Pagan Fire (16 page)

“Where would you be going on such a night?” he gently teased. Gesturing toward the fire, he added, “I’ve created this for you. Come. Warm your bones.”

“I won’t!” Maere shook her head wildly, sending curls tumbling over her face. “All this talk about how the devil isn’t the devil. I’m not believing it, Dylan mac Connall.” She pointed a shaky finger at the fire. “Those are the very flames of hell, they are!”

Dylan laughed and the deep sound filled the cave, echoing off the walls. Maere fought the urge to cover her ears as it vibrated in her head. “Nay. ‘Tis but a trick of magic.” He extended his hand. “Come. Please.”

Taking tiny steps, Maere allowed herself to be guided to the warmth. As she sat, she peered into the dancing brightness and discovered the small fire stirred memories of larger fires. She stared, mesmerized by the play of colors, entranced by the dance of the red, yellow, blue, and orange flames.

Leaning against the stone wall, half-hidden in the shadows, Maere could feel Dylan watching closely, even as her forehead was wrinkled in deep thought. She  absently dried her hair before the fire, fanning it out over her hands. Finally, he spoke. “What are you thinking?”

Maere tugged her eyes away from the flames and raised them to meet Dylan’s. His eyes glowed with the light of the fire. Her stomach quivered. Why did he have to look at her like that? Like he was ready to devour her very soul, given the chance? Even his shadow jumped and floated above him, it, too, ready to pounce on her. She hugged her knees and looked away. How could his presence be so frightening yet so reassuring at the same time?

“What makes you believe I’m thinking anything at all?” she murmured. She glanced up at him again. “Perhaps I’m just sitting here enjoying the heat.”

Dylan smiled and those blasted eyes went right through her. Sweet Jesus! She sucked in her breath.

“Aye, it is hot in here now.” He slid down against the wall and crouched, looking at her pointedly. She was a beautiful, wild creature of the night sitting there, her hair in disarray from the storm, her face flushed, and her eyes shining. “And growing hotter still.”

Maere considered his words for a moment. Her cheeks burned as the double meaning came to her. She hugged her knees even tighter and leaned away a bit.

Dylan laughed. Laughed at her, for heaven’s sake. This man possessed more nerve than any she had ever met. Oh, but she would like to knock him right to the ground. Then she would be the one to laugh. Why, he must have been raised in a forest by animals, blind to the world around him, to behave so!
She glared at him.

“I’ve known you a long time, Maere cu Llwyr. I know your mind is constantly searching. I know you’re always exploring the nature of things.”

He smiled and this time she found the gesture not to be condescending. She found it warmed her like no fire could. She rubbed her eyes. What was the matter with her? “You know nothing of me.”

A tinge of sadness played at the corners of his mouth. “That’s where you are truly wrong. I know much of you, which is why I know you must have thoughts running through your head.”

She raised her hand to him, as if to block his scrutiny. Or perhaps to block the mix of emotions she was afraid she might be showing. “You can’t know anything about me.”

Dylan moved next to her and sat down. He touched her cheek and she stiffened. “Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I remember the night you were born and your father held you high for the gods and goddesses to see, the triple signs appearing, marking you as one destined for greatness.” He gently turned her face to his and their eyes met. “I remember the magic of your girlish laugh and your healing touch.” He took her hand in his and turned it over, caressing the open palm with his thumb. “How can you say I know nothing of you?”

Maere hesitantly raised her free hand, suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to erase his sadness. His face was so beautiful when he smiled, if a man could be called beautiful. She wished him to smile again. Smile for her. Mother of God, why was she having such thoughts about this devil? She shook off the emotion and yanked back her hands. She looked away and rubbed her palms together.

Undaunted, Dylan continued, “I once knew a brave girl who stood up for herself when she was wronged. Where has she gone?” He touched her chin again and gently guided her eyes back to his. “I beg you, Maere. Set her free that I might enjoy her company once again.”

Maere stared at him for a moment, then stood and walked to the opening of the cave, crossing her arms about her. Dylan’s words spun around in her head, threatening to wipe the earth out from beneath her feet. What if they were true? What if he did truly know her? But how could he? Her family was killed by the Vikings – that’s what she had always been told by Abbess Magrethe. They weren’t murdered by her uncle, as this man claimed. And she was no healer even if she did help Seelie. She was just a young woman content to join the order of sisters at St. Columba’s. Why wouldn’t he just let her be? Dear Lord, her head hurt. Thunder rumbled and lightning surged again. She took a step back and turned to face Dylan.

“I repeat: You know nothing of me. I am not who you described. If my father – pagan in his beliefs – ever held me for these gods and goddesses of yours to see, how would I know? If it happened as you described, I was just a newborn babe. It means nothing to me.” She sighed, every last bit of energy leaving her body. “My soul belongs to Jesus Christ and His church. That’s all that matters now, not the past. It’s to His service I wish to return.” She was so tired. “Why did you come, Dylan mac Connall? Why did you make me leave my home?”

 “I would see a promise fulfilled,” he whispered.

Maere snapped her head up, her eyes wary. “What promise would that be?”

“Ah, Maere,” he said, sighing. “The promise I made to your father on that same night you were born. I swore to Manfred I would always care for you.”

Maere stepped closer to the fire and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest again. She stared hard at Dylan, measuring his words. Light flashed in her mind, brighter than the lightning still burning the sky, and in that moment she saw into his thoughts. But the visit was so brief she couldn’t make sense of what she saw, though the image remained with her. “There’s a darker reason for your coming. I would know what it is.”

“You think you saw something just now, don’t you?” Guilt tugged at Dylan’s heart and he turned his face away. “‘Tis as I said.” He clenched his jaw and the muscle ticked ever so slightly. “There’s nothing more.”

“You lie, Dylan mac Connall.”

“You truly wish to know?” He grasped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him, and their eyes locked. “See it all, then.” Through his gaze he unleashed the years of hatred and sorrow and pain. He watched intently as his feelings entered Maere. He knew the moment she saw everything, the raw emotion striking out with the intensity of the storm raging outside. Maere gasped as if she had been struck. Dylan released his hold and turned his face away once more.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Is it evil you see in my heart? Or just the longing for retribution for so many years lost?”

“Sweet Mary, I don’t know how, but I see the pain of old wounds—not of the flesh, but of the soul.” Her heart broke for him and she reached out in his direction, her hand tingling with power as it had that night Seelie came to her. “I can help you. Let me help you.” For once, the offering to heal didn’t frighten her. It seemed so natural, as if she were born to it. A wave of familiarity swept over her like she had offered this service many times before.

“I seek no healing of this wound, Maere.” He pulled away from her. “At least not from you.”

She dropped her hand to her lap. His words stung her like no slap could. At least not from you. She took a deep breath and pushed away the hurt, allowing anger to replace it. “Would you refuse healing to give your life for vengeance, then?” she demanded. “Is that all that exists for you?”

“Aye..”

Maere searched his eyes, seeing that he would have none of her charity, that he regretted letting her inside his mind. An uncomfortable mixture of sadness and dread welled inside her. “Then tell me true, sir. Do you mean to give my life as well?”

Chapter Eighteen

The wildness of the storm subsided, the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning died away. The night was quiet now, except for the subtle pinging of leftover raindrops against the outside walls of the grotto.

Maere rested near the fire, in that delicate place between wakefulness and slumber, considering Dylan’s words. Yes. He would sacrifice her, so great was his need for vengeance. But vengeance against whom? She had seen and felt his pain and anger, but could find no focus for it.

Perhaps it was her refusal to believe his words about her past that angered him. But the notion of pagans and blessings and gods and goddesses was just too foreign to her mind for easy acceptance. Dear Lord, but her life had taken so many twists and turns in the last few days she doubted it would ever be right again. And how could it be? She had been wrenched from the only home she knew by this man who, if not the devil himself, had to be close kin.

She sighed and her eyes eased open. Dylan slept opposite her, huddled near the smoldering embers of the fire. He looked so peaceful in sleep. Where had the pain gone? The two of them were such opposites. Her pain was with her in her dreams while his was with him when he was awake. She grew groggy again, then the soft caress of sleep brushed Maere’s eyelids and they fluttered closed.

While she and Dylan rode on the wings of their dreams, a mist formed at the mouth of the grotto, its nebulous form shimmering with the moonlight. It drifted in through the opening, weaving its way to and fro, circling the sleeping pair. The vapor wafted over and around them in undulating currents. When Dylan shifted the mist halted. When his breath grew even, it moved again, spinning in a sparkling whirl. It rose to the ceiling, and dropped long tendrils to the earth, touching Maere and Dylan where they lay. As the two fell into a deeper, dreamless sleep, the vapor receded and left the cave, a soft feminine laugh echoing from its depths.

* * * *

“Tell me what I desire to hear, Eugis,” Morrigu whispered from behind him.

Eugis turned his head ever so slightly, covering his surprise at the arrival of the goddess, and continued to warm his hands over the fire. Let her think he was not anxious, he reasoned to himself. She would then have less power over him.

Jorvik slowly rose from where he was crouched opposite Eugis, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Morrigu smiled at the Northman, her eyes moving over his muscled, battle-hardened body in a long caress. They came to rest on his face, her silver eyes locking with his clear blue ones. Jorvik shivered with the intensity of her gaze.

“I see even you can feel desire, Viking,” she said with a smile.

Jorvik pulled his eyes away from the goddess’ and turned to Eugis. “I will seek the
rynstr
to cast her from our presence.” He turned on the ball of his foot to leave the camp.

Morrigu stepped in front of Eugis. The older man stood and faced her. “That is not the way I expect to be greeted,” she said, her red full lips drawn into a pout.

Panic quaked in the pit of Eugis’s stomach. Who knew what Morrigu was capable of if angered? “Wait, Jorvik,” he called out. “You do the goddess a disservice.”

“No Eugis, it is she who disservices me.” Jorvik spun back around. “We have our deities in the northland and she is but one of their evil sisters. I know her kind.”

Morrigu approached the tall Viking, her eyes narrowed. “And what do you think you know of my kind?”

Jorvik snorted. “I know if I cut one of you, you will not bleed.” He pulled the dagger from its leather sheath and held it in front of him. “But I would take pleasure in it, just the same.” He lowered his knife and looked from the amused eyes of the goddess to the shocked eyes of Eugis.

“My father is a great warrior. My mother is a Valkyrie,” Jorvik said. “The gods and goddesses of Asgard looked with disfavor on their love. When I was born, I was left with my father and they were forever separated. All I carry as a remembrance of Aislinn is the ability to draw on the power of the Valkyries before going into battle.”

He leveled his gaze at Morrigu. “It is because of you and your kind that my father knows no happiness in this life. It is because of you and your kind that I was robbed of a mother. You have no honor in my eyes.” He turned away from them. “I follow my own path, away from the gods,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Morrigu licked her lips. “Wherever did you find him?”

“Raiding monasteries along the coast. Plundering villages. Living an aimless existence.” Eugis shrugged. “Trying to escape his past, from the sound of it.”

“Sounds most interesting.” Morrigu laughed and touched the scar she had left on Eugis’s cheek.

“I suppose. Sad though, to live such an empty life.” Eugis rubbed his chin. “Enough of that. He doesn’t usually talk so much. I think I like him better when you don’t have him so vexed.”

Morrigu laughed and brushed her body against his. “Now, tell me what I long to hear.”

Eugis wrapped his long arms around her, twining his fingers through her blue-black hair. “You are most beautiful this evening, my goddess.” He dropped to his knees and, with a light touch, his finger traced a circle around her navel. “I would worship you, if you’d allow me.” He gently kissed her stomach.

Morrigu cupped his chin and raised it till their eyes met. “First, I have news for you,” she whispered. “News of Maere.”

Eugis slowly rose, letting his tongue run the length of her torso as he did so. “Where is she?”

“In a grotto, a Christian shrine. A place that once belonged to my sister, Macha.” She all but spat the words. “In the old days, warriors would ride there to seek her blessing before going to battle. Now, these same people tie petitions to the bushes and pray to their saints at Macha’s sacred keep.” She looked at Eugis and the rage on her face began to fade. “She’s one of them. Maere has no ken of who or what she is. You left her at the convent too long. She wants to join those nuns at St. Columba’s.”