Elphame's Choice (25 page)

“BRENNA, WAIT!”
Cuchulainn jogged down the hallway after her.

Brenna looked over her shoulder at him, and for an instant she thought about bolting away. She was almost to the end of the hallway; she could probably make it to the more public areas of the castle before he caught her if she hurried. And then what? Being in public would only make the confrontation worse. At least here there was no one to witness what passed between them. Brenna came slowly to a halt and turned to face Cuchulainn. She started to duck her head and hide her face when, unexpectedly, the anger she had felt so keenly the night before flared. No, she would meet his pity face-to-face.

“I owe you an apology for my behavior last night.”

“You do not owe me an apology, Cuchulainn.” Brenna held up her hand to stop him from speaking. To her amazement,
he took her hand in his, and before she could protest, pressed it to his lips.

“Of course I do. I had entirely too much wine. I was rude and boorish. Please, forgive me.” Still holding her hand his thumb traced lazy circles across the delicate skin he had just kissed.

Brenna felt frozen. To be kissed on the hand…It was such a simple thing. Men and women exchanged greetings thus every day. Yet until that moment no one had ever kissed her hand. Not in greeting, and not in desire. Brenna suddenly had to fight back the urge to weep.

“Please don’t touch me like that.”

“Why, Brenna?” Cuchulainn’s voice was low and gentle.

What could she tell him? That he must not touch her because she wanted it so desperately, or that he must not touch her because he was an injury from which she did not think she was capable of recovering?

She could not say either of those things to him. If she did, she thought she might shatter into so many pieces that she would never find the way to make herself whole again. Instead, she searched for the thread of anger within her and found it when she remembered the sight of his body pressed against Wynne’s as their sensuous dance movements mimicked lovemaking.

“Because Wynne would not like it, but more than that—I do not like it.” With deliberate scorn she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I accept your apology. I know you did not mean to be intentionally cruel, but you do not need to play a pretty act with me today. It is degrading.”

She turned to go, but he grasped her wrist.

“Wait, I—”

Brenna glared down at where his fingers circled her wrist and instantly he let loose of her.

“I won’t touch you. Just don’t go yet. Let me explain.”

“Cuchulainn, there is nothing for you to explain.”

“Yes!” The word exploded from his mouth and he ran his fingers though his hair, trying to get his frustration under control. Just talk to her! His mind screamed at him. “Yes, there is,” he continued in a more civilized tone. “First, I want to explain to you that I am not interested in Wynne.”

“That is no business of mine,” Brenna said quickly.

“Brenna! Would you please allow me to continue?”

Brenna shrugged her shoulders, pretending a nonchalance she did not feel.

“Last night I was a drunken sot. My only defense, pathetic as it is, is to tell you that I usually have better judgment—at least where wine is concerned. I allowed the celebration of the evening to interfere with my better judgment.” Cuchulainn took a deep breath and looked steadily into Brenna’s dark eyes. “When the music began the only thought in my wine-addled brain was how very much I wanted to dance with you. When you refused me I was surprised as well as confused. I thought that you liked me, and as much as it pains me to admit it, the Huntress was right. I am not used to being told no by a woman who has captured my interest. I reacted like a spoiled youth.” His expressive eyes sparkled with mischief. “When you said you did not know how to dance I should have sat beside you, whispered dance steps into your ear and told you how very much I would like to teach you to dance—privately.”

Brenna reminded herself to breathe.

“I followed you. When I saw that you were gone I tried to find you. Brenna, I don’t want Wynne. I want you.”

Brenna felt her mismatched face flush with heat and her breath rushed out as her anger spiked. “How can you be so cruel?”

“Cruel? Why is it cruel to tell you that I desire you?”

“Because it’s a lie, or a game, or sick, passing fancy.”

“Now you insult me.”

“I insult
you?
” She practically spat. “As always, you believe everything is about you.
You
drank too much—
you
thought only of what you wanted—
you
should have done this or that. Do you never consider the feelings of others?”

“Yes, I—”

“Listen to yourself!” She thought her heart might explode. “Yes,
I
. What about me? Did you ever consider that I might not want to be made a plaything for the great Cuchulainn? Did you ever consider that I might not desire
you?
Cuchulainn—” she spoke through gritted teeth “—you are my friend and Chieftain’s brother and you are a warrior whose skill is much admired. I will treat you with the respect you deserve as such. And as with any other member of our clan if you are wounded I will stitch you up. If you become sick, I will try my best to heal you. But I will not be used as fodder for your personal amusement.”

This time when she turned her back to him and hurried down the hall, he made no move to stop her.

“Cu,” Elphame’s voice carried easily down the hall. Her brother turned slowly and looked at her with an odd, blank expression on his face. “Come here, let’s talk.”

He nodded and walked back to her chamber. Elphame had never seen him move so woodenly. His usual swagger was gone. His broad shoulders slumped. It seemed as if he was dragging a terrible weight with him. As she watched him, The MacCallan’s words echoed through her memory,
Wi’ that thick head of his the lad is in for a verra hard fall
. The wily old spirit had certainly been right.

“Sit.” She pointed at the chair Brenna had so recently overturned and closed the door behind him. Then she poured him some fresh tea. “Drink it. Brenna said it’s good and strong.”

Cuchulainn’s bark of laughter was totally devoid of humor. He righted the chair and sat. “If she had known I was going
to be drinking it, she would have made it good and strong and poisonous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She said she’d heal you if you were sick. If she’d have known you’d be drinking it, she would just have made it taste awful.”

“She hates me, El.”

“I don’t think she does. Actually, I know she doesn’t, but that’s not the issue here.” She cleared her throat. “Cuchulainn, as Brenna’s Clan Chieftain it is my duty to inquire about your intentions.”

“My intentions?” He blinked at his sister.

Elphame began to pace back and forth in front of the table. “Don’t act so dense, Cu. You know very well that I’m asking about your intentions toward Brenna. You see, I think she had a point, at least about part of what she said. Of course I know you better, so I don’t believe that you lied when you said you desire her, but I can’t help wondering whether you might be chasing her as a game—after all, you aren’t usually told no by women.”

Cuchulainn’s eyes slitted dangerously. “I am not playing a game with Brenna.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Then do you want her because you can’t resist giving the scarred girl a thrill? Or maybe you just have to get a peek at the rest of her so you can see just how far those scars really go?”

Her brother’s fist slammed against the table with such force that the teacups jumped. “If you were not my sister I would knock those words back into your mouth!”

Elphame stopped pacing, planted her hands on her hips and grinned defiantly at her brother. “I knew it, you are in love with her.”

Cuchulainn’s head jerked back as if she had slapped him.

“In love? No, I…”

“Is she too ugly for the great Cuchulainn to admit that he loves her?”

“Elphame.” His voice lowered threateningly. “If you don’t stop talking about her like that, I swear I’m going to—”

Her laughter interrupted him. “Then what you’re saying is that you don’t think she’s ugly.”

He glared at her. “Of course not. Brenna is beautiful.”

“What about her scars?”

“What about them? They’re just a part of her. By the Goddess! I can’t believe you’re saying these things. I thought she was your friend.”

Elphame’s taunting smile warmed. “She is, which is why I wanted to be sure of you, Cu. I didn’t really think that you’d toy with her, but you had to say it aloud for both of us to believe it.”

Cuchulainn looked around the room. “But no one’s here except you and me, El.”

“Exactly.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “You were right. He is thickheaded.”

Her brother scowled at her. “Have you been talking to that damned old ghost again?”

“Yes, but again, that’s not the issue, either. Try to stay focused, brother-mine. You’re in love with Brenna.”

Cuchulainn hunched his shoulders, nodded his head, and stared at his cup of tea.

“And she’s a little upset with you.”

“Hrumph!” he said.

“Okay, perhaps ‘a little upset’ is an understatement,” Elphame amended.

“I think she hates me, El.”

“Nonsense, listen—” She pulled her chair close to him and sat down. “Last night I went up to the Chieftain’s Tower.”

“El, you shouldn’t have done that. You know Brenna told you to be careful.”

“Yes, yes, yes, she already chastised me,” Elphame said impatiently. “Forget that and pay attention to what I saw from above. I watched Brenna leave the castle. She was crying, Cu, so hard that she had to lean against the wall of the castle.”

“It was because of me. I embarrassed her. That doesn’t mean she loves me, El. That just means I’m as self-centered and unfeeling as she thinks I am.”

Elphame shook her head. “No, Cu, that’s not what that means. Brenna leaned against the castle wall while I was resting my arm against the tower’s balustrade. It’s hard to explain, but somehow the spirit of the castle connected me to her and for a moment I actually felt what she felt—despair, pain, loneliness. Whatever had happened inside didn’t just embarrass her or upset her, it broke her heart.”

Cuchulainn put his face in his hands and moaned.

“Cu.” Elphame squeezed his shoulder. “You can fix this. All you have to do is show her you love her and make her believe she can trust you.”

Her brother looked at her through his fingers. “How do I do that?”

She grinned at him. “I have no idea.”

ELPHAME STRETCHED GINGERLY
and rolled her sore shoulder, careful not to let her expression reveal even the least little discomfort. She was seated on the newly dug ground between two rows of what would eventually be heartily growing mint plants—at least that’s what Wynne had assured her. Elphame didn’t know much about herbs or gardening, so the old garden that was situated behind the kitchen looked more like a confusing array of upended plants and haphazardly raised piles of soil to her than a plot of herbs meticulously being restored, but Wynne’s militant assistant cooks seemed to know what they were doing as they selectively weeded and transplanted and chattered about this and that herb. Truthfully, Elphame would have rather been scrubbing the stone walls of the Great Hall, but Brenna had put an end to that before she’d even had time to settle into the work. Elphame scowled as she patted the dirt around the little mint plant. The Healer had
refused to agree to allow El to do anything more strenuous than to sit comfortably and quietly and transplant baby mint plants.

Elphame sighed. She really shouldn’t complain, at least she’d escaped the confinement of that awful chaise longue. The day was warm and clear, with just enough of a breeze to bring the scent of blooming flowers and the sea within the castle walls. The sun felt wonderful on her face and the busy sounds of her clan surrounded her with a feeling of peace. And, she admitted to herself, she was finding that she liked getting her hands in the rich MacCallan earth. She stretched again, and rolled her head, loosening the stiffness of her neck. Looking up, she watched the men who were hard at work repairing the ruin of the warriors’ barracks, the entrance to which was located near the rear of the kitchen. Elphame thought the placement made perfect sense. Warriors, it seemed, were always hungry. At least Cuchulainn was always hungry.

A familiar kilted figure joined the workers, calling orders and checking the roofers’ progress. El watched him closely. Cu’s voice was definitely grumpier than usual. She stifled a smile. But Cuchulainn was no fool, and she knew how stubborn he could be when he truly desired something. Brenna had no idea the scope of the battle that was getting ready to be launched against her defenses. Elphame hoped fervently that Cu’s campaign—whatever it was—would work. The two of them fit well together. She wondered briefly if she should bring her mother into the fray. Etain would make a formidable ally when she realized that her precious son’s heart had been lost, and the glimmer of future grandchildren sparkled before her.

No, Elphame quickly decided against calling in her mother. Let Cuchulainn work at winning Brenna. The MacCallan hadn’t been sure if the Healer could learn to trust enough to love, but Elphame had more faith in her friend—and in her brother’s ability to woo and win a lover.

Absently, El chose another small plant and began to prepare a place for it next to the other sprig of mint. What about the question of her own lover? A little shiver of delight ran though Elphame as she remembered the way he had responded to her touch. His wings…

“You look flushed. Perhaps it’s time you rested.”

Elphame jumped guiltily. She looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun, silhouetting Brenna and Brighid.

“I’m not flushed. I feel fine.” She stood with what she hoped was enough lithe grace to satisfy her Healer friend.

“She looks well-rested to me,” Brighid said.

Elphame could have kissed the Huntress.

Brenna narrowed her eyes. “You’re not—”

“No!” Elphame interrupted her friend. “I am not overdoing. I’m just planting these baby things.”

“You’re transplanting mint sprigs. They’re not bairns,” Wynne said cheerfully as she swung into the garden. The cook inspected the little row Elphame had completed. “And ye are doin’ a fine job of it.”

Elphame grinned. “See, I’m fine.”

Brenna’s face relaxed only a little. “Well, see that you go slowly. And if your shoulder begins to ache, do not push it.” She smiled begrudgingly at her overactive patient. She would have to keep a close watch on Elphame. Her friend was healing well, but she pushed herself too hard. She was too used to depending upon the extraordinary abilities of her body. Elphame didn’t seem to understand that even her strength had its limits.

Brenna snuck a quick look at Wynne as she discussed the castle’s meals with Elphame and Brighid. The cook was voluptuous and beautiful. It was not possible that Cuchulainn did not desire Wynne. Just as it was not possible that the warrior truly desired Brenna. As the day had passed her anger at him had cooled to a simmer, and she had been left with a confused
irritation. Why had he insisted that he wanted her? She chewed her lip, remembering her harsh words to him. She didn’t really think that he was selfish and cruel—she’d just been completely unbalanced by his declaration. And his touch. And his nearness.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Cuchulainn’s deep voice sounded forcefully cheerful. All day he’d been restless and irritable, and he’d known he was doing more harm than good as he snapped at the roofers. Impulsively, he’d decided to find his sister. She was a maiden. Surely she’d know something he could say to Brenna to repair the damage he had unwittingly done. One of the women had told him that Elphame was in the kitchen garden, and he’d hurried there with a single-minded sense of purpose that had blocked out everything else. Until he’d entered the little garden and caught sight of Brenna. He spoke offhandedly to the women, who waved warmly to him as he strode toward his sister—and Brenna. Cuchulainn set his shoulders. He wouldn’t get a chance to talk to his sister alone and ask her advice first. He would just have to follow his heart—or his gut—or both.

Elphame grinned at him, pulling his attention from the silent Healer. “I’ll bet you had no idea that I could garden, Cu.”

He couldn’t help smiling back at her, and he wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek. “You can’t.”

“Ye may be in for a surprise, warrior,” Wynne purred. “Our Chieftain has many hidden talents.”

Cuchulainn hardly spared the beautiful cook a glance. Instead his eyes sought and found Brenna’s. His smile was slow and seductive, and its warmth lit his face.

“You could be right, Wynne. There are many things about our Chieftain—and about others—that I have been surprised to learn. And I’m finding that I would like to learn more, too.”

Brenna gaped at the warrior. He was looking at her like
that
,
right there in front of all of them! Cuchulainn’s message was clear. He was telling every one of them that he was interested. In her. She stood there, frozen, not sure if she wished she could disappear or if she wished he would keep on looking like that at her—and really mean it.

He kept on looking like that at her.

“Uh, Cu—is there something you needed?” Elphame said.

Cuchulainn’s turquoise eyes never left Brenna’s. “There is something I need, but I believe I have found it, sister-mine.”

Brenna’s breath left her body is a surprised rush and she felt the left side of her face flame.

“If you will excuse me, Elphame, there are things I must…I have to…” She wrenched her eyes from Cuchulainn’s hot gaze and reordered her thoughts. “I have to go,” she finished in a rush, curtsied to Elphame, and hurried from the garden.

“So that’s how ’tis?” Wynne asked softly.

Still looking after Brenna, Cuchulainn nodded his head slowly. “That is how it is.”

Wynne gave the warrior an appraising look, tossed back her red mane, and sauntered from the garden.

“That might not have been the smartest thing you could have done, Cu,” Elphame said, wiping her hands on her thighs. “You know how shy Brenna is. I think you might have scared her more than seduced her.”

“I want her to know I’m serious.”

Brighid snorted.

“What do you have to say about it?” Cu rounded on her.

The Huntress shrugged her shapely shoulders. “Nothing except that you’re like a bull in rutting season. Next thing you’ll do is piss on the ground around her to mark your territory.”

Elphame watched her brother begin to swell and she hastily
stepped between the two of them. “That’s enough. Take it outside the castle walls.”

The Huntress and the warrior blinked blankly at their Chieftain. She shook her head in disgust at them.

“Go hunting. Both of you. Brighid, try not to antagonize my brother every second. Cuchulainn, you need to work off some of your—” she gestured at the rigid set of his shoulders “—tension. It’s certainly not helping you with Brenna.”

The Huntress snorted again.

Elphame raised one eyebrow at her and crossed her arms.

Brighid sighed and glanced begrudgingly at Cuchulainn. “Come on, warrior. Let’s see if you can bring down a stag.”

Cuchulainn frowned at the Huntress. He had no intention of leaving the castle. He should go after Brenna right then and—

“Thank you, Brighid, that sounds like a lovely idea. I’m glad you thought of it.” Elphame gave both of their shoulders a shove toward the garden’s exit. “Wynne was just saying that she could never have enough venison. I’ll see the two of you at dinner.” She neatly ignored the dark look her brother sent her as he followed the Huntress from the courtyard.

With a sigh she resumed her seat in the middle of the mint plants, contemplating the benefits of bashing Cuchulainn over the head so that Brenna would be forced to treat him.

“He’d probably be a worse patient than me, and she’d end up poisoning his tea—not that anyone would blame her,” she muttered.

Cuchulainn had to admit it; Elphame’s idea had been a good one. He’d needed to get away from the castle and clear his head. His aim was certainly off—he’d be surprised if he could have hit the side of MacCallan’s thick outer wall, but his muscles were warm and his tension had dissipated. He also had to admit that Brighid was a damned fine Huntress. He’d spent
years at his father’s side, so the grace and strength of a centaur was nothing new to him, but Brighid moved with a stealth that was almost preternatural.

“Through there.” Her voice was hushed and he followed her gaze to the little stream that ran through the meadow. The stag was just dipping his head to drink.

Cu nodded and dropped silently from his gelding. Notching an arrow he crept forward to get a clear shot. A half-fallen tree was in the way, and he moved slowly around its splintered trunk. The breeze stirred and he froze, even though it was blowing away from the deer. An odor came to him then and Cuchulainn unconsciously curled his lip at the fetid smell. Death and rot—close by. He stepped over the edge of the downed limb, and with a sick, squinching sound he put his booted foot down squarely in the middle of the decomposing corpse.

Before he could stop himself, Cu jerked his body back. Nostrils flaring, the stag lunged away.

“Cuchulainn, what—” Brighid began, but her look of irritation changed to surprise as she joined him on the other side of the tree.

“Dead wolf,” he said, wiping his boot on the mossy ground. “Sorry about scaring away the stag. It was just—” he grimaced at the corpse “—unexpected. Especially looking like that.”

Brighid was studying the body thoughtfully. “Impaled,” she said.

“Strange, isn’t it? He must have run right into that splintered limb.”

“She,” Brighid corrected him.

He cocked a brow at her.

“The wolf is a female.” The Huntress pointed to the underside of the bloating body. “And she had cubs. Look at her teats.”

Cuchulainn was intrigued enough to ignore the smell and step closer to the dead wolf.

“I’ve seen this type of death only a few times, and always in lone females who have recently whelped. They’re desperate for food. I can only imagine the frenzy that drives them to run after their prey with such blinding intensity that they lose all sense of everything else around them. She probably leaped over the log and at the speed she was traveling the limb shard was driven into her like a spear.”

Cuchulainn crouched down. The wolf had impaled herself through her chest. He shook his head.

“But why was she hunting alone? Wolves live in packs.”

“Most do, but look at her size. She’s clearly a runt. She should have never been bred. My guess is that the alpha female drove her from the pack. She wouldn’t have liked to share the alpha male, and the pack rarely lets substandard members breed.” The Huntress peered down at the wolf, reading the history her corpse still told. “Look at her body, especially around her head and neck. She’s badly scarred—probably was supposed to die. It’s amazing she recovered and lived as long as she did.”

Badly scarred…supposed to die…Cuchulainn’s jaw tightened. Abruptly he stood and faced the Huntress.

“How long would you say she’s been dead?”

Brighid shrugged. “Maybe two days.”

“Not too long,” he muttered as if thinking aloud.

“Too long for what?”

“Some of them might still be alive. Let’s find them.” Cuchulainn strode back to his gelding.

“Cuchulainn, what in the name of the Goddess are you talking about?”

He swung aboard the horse. “Prove to me you’re as great a Huntress as I think you are.”

Surprised, she raised her chin. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

He smiled grimly at her. “I want you to find her cubs.”