Pagan Fire (28 page)

“Maere!”

Her resolve faltered as Dylan stepped to her side. He touched her shoulder and her hand dipped slightly.

“You will not dissuade me from this. I will see him dead,” she whispered, her voice husky and strained.

“You cannot do this.”

She laughed. Who was he to tell her she could not do this? “You are the one who has sought revenge all these years. You searched me out as a token to be used in exacting vengeance. Now you would tell me to let him go?”

“I would tell you not to commit murder. It isn’t worth the damage your soul would suffer . You would become as he is.” Dylan nodded toward Eugis, still hanging above the ground, trapped by Maere’s magic.

“He tells the truth.” Jorvik was now standing on the other side of Maere. He nodded at Dylan. “Remember what you did for my father and Anna? You carry the gift of life within you. Not death.”

Seelie came forward. “If not for you, I would be dead. You healed me, Maere. You saved me.”

Their words reached down inside Maere. She looked first at Jorvik, then to Seelie, and, lastly, to Dylan. Her eyes met his—those dark piercing orbs glowed with the reflection of the very moon herself. She understood why the others were trying to convince her not to kill Eugis, but not Dylan.

“Look at me. Look at what he has done to me.” She swept her free hand over her body. “My clothes, torn away. My body, laid bare for all to see, violated in the worst way.” She shook her head. “He took what was mine to give freely to the man I would love. And you would reward him for this?”

“Of course I would not!” Dylan growled. But he had to save her from herself. Fury shot through him. He pushed it away. He would deal with Eugis later. Maere was his only concern.

“Your power is for healing,” he said, his deep voice soft and soothing. With a nod toward Jorvik, he acknowledged the Viking’s wise words. “Not for killing. Go inside yourself. You know this.”

Maere faltered as Dylan’s calming voice washed over her. She lowered her arm, thereby lowering Eugis to the ground, his body limp and exhausted from struggling against her magic.

Morrigu walked forward and screeched in her raven’s voice, “Finish him!”

The four of them stepped back. Dylan slipped his arm protectively around the shoulders of his betrothed.

“Would you let this one’s sweet words turn your mind?” Morrigu glanced derisively at Dylan. “He knows nothing. Finish Eugis and realize your true power.”

Jorvik stepped between Morrigu and Maere, his hand on the dagger tucked in his leather belt. Maere touched his arm. “‘Tis all right.” She looked at Morrigu. “Nay, goddess. No matter how much I might wish him dead, these who are dear to me speak the truth. I cannot kill.”

Morrigu tilted her head and eyed the young woman. “From the instant of your birth until now, you have not cared for the taste of blood, have you?”

“Why are you here, Morrigu?” Dylan demanded. “Have you come to celebrate Eugis’s rise into stolen power? To force our submission to you and him?”

Morrigu laughed. Her entire body shook with the sound as an array of black feathers swept across her shoulders and down her back. “Eugis is an idiot. Did you not see how he was unable to fight back? Did it not occur to you there might not have been that transfer he sought for so many years?”

She shivered and her hair became a crown of silver above her feathered head. “Do you believe that if he possessed any of Maere’s power he would be lying there now, helpless?” She nodded at Maere. “The girl’s power cannot be taken. That was an imagining by Eugis, the hopeful dream of a small man.” Her body shivered again, the transformation to raven nearly complete. She stared hard at the older man where he lay on the cold ground. “Those who try to avail themselves of the power of a god or goddess always face the greatest of consequences.”

“It was you who woke me.” Maere shoved past Dylan and Jorvik and faced the goddess. “Is this the reason? So I could kill Eugis for you?” She eyed the goddess. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted me dead. That I was the one you hated.”

“I made you, girl. I was the goddess in the stream who blessed your birth.” Morrigu laughed again. “You speak as if I have a care as to what happens to you. To any of you. Do you forget to whom you are speaking?” She spread her arms and lifted from the ground. “Hate. Love. They are the same to me. Pleasure is what I seek.” The firelight glinted off Morrigu’s feathers. “Pleasure and destruction.” With a rush of air, she shot into the night sky. Within the span of a heartbeat, she swept back down, straight at Eugis, her beak poised at his heart.

With a scream, Eugis raised his arms to protect himself. But it was too late. The goddess was too fast and too strong for him. Her beak pierced his heart. He cried out once more then went silent.

Morrigu rose again into the night, Eugis dangling from her mouth like a broken doll. With a loud and raucous caw, she released him, his lifeless body plummeting to the earth and landing in the ceremonial bonfire, sending a shower of embers toward the sky. His body was engulfed by the flames.

Maere watched in silence, drawing Dylan’s cloak tightly around her. This time, she would not look away from the fire.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

One by one, Eugis’s men walked to the fire and tossed in the torches and oak branches and leaves they’d worn for the ceremony. The greenman had not come and now their high priest was dead. The man who had brought Maere to the altar opened his mouth, then shut it tight and turned away, moving into the dark forest. The others followed.

The flames continued to crackle and spew sparks into the air. There was nothing left of Eugis now except charred bone and the memories of those he had harmed.

Maere began to shake uncontrollably, her teeth chattering. Her strength waned and she collapsed to her knees.

Dylan squatted and touched her arm, searching her face. She was so pale. “We need to get you to bed,” he said softly. “I’m worried for you.”

“I am worried for me too.” She gave him a faint smile. “I don’t understand why all this has happened.”

“Nor do I. I don’t know if understanding is possible.” He helped her stand. “Come. For now, I would see you warm and safe this night.”

Maere clasped his forearm and he pulled her to her feet. There was such strength in this man. Had it always been there? She searched his face and, for a brief moment, beheld Dylan as a boy, his big noisy feet traipsing through the forest. She held on to that memory, that day so long ago when he had pledged to watch over her and keep her safe, as she allowed herself to be led out of the clearing and to a nearby tent for the night. “Stay with me,” she said.

“Always,” he replied.

Jorvik watched Dylan and Maere leave the fire. He started to follow them back to camp when a movement caught his eye. He turned. It was the young woman, Seelie. He cleared his throat and she looked up at him, her blue eyes clear even in the darkness.

“Thank you for helping us,” she said. She picked up a blanket lying near the bonfire and wrapped it around her. “I am chilled.” She looked up at the moon.

The Northman took a step sideways and stood up against her. Seelie moved away. “Wait,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid. I stand here only for you, to share my warmth.”

A smile played at Seelie’s lips, then quickly faded as a loud rush of wings and wind flew past. The goddess alit a few feet away. With a shudder, she shed her raven form and stepped forward as a woman.

“Why have you returned?” Jorvik demanded. “I thought you were finished here.”

“No. Not finished,” Morrigu said, her eyes devouring the length of him. “Truth be told.”

Jorvik laughed. “You talk as if you know what truth is.”

“Oh, I know truth well enough.” She reached out a long finger and traced the scar on the Viking’s arm, the mark she had left on him. “And, in truth, I return to claim what is mine.”

Seelie’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed. She made to leave. Jorvik touched her arm. “Do not go.”

“It would seem you have business here.” With a frown, she looked over her shoulder. “I would not disturb you.”

“Yes, my Viking. Let her go so that you may worship me.” Morrigu wrapped her arms around Jorvik’s neck. “Unless, of course, you prefer to have her watch?”

He pulled her arms away and stepped back. “Go, Morrigu. Find someone fresh, someone who doesn’t already know how you play.”

Morrigu eyed him up and down, and then looked at Seelie. The girl was comely enough, but nothing compared to her. She gestured toward Seelie. “You prefer this to me?”

Jorvik drew himself up. “I do.”

Seelie sucked in her breath. The goddess didn’t look happy. They might all die yet.

“Your mind is made up?”

“It is.”

Morrigu took a step back and laughed. Within a breath, the laugh had transformed into a caw. Then she was raven again, flying away into the night.

“Did you mean that?” Seelie asked. Could it be possible? They barely knew one another. But he had helped save them. Maere had told her before that he was a good man, one who could be trusted. And there was something familiar about him. She felt within her a strong connection.

“I’ve seen enough of magic in my life. I need no goddess or elf or magician to warm my heart or body.” He touched her cheek. “I would have a woman I can trust.” Jorvik peered into her eyes. “I understand. We have only just met. But you risked your life to help your friend. I see in you your goodness.”

Seelie was quiet for a moment as she considered his words. She extended her hand. “Come and let us talk,” she said, leading him to her tent.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The journey to Aethelred’s cottage was quiet and peaceful along the forest path, save for the sounds of the birds and the wind rustling the leaves high above. Samhain was drawing near and a nip of autumn touched the air. It had been three weeks now since Eugis had attacked Maere. Three weeks since she’d been raped.

And since that first night, she had wanted only to be alone, wouldn’t see anyone, even Dylan. Gone was her anger, burned away in the bonfire along with Eugis’s body. Left behind – inside her – only cold ashes. Quietly, she had sobbed, filled with guilt. The feeling ate at her insides and threatened to consume her.

Seelie had finally forced her way in, breaking Maere’s self-imposed exile. She and Jorvik were readying to leave for the Viking camp, but Seelie refused to go without seeing her friend. As they embraced, Maere confided her guilt and remorse over all that had transpired. Seelie had asked, “Should I feel guilt over Bertrand? Should I do penance because I was violated against my will?”

“Of course not,” Maere had said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Nor did you, my dearest friend. Nor did you.”

Seelie’s words were with Maere still and, combined with Dylan’s gentle care, were helping her to heal. She could have cast away the hurt and pain with her magic but, as Papa had told her all those years ago, “Some wounds aren’t so easily healed.”

“Maere?” Dylan’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. He smiled when he caught her eye. “See? Up ahead.” She followed the direction his hand indicated. There, nestled amongst the pines, was a small, weathered, wood and sod cottage. Dylan drew his horse closer to hers. “Aethelred will be pleased with our visit.”

“You’re certain she won’t find us an intrusion on her solitary ways?”

Dylan laughed. Along the way, he had told Maere many tales of his life with the witch woman, but he supposed he’d left out some details. “I can tell you with certainty our arrival will be no surprise to this one. It was probably her idea all along that we stop here before heading to Tintagel and she only wants us to think it’s ours.”

A minute more and the pair were in front of Aethelred’s modest home. Dylan swung his long legs down from his horse and tethered it to a post. He offered a hand to Maere and she slid down as well, coming to rest with her back against the horse’s side, Dylan directly in front of her.

He brushed aside stray hairs that had escaped her braid, and offered a long caress down her cheek and the side of her neck. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, his lips near to hers.

“Dylan—” she started, focusing her sight on the little bit of ground between them. How could she explain what she was feeling? How could she tell him that while she loved him, she did not deserve him? There was no more magic in her. He needed to find another, more worthy wife.

He placed a finger against her lips, hushing her words, though not her mind. Still her thoughts rambled on. She was damaged, used. He was a bard, a man of power. She was now weak and unsure. He was strong and determined.

Maere dropped a gentle kiss against his finger and offered a small smile. But before she could move away, Dylan let his hand fall to her shoulder. It made its way around to the back of her neck, massaging small circles, easing the tension. Maere’s head drifted back and he touched his lips gently to the base of her throat. She gasped as he continued to kiss along her shoulder, his lips warm and moist against her skin. The nagging thoughts began to vanish as he worked his way up her neck to her mouth. With a sigh, his lips claimed hers, gently at first, teasing, tugging. As Maere responded to him, Dylan deepened the kiss, marking her with his love.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture for an old woman?”

Dylan’s head shot up. He glanced down at Maere, her green eyes dark with emotion. He cleared his throat. “Greetings, Aethelred. I see your timing is still good, despite your years.” He squeezed Maere’s shoulder, then dropped his hand to hers and clasped it. Turning, he bowed to his teacher. “This is Maere cu Llwyr, my betrothed.”

Using her cane for balance, Aethelred hobbled over. With a quick motion that belied her age, she swatted him with it. Dylan yelped. “What was that for?”

“For not getting here sooner. Look at her.” She motioned to Maere, still leaning against the horse. “She’s near-to-exhausted and you would dally out here with pretty words and kisses.” Aethelred reached for Maere’s arm. “Come, miss. I’ve a warm fire inside and some hot soup for your belly.”