Elphame's Choice (37 page)

“He is not a monster, Cuchulainn. I have handfasted with him. He is the lifemate you foretold that I would find here.”

Cries of disbelief sounded from around them, but Elphame did not look away from her brother. Shaking his head wildly, Cuchulainn staggered back. When Elphame moved to him, her brother flinched from her touch. She pulled her hand back as if he had burned her.

“By the Goddess, this cannot be.” Cuchulainn’s voice seemed to come from a tomb.

“Cuchulainn!” Lochlan had struggled to his feet. His hands, bound and bleeding, pulled taut against the rope. “Go north of where you found me. There you will find those responsible for this atrocity. My people will not have traveled far.”

Eyes blazing, the warrior’s head whipped around. “And why would they still be there, creature? Could it be that you set a trap and that they wait there to spring it upon us?”

“They cannot fight you, they cannot run from you. I have torn their wings. They are at your mercy, as am I.”

To Elphame’s numbed mind, Lochlan’s words were one shock layered upon another and another. Brenna murdered, Lochlan captured, their bond revealed, her brother looking at her with eyes that seemed not to see his sister, and now Lochlan said that he had torn the wings—those ultimately sensitive extensions of the soul—of his own people. The only thing that kept her from crying out in agony was the weight of The MacCallan brooch that held her plaid into place.

Then Cuchulainn’s voice cut into her shock. “If you were at my mercy, creature, you would not draw another breath.”

Elphame’s reaction was born in her blood. The MacCallan raised her chin and drew back her shoulders. Unflinchingly she met her brother’s blazing gaze.

“You are correct, Cuchulainn.” Her voice was stone. “He is not at your mercy, he is at mine. Take a group of men and centaurs of your choice.” She glanced at the Huntress. “Go with them. Track the hybrid Fomorians.” Brighid bowed her head, acknowledging her Chieftain’s order. Then Elphame’s gaze returned to her brother. “Bring them back so that they can be judged.” Steeling herself, she approached him again. This time he did not flinch away from her, but neither did his expression soften. She held open her arms. “I will take Brenna. She is home now.”

Cuchulainn hesitated, and then a shudder rippled through his body. Reluctantly, he placed Brenna in his sister’s arms.

Without taking his eyes from hers, Cuchulainn jerked his chin at Lochlan. “What will you do with him?” His voice sounded as dead as his heart.

“He is my captive and will remain so until justice is served.”

He narrowed his eyes. “See that you keep him well guarded.”

“See that you bring the others back alive,” she retorted.

Stiffly, as if she were a stranger, Cuchulainn bowed to her before he began shouting orders. He unwrapped the rope to which Lochlan was tethered from around his saddle and tossed it to one of the men standing nearby.

“Guard him well,” he said to the grim-faced man. Then, without another look at his sister, he and Brighid led the group of well-armed men and centaurs into the forest.

Elphame knew what she must do, and she gave the command without hesitation, but her heart felt like a leaden weight within her breast and she could not look at Lochlan. The legendary MacCallan Castle had no dank dungeons or iron-barred jailhouse. When a clan member committed a crime justice was swift and permanent—according to the will of the Chieftain, either the criminal’s life was forfeited or he was banished. The clan whose battle cry was “Faith and Fidelity” tolerated no oath breakers.

“Take him within the walls of the castle and bind him to
one of the columns. While we await Cuchulainn’s return he will be treated as my prisoner.”

The man holding Lochlan’s rope jerked it forward cruelly. Elphame’s response was immediate—her voice a dagger.

“I have acknowledged his claim as a member of our clan and accepted his oath. You would be wise to remember to treat him as such.”

The man looked hastily away. The fire in Elphame’s eyes said that she was more than a Chieftain; she was touched by the Goddess. One did not evoke the wrath of a Goddess lightly.

As the group moved silently past her and into the castle, Danann approached Elphame.

“Let me help you with the little Healer, Goddess.”

His eyes were filled with compassion and the anger within Elphame extinguished, leaving her feeling lost and exhausted.

“She’s so light,” Elphame said brokenly.

“Brenna’s body did not define her. She was a great will housed in a small form,” Danann said.

“Her heart was her strength,” Wynne said, stepping into the space beside the centaur. Tracks of tears made smudged paths down her ivory cheeks.

“As was her kindness,” said Meara as she joined them. Her voice trembled with emotion and she, too, wept openly. “We would be honored if you would allow us to assist you in anointing Brenna’s body.”

Elphame looked from the wise old centaur to the two young women. They did not shrink from her or accuse her of being the defender of a monster. They had not withdrawn their loyalty from her; she was still their Chieftain. Elphame struggled against her own tears. She was The MacCallan; her clan depended upon her strength. She would not cry.

“I accept your offer of aid. Come with me to Brenna’s tent, we will prepare her there.”

The four of them made a sad procession, weaving their way past the empty tents that littered the south side of the castle grounds to Brenna’s temporary home. Sitting near the entrance of her tent was the little wolf cub. Elphame had forgotten about Fand, and she was surprised to see that someone had tied her to one of the tent posts. The cub bounced to her feet, wriggling a greeting, but as Elphame and her burden drew close, the young wolf’s demeanor changed drastically. She dropped her ears and tail. Whimpering miserably, she slunk low to the ground. Elphame entered the tent and lay Brenna on the neatly made bed and they began anointing her body as the eerie sound of Fand’s mournful howls echoed throughout the fading day.

ELPHAME STOOD CLOAKED
within the shadows outside the Main Courtyard. The scene before her had a macabre, otherworldly feel. Torches burned brightly and the comforting sounds of people talking and finishing their evening meal drifted from the Great Hall mingling with the familiar splash of the fountain’s ever-falling water. They were the noises of her castle at the end of a day. It would all be so normal if the scent of the oils she had used to anoint Brenna’s body didn’t still perfume her hands, and if guards were not positioned in the courtyard, standing vigilant watch over Lochlan.

Iron shackles attached to heavy chains cuffed Lochlan’s wrists and ankles. The chains had been wrapped securely around the great central column of the castle. Lochlan sat at the column’s base, leaning heavily against it. His eyes were closed. He was terribly bruised and battered. An arrow protruded from his left shoulder. Above the quill the muscle had
been slashed and the laceration flapped open with an ugly heaviness. Blood coated the side of Lochlan’s body. But the wound that drew Elphame’s eyes and made her stomach tighten was the long tear that ran almost the length of his left wing. The undamaged wing was tucked snuggly against Lochlan’s back, but the other one lay limp and partially opened, reminding Elphame of a dying bird.

Elphame drew several deep breaths, trying to ignore the overly sweet smell of the funeral oils. Her blood pounded fiercely in her temples. She wanted to rush to Lochlan and demand that they unchain him. If she had been anyone except The MacCallan she would have. She would rail at his guards that he had not killed Brenna—that he was not a demon. But she could not react as a distraught wife. She must deliver justice, not hysteria or tears. She could not save Lochlan. He must save himself. He must prove himself innocent of Brenna’s death, or she would have to mete out punishment to him as she would to any other member of Clan MacCallan.

But as any other member of her clan, he was under her care and protection until his judgment was complete. As she had seen Brenna do so many times, she shifted the leather bag so that its strap rested comfortably over her shoulder and stepped into the flickering light of the torches. Her hooves clacked solidly against the smooth marble. The two armed guards bowed to her.

“Brendan, Duncan.” She acknowledged them with a nod.

Lochlan lifted his head.

“I’ll need one of you to go to the kitchen. Wynne will have some broth ready soon. Bring it here to me, along with a skin of strong red wine.”

Brendan bowed again before leaving to follow her orders. She met Duncan’s eyes. “I would speak to Lochlan privately.”

Duncan hesitated only a moment before he retreated reluc
tantly across the courtyard. Elphame noted that he remained far enough away so that their conversation could not be overheard, but close enough so that he could return to her side quickly if he thought she was in danger.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked Lochlan.

He did not answer at first, he only stared at her while he shook his head slowly from side to side, and Elphame wondered again if madness might have begun to claim him.

“I did not kill Brenna.” He enunciated the words slowly and distinctly.

Instead of speaking, she crouched next to him and opened Brenna’s bag searching through it for the ointment that her friend had used to heal her wounds and linen strips to bind the wicked-looking cut in his shoulder.

The chains rattled as Lochlan grabbed her wrist. Drawing his claymore, Duncan took a step toward them, but Elphame motioned him off.

“I must know if you believe me,” he said.

Elphame looked into his gray eyes and found that she could not answer him.

“The spirit of the stones can tell you, Goddess.” Danann’s disembodied voice carried from the entrance to the courtyard.

Elphame shook off Lochlan’s hold and stood to face the centaur. He, too, smelled of the anointing oils. She had not known what oils to choose from Brenna’s large selection; she had never before overseen the preparation of a body, and she knew that the care with which Danann had chosen the oils and led them in preparing Brenna was as indelibly imprinted into her memory as was the cool, slack feel of her friend’s lifeless skin. The centaur’s well-lined face reflected the strain of the past hours, but his eyes were still kind and wise. He approached her and studied Lochlan with a frank, open appraisal before returning his gaze to Elphame.

“Ask the spirit of the great column. Through it you will know the truth.”

Elphame’s eyes widened. The thought had not crossed her mind, but she realized that the Stonemaster was correct. She had within her the ability to tell infallibly whether Lochlan had any part in Brenna’s death.

The chains clanked as Lochlan struggled to his feet. “What does the centaur mean?” he rasped painfully.

“He means that the spirit within the stone of this column and I are connected. Through it I can see within you and know whether you harmed Brenna or not.”

Lochlan closed his eyes wearily, and for a moment Elphame thought that he might lose consciousness, but they blinked open. The sadness she saw within them washed over her with his words.

“You should not need the spirits of your castle to tell you that I could not commit such a crime.”

“Should she not?” Danann broke in, speaking to Lochlan as if he were lecturing an errant schoolboy. “Perhaps your lifemate should be expected to trust you implicitly, but your lifemate is also The MacCallan. She must be more discerning. Do not ever underestimate the depth of responsibility she carries within her blood.”

As he listened to Danann’s words, a change came over Lochlan’s face. The sadness lifted and only the weariness remained.

“You do well to chide me, Master Centaur,” Lochlan said. “I knew what she was when I pledged myself to her. I should expect no less of her.” He looked at his Chieftain and wife. “Ask the spirits so that The MacCallan’s mind may be at rest.”

Elphame approached him. He was still leaning heavily against the column. She touched the carved stone beside him. Her hand tingled with warmth as the spirit beneath her palm awakened and responded to her touch. She locked her gaze with his as she spoke.

“I need to know if Lochlan is guilty of Brenna’s death.”

She felt the surge of heat and the molten connection as her spirit merged with that of the great column. Like the exhaling of a long-held breath, part of her awareness flowed out through her hand, curled, and then poured from the stone into Lochlan.

He inhaled a breath sharply in surprise as he felt the warmth invade his battered body, but his eyes did not waver from Elphame.

“I did not kill Brenna.” He repeated the words carefully.

And suddenly Elphame was shaken by bolts of emotion as she Felt the truth within Lochlan.
Shock…anger…despair!
She knew his devastation at discovering what had been done to Brenna. And then she Felt the remembrance of her own call engulfing him.
Resignation…sorrow…
He had answered her call even though he understood that in doing so he would probably be embracing his doom.

Her heart had been right; he was not guilty of Brenna’s death. He was only guilty of finding her. She wanted to weep and cheer. The MacCallan could do neither, but with her power there was one thing she could do.

“Forgive me for doubting.” She mouthed the silent words before she bowed her head and concentrated on sending healing warmth from her own body, through the heart of her castle, and into her lifemate’s wounded body.

She heard him gasp as her strength poured into him and through their connection she Felt the echo of his thoughts,
There is nothing to forgive, my heart
.

A strong hand grasped her shoulder and her head jerked up.

“Enough, Goddess,” Danann said. “You may have need of your own strength soon.”

Reluctantly, Elphame pulled her palm from the living stone. Her head buzzed strangely and her arms felt unnaturally heavy.

“Bring your Chieftain some wine!” the centaur barked at
Duncan. “And warm water and linens so that we may care for Lochlan’s wounds.” When Duncan hesitated Danann spoke with gruff annoyance. “He can hardly move, man! I may be old, but I can certainly protect Elphame from someone who is half-dead.”

“Go on,” Elphame said faintly.

Frowning, Duncan hurried off toward the kitchen.

“Sit before you fall down,” Danann told her.

Elphame did as she was told and sat on the marble floor not far from Lochlan. He smiled weakly at her and slid slowly down the column, joining her on the floor. He still looked terrible, but his breathing was easier and there was a hint of color in his cheeks.

“He did not kill Brenna,” she said to the centaur, who was riffling through the Healer’s bag.

He paused and glanced at her. “Of course he didn’t,” he said gruffly.

“You did not believe I killed her?” Lochlan blurted.

Danann raised one grizzled brow. “Our Elphame is not a fool to have chosen to handfast with a monster.”

“Then why did you tell me to ask the spirit of the column?” Elphame said.

“You already know the answer to that, Goddess,” Danann said.

But it was Lochlan who spoke before Elphame could. “For what is to come—she had to be certain, in more than her heart. She had to know the truth in her soul.”

“You know the truth may not change things.” The old centaur looked pointedly from Lochlan to Elphame.

The strength Lochlan had received from his lover seemed to drain from him and he slumped wearily against the column.

“I only know one thing for certain. I am sick to death of hiding, and come what may, Partholon will know we exist. What happens afterwards is in Epona’s hands.”

“Well, if you are to take on Partholon, I suggest we clean you up and care for your wounds.”

Duncan returned first, with a skin of wine thrown over his arm and carrying a small basin, a pitcher of water, and some clean cloth. Danann took the pitcher and cloths, and motioned for Duncan to give Elphame the wine before the guard retreated back to his spot beside the fountain.

“Drink deeply,” Danann advised her.

She was happy to comply; her mouth felt incredibly dry. She drank the reviving liquid and felt some of her weakness recede along with the faint buzzing in her head. Then she joined Danann beside Lochlan.

“Drink deeply.” She echoed the old centaur’s words as she helped Lochlan hold the wineskin to his mouth. He drank and Elphame tried to assess his wounds.

“The arrow must come out,” Danann said, mirroring her thoughts. “The shoulder wound should probably have been sewn closed, but too much time has passed now and I think the pain it would cost him would not be worth the benefit.”

Elphame nodded hastily. Her stomach quivered at the thought of sewing Lochlan’s skin together.

“Get his shirt off and clean him up as best you can. After that arrow comes out the hole it leaves will need cauterizing. I’ll go to Brenna’s tent to find the iron she used, and then have it heated,” Danann said grimly, and squeezed her shoulder before he left them alone.

Lochlan was holding the wineskin on his own, allowing Elphame’s hands to be freed to pour the water from the pitcher into the basin. She felt his eyes on her as she wetted one of the cloths.

“This was not how we intended to make my introduction to the clan.”

“No,” she said softly, thinking of Brenna’s lifeless body.
With fingers that felt clumsy, she began to unlace his blood-encrusted shirt. “Everything has gone so terribly wrong, Lochlan,” she said as she worked the ties. His hand closed over hers and she raised her eyes to his.

“Not our love, my heart. Our love has not gone wrong. Remember that whatever happens I do not regret one instant of the time I have loved you.”

“I’ve brought the broth, milady.”

Brendan’s voice broke between them and Elphame glanced up to see the man looking at their joined hands. Lochlan slowly took his hand from hers, though he stonily returned Brendan’s stare.

“Give me your knife,” Elphame said.

Though there was a clear question in his expression, Brendan complied and then watched as she cut the blood-covered shirt from Lochlan. She handed the knife back to the man, who was staring in obvious curiosity at Lochlan’s powerful chest and the enormous wings that grew from his back.

“Do you want to drink the broth now, or wait until we’re done…” Elphame gestured nervously at the arrow that must be pulled from his body.

“Now,” he said, touching her cheek gently in a quick caress. “From what the centaur said I believe I will have need of its healing strength.”

Without looking at Brendan, Elphame held out her hand and the man silently handed her the steaming mug. Lochlan drank it quickly, and then nodded at her. Steeling herself against the pain she knew she had to be causing him, Elphame set to work cleaning her lifemate’s wounds. Lochlan closed his eyes and leaned against the stone column. Every so often he would raise the wineskin to his lips with a hand that shook only slightly.

Danann’s hooves announced his approach. He held a wicked-looking pair of shears in his hand. With much cracking of ancient knees, the centaur settled himself beside Lochlan.