the flame that had been ignited when he touched Brighid. When she’d kissed him his soul had rejoiced. He’d been consumed by her, and in return he wanted to possess her. His desire had been insistent and engulfing. Just the remembrance of the taste of her, the feel of her body against his own, was mesmerizing. It had been like nothing he had ever before experienced, and so overwhelming that while they touched she had become his world, as if he had been created to love her.

Surely that was just a side effect of the soul retrieval.

Regardless, they couldn’t be lovers. Brighid Dhianna was a centaur. A centaur.

He stood and paced back and forth in an attempt to relieve the energy that pulsed through his body. It was, of course, not impossible for a centaur and a human to fall in love and mate. He was a product of such a union. But that was a unique situation. His parents were lifemates because Epona always fashioned a centaur High Shaman as mate for her Chosen Incarnate. And a centaur High Shaman had the ability to shapeshift into human form so that their love could be fully consummated.

Brighid was not even a Shaman-and a High Shaman? Definitely not. To be gifted with such power was a rare and fantastic thing.

She is the eldest daughter of a High Shaman. Had she not left the herd she would have been expected to one day take her mother’s place… The thought teased him.

“But she’s chosen the life of a Huntress!” He argued aloud with himself. “Centaur Huntresses do not love human men. They rarely even form permanent bonds with centaur males. And they cannot shapeshift.”

Then why had she responded to his touch with a passion so fierce it had seemed to consume him?

What was he thinking? It had consumed him. She had breathed in his soul and then returned it to his body. That’s all there was to it. That had to be all there was to it.

There was only one word for anything else between them-impossible.

He drained the last of the wine, and then set the goblet on his bedside table. Feeling suddenly, thoroughly exhausted, he stretched out on top of the thick, down-filled linens that covered his bed. As sleep pulled him under, he could still taste her on his lips.

Cuchulainn liked waking early. It was a habit that had taken root during his warrior training. He often was up honing his skills before any of his peers had begun to stir. So rising early the next morning had nothing to do with knowing that Brighid often left the castle at dawn. He wasn’t trying to chance a meeting with the Huntress. He was just falling back into a comfortable habit.

He was hurriedly washing his face in his small private bathing chamber when he caught his reflection in the wall mirror. He looked like a gnarled old man. His hair was long and matted and wild. He frowned at his reflection. How long had there been gray in his hair? His beard was rough. He rubbed at his chin. And it itched. Cuchulainn glanced down at his kilt. It was stained and threadbare. He expelled a long breath. Little wonder Brighid had had such a startled look in her eyes last night, and had so rapidly rejected him. Not only was he a human-he was a pathetic-looking human. He sniffed. He even smelled bad.

First, he’d bathe. Then he’d shave and…he shook his head at the mess that was his hair. It needed to be washed and cut. Warriors of Partholon usually wore their hair long, but he’d never liked the mess of it. When he was younger he’d had many an argument with his mother over it. He’d told her over and over that he wasn’t less of a warrior with less hair-and then set about to prove it to her. When his skills had become almost legendary, she’d capitulated, and he’d even managed to coax her into trimming it for him herself from time to time…

He grinned at his rumpled reflection. His mother was currently lodged down the hall from him. After a bath and a shave perhaps he’d be a considerate son and join her for breakfast.

Humming to himself, he began to strip.

The door to the guest suite opened before Cu could knock on it. A striking young blonde dressed in a mostly see-through robe of diaphanous pink material giggled at his raised fist.

“Your mother has been expecting you, warrior,” she said.

“Of course she has,” he said. Then he felt himself returning the maiden’s flirtatious grin. “And it’s nice to see Mother still believes in surrounding herself with beauty.”

The maiden’s cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink that perfectly matched her gown, and she dropped into a lithe curtsy, which gave the warrior a clear view of her shapely breasts. Automatically Cu looked, with a long, hot gaze that had his body tightening.

He was, after all, still alive.

“Cuchulainn! Come in-come in,” Etain called from within the chamber.

He winked at the handmaid before she moved aside so he could greet his mother. Etain was sitting on a chair which was opulently upholstered in gold velvet. Another attractive young woman brushed the priestess’s mass of red curls sprinkled with silver-gray. Cuchulainn smiled at her, noting that she had covered the walls of the guest suite with tapestries depicting herself, bare breasted, riding the Goddess mare as young maidens frolicked about showering their path with rose petals. Etain had also filled the suite to overflowing with luxurious furnishings and a silk-canopied bed on-of course-a dais.

His mother never failed to travel in a style befitting the Beloved of Epona. The part of his soul that had been absent so long stirred, and Cuchulainn felt a sudden rush of love for the flamboyant, powerful woman who was his mother. Laughing joyously, he strode to her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her soundly. Her musical laughter joined his own as she hugged him.

Then she pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her smile widened and she laid her hand against his newly shaven cheek.

“It is so good to see you whole again, my son.”

“You knew, of course,” he said.

“Yes.” She paused and made a slight, graceful motion with her hand, dismissing the maidens. “I knew the day it happened,” she continued after they were alone. She kissed his cheek and smoothed back his long hair. “I would have helped you if I could have, but some things are beyond even a mother’s reach.”

“I wish you had known Brenna.”

“Epona has spoken to me of her often. Your betrothed was an exceptional young woman. She was-and is-very dear to the Goddess.”

Cuchulainn closed his eyes on the bittersweet pain. “Thank you, Mother.”

She patted his cheek. “Let her go, my darling. Think of her-remember her-but let her go. It is time you moved forward with your life.”

He nodded. “As always, you are right.”

“Of course I am.” She stood on tiptoe and again kissed him softly on the cheek. Then she ruffled his hair. “I had the handmaids fetch my scissors. Shall we get started?”

He grinned at her. “It’s a good thing that I’ve never tried to keep anything from you. It would certainly make life damned difficult.”

She raised her eyebrow at him, reminding Cu of his sister. “You know it’s blasphemy to keep secrets from your mother.”

“Blasphemy?” He laughed, but let her lead him to the golden chair. With the scissors in one hand, and a slim comb in the other, she began to work on his hair, sighing as she combed through the thick mass of it.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into leaving it long. I could just take a little off here and there…”

His eyes met hers in the vanity mirror and she sighed again and began cutting. Under her familiar touch he relaxed, letting his memory sift back through all the times in his youth that his mother had willingly set aside the business of the Goddess to care for him, as well as for Elphame and their twin siblings, Arianrhod and Finegas. His father, too, High Shaman of Partholon, had never failed to make his children’s needs a priority.

What kind of man would he have become if he had been raised without parents? Poor Brenna-to have had to go through the most difficult part of her life without the love of her mother and father.

Brighid’s father was dead, too, he remembered with a sense of surprise. He’d died years ago. Strange that Cu was just now thinking of that. Brighid had berated him for allowing grief to make him give up on life. She’d spoken as if from experience, but when he’d challenged her she’d only spoken of the loss the New Fomorians had survived. Odd that the Huntress so rarely spoke of her family. Yes, her herd was known for their radical beliefs, but her mother was High Shaman. Surely such a powerful dam had had a profound and lasting effect upon her daughter. Yet Brighid had broken tradition and left her family. He wondered why…

“Have you seen her this morning?” His mother’s soft voice seemed to come directly from his thoughts. He jerked, and she thumped his shoulder. “Be still or you’ll be even more unpresentable than you were when you arrived all wild and shaggy.”

He cleared his throat. “Who?”

His mother looked down her regal nose at him.

He sighed. “No, I have not seen Brighid this morning. I came straight here.”

“After bathing and shaving-Goddess be thanked.”

He grunted.

“Soul retrieval is a very intimate act,” she began in a smooth, conversational tone. “For the soul to be successfully returned to the body, the Shaman must build a bridge of caring and understanding between herself and the patient. If I am not mistaken, you and Brighid had a strong friendship before the shattered piece of your soul began visiting her.”

“Yes,” he said.

“It was Brighid who tracked Elphame the night she was injured and almost killed by the wild boar?”

“Yes.”

“And Brighid who led you to Brenna’s body?”

“It was,” he said. “Mother, I don’t-”

Her raised hand stopped his words. “Wait. Let me speak, and then you can ask me all the questions you wish.”

He nodded slightly, feeling expectant as well as nervous. What did his mother know about what had happened last night? Was she preparing to chide him about being infatuated with Brighid?

Was he infatuated?

“So you and she had already established a friendship. If I’m not mistaken, you have quite a bit of respect for the Huntress?”

“You are rarely mistaken, Mother.”

She smiled at his reflection. “That is a truth. Now let me share with you another one. After a healing of the soul takes place, the patient-” She shook her head at his scowl. “No, there is nothing wrong with being a patient. Your spirit was broken and in need of healing. That makes you a patient. There is no shame in that. Now may I continue?”

He nodded, still hating that it sounded like he had become an invalid.

“After a soul retrieval takes place the patient, who would be you, is spiritually changed.”

Cuchulainn sat up straighter and blinked in surprise.

His mother’s voice lost its clinical detachment, and her hand rested warm and maternal on his shoulder. “You may notice that you feel sensitized, as well as energized. Your perception of reality might expand.” When she felt him tense beneath her hand she patted him gently. “The effect can be temporary, but often it is not. And you will be forever linked to the Shaman who guided your soul home.”

“But Brighid isn’t a Shaman.”

“It is true that she has not made the Otherworld journey to drink from Epona’s Chalice, but the centaur carries Shamanistic power within her. If she didn’t, she would never have been able to bring the lost part of you home.”

Cuchulainn met his mother’s gaze in the mirror.

“Ask,” she said.

“Could Brighid become a High Shaman?”

“Only Epona can answer that, Cuchulainn.”

“I’ll take your best guess, Mother.” He tried to smile at her, but the tension that radiated through his body drew his face into hard, sober lines.

“Then my best guess is that she could, but that it would not be an easy journey for her, and that it might lead her to a life of extreme loneliness.” She ran the comb through his hair, smoothing and trimming while she talked. “You know that her herd’s views are radical, perhaps even dangerous?”

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“If she were to become High Shaman she would have to take her place as the leader of the Dhianna Herd. Brighid has chosen a different path, and I believe she has found a measure of peace and happiness in it. If she were to deviate from that path she would be thrust back into the world she purposefully departed, even though her beliefs differ drastically from theirs. That would be a very lonely life for her.”

“What if she were not alone?”

Instead of answering, his mother continued to carefully and methodically trim his hair.

Undaunted by her silence, Cuchulainn continued. “What if she had someone by her side who was willing to fill in the lonely space-to support her beliefs. Someone who respected her and…”

“And loved her?”

He turned so that he could look directly at his mother. “Is what I’m feeling just a result of the soul retrieval?”

“What are you feeling, my son?”

“I am so drawn to her that I can hardly bear being away from her! I would have rushed to find her this morning-” he barked a humorless laugh “-if I hadn’t realized that I looked like a wild mountain hermit.”

“Centaurs are magical and alluring beings,” she said noncommittally. “They are passionate and beautiful. The soul of a human enhanced by the strength of an equine is something that can be a very powerful draw.”

“Mother! You must tell me. Is what I’m feeling temporary obsession because she touched my soul, or is it something more?”

“Only you and Brighid can decide that. For all of my knowledge, I cannot predict love. The bond caused by soul retrieval is rarely more than deep understanding and respect.” She smiled at him. “It seems that you feel considerably more for the Huntress.”

“Considerably,” he said under his breath.

“Enough that you are willing to ask her to change her life and her future so that the two of you can be mated?”

“I don’t know!”

The priestess touched her son’s cheek. “I wish your father were here.”

“He wouldn’t tell me that I have gone mad?”

“He might.” She laughed.

He put his hand over hers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Of course you don’t. You can’t decide that on your own-not really. Talk with Brighid. You’ve already shared your soul with her, how much more difficult could it be to share the secrets of your heart with her?”

“It feels like it’s happening too fast. Too soon after Brenna.”

“The world is turning quickly, Cuchulainn. I Feel a great restlessness approaching. Perhaps now is the appropriate time for fast actions.” She brushed her hands through his hair and gave him a considering look, then she smiled again. “You are finished here.”

He turned to the mirror, smoothing his newly shorn hair back from his forehead. Then he took his mother’s hand and kissed it.

“Thank you,” he said.

She squeezed his hand and gave him a little push toward the door. “Go find your future, my son. And know that whatever you choose, my blessing, as well as Epona’s, goes with you.”