She nuzzled into the abundance of warm, soft pelts and sighed appreciatively. After the ordeal she had just survived, she was incredibly thankful for the comfort. Having skin and the ability to feel again was a major improvement. She shuddered at the memory of what she had done to herself. The experience of being fully conscious when her entire body was basically a used-up charcoal briquette was guaranteed to bring nightmares for many years to come.
It struck her as odd that she was able to control so much power when her body was clearly not immune to its effects. Much like the sensation when she had traversed 4,000 years, it had felt as if her existence was no longer restricted to flesh and bones. Her body was now merely the house in which her consciousness and magic resided. Her strengthening powers were making a physical form increasingly unnecessary. What if she gave herself over to the light one of these days and was unable to return from it? What if she lost her body? What if she became trapped with no form for all eternity? That frightening thought had her gripping the furs around her anxiously, as if she could use the contact to ground herself to the corporeal world.
Ciaran’s hand found hers easily in her moment of fear. He settled in beside her, holding her close and quickly falling asleep himself. She sighed appreciatively at the sensation of warmth and the welcomed return of their link. The highway had been repaved, it seemed. There were simply no words to describe her staggering relief that he had survived his exposure to her power. When she had sensed him alive and safe afterwards, her soul had wept with joy.
She drifted in and out of sleep for a while. Each time she awoke, she was comforted by Ciaran’s presence at her side. He was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the world around him, and clearly wiped out from his part in her recovery. Her mind slowly began to grasp the fact that he had somehow helped her to heal. But how was that possible? Where had he come up with the power he gave her? It took a lot of exhausted pondering in between long stretches of sleep to realize… Ciaran had stored her power. When she had released that first blast of magic to fight the Droch-draoidh, it hit Ciaran. Instead of being injured by it, however, he had absorbed it. He took her magic into himself and carried it without it causing him any harm. And in her time of need, he gave it over to her without hesitation. Interesting.
She wondered then over Sorcha’s dire warnings against using her power near Ciaran. Exposing him to her power had actually made him an even more powerful ally. It seemed very odd that the Moon Goddess could have gotten it so very wrong…
Once she had rested enough, she became aware of a flurry of hushed activity in the cave around her. She inhaled the welcomed scent of food and opened her eyes to find that they were preparing a feast. Her stomach rumbled approvingly. When she sat up, all conversation died, and every eye was instantly trained on her. Every one of them bowed their heads to her and offered a formal greeting of some kind. Skye frowned. It sounded suspiciously like they were addressing her… by title.
Oh, no, Skye groaned internally. Not this again.
She noted that they were all looking at her with veneration and awe. When she recalled that she had revealed her full identity to Sorcha through Latharn, she sighed knowing that news must have traveled fast. So much for keeping that little tidbit under wraps.
It was morning and she marveled at the differences in the cave’s interior. The hole that had been missing previously from the ceiling was present now, allowing sunlight in and smoke from the many fires to easily vent out. The interior was larger, the ceiling higher as a result of her explosive use of power. Her presence in the past had been responsible for shaping the way the cave was in the future.
Ciaran began to stir beside her, and she turned to face him just as he opened his eyes. She was pleasantly surprised to find his appearance far more familiar than before. He looked more like the Ciaran she knew. The spark that had been missing from his eyes was there. He sat up and stretched with a genuine smile curving his splendidly full lips. Skye grinned at the sight of him. She kissed him sweetly, beyond thrilled to see him doing so well.
Her clansmen gathered to watch as she was presented with a selection of foods. Her comedic reaction to their first offering of foreign cuisine (if that’s what you wanted to call it) had Ciaran in near hysterics. And when he laughed, God, he laughed. Skye had not realized how much she missed that sound. She failed to note just how surprised his brothers were by the unfamiliar sound of his relaxed, boisterous laughter.
Ciaran offered words of amused encouragement and, to demonstrate that it was, in fact, edible, took purposeful bites of the dried strips of meat. But seriously? Skye was SO not in the mood to look at it yet. Not when – just a short time prior – she had so closely resembled it. Chuckling at her curled lip and disgusted expression, Ciaran finally relented and handed the platter over to Ailean so that it could be passed around to the group.
Taran – who, up until that point had been standing at the back, silently observing – easily guessed the reason for Skye’s refusal of the overcooked venison. The resemblance had not been lost on him, either. It was reason he, too, was avoiding that particular item. He retrieved a platter of fish and cut through the crowd of clansmen to reach her. Taking a seat beside her, he did his best not to be offended by the notably anxious smile she gave him. To his great pleasure, when he offered over the freshly cooked salmon, Skye eagerly accepted the alternative and made many attempts to verbally express her appreciation. As he smiled and laughed at her animated and delighted response, he decided that pleasing her suited him well. He could see himself one day becoming devoted to this young beauty for reasons beyond her attractive form.
Skye was caught off guard when she took the first bite of the salmon. Evidently, ancient Celts heavily flavored their fish with garlic and honey – which is weird as hell to reconcile on your palate when you are not expecting it. She continued chewing and found that it was actually pretty damned good once she got used to the unfamiliar combination of flavors. In response to Taran’s curious expression, she smiled and nodded that she liked it before taking another enthusiastic bite. Taran laughed and nodded before raising his cup and inclining his head to her. Skye took that as, ‘You’re welcome.’
After the fish was gone, Skye was a lot more receptive to the choices. Their rustic, hearty breads and cheeses were delicious. She eagerly accepted bowls of roasted hazelnuts and berries as they were passed to her. When she was finished and her stomach was blessedly full, she leaned her head on Ciaran’s shoulder and smiled around the group. True, she was lost in time. True, she had no idea how to get home (yet.) But she was well-fed, rested, healed, and in the company of her clan. She would figure the rest out in time.
While it was difficult at first to understand the cause for the flurry of activity in the cave and surrounding camp, Skye slowly began to gather that the clan was preparing for someone’s arrival. When she asked who was coming, she was shocked by the response.
“Faolan,” replied Ciaran with wide eyes, looking every bit as stunned by the news.
New clothing was brought for her and she was amazed to realize that it must have been fashioned specifically for her. Instead of another borrowed man’s tunic like the ones Ciaran had given her, these garments were for a woman. When Ciaran got a look at them, his face seemed to turn 3 shades paler than normal. Skye studied him curiously when he motioned that he needed to go speak with Taran on the other side of the cave. He assured her that he would stay close. She nodded and watched him go before turning her attention back to the clothing.
The items were all far too beautiful and intricate to have been crafted while she had been sleeping. She nodded to herself as she realized someone had been carrying this with them – likely Latharn. The clan had been prepared for the day their paths eventually led them to ‘the One.’ After all, she would need to be dressed appropriately when presented to Faolan and Sorcha.
The dress’ style was modest and feminine, made up of a soft, white fabric and trimmed in cream-colored suede. Runes that she knew w
ere associated with the Great Mother had been carefully embroidered along the collar and waist. The thick, hooded cloak of white fur would provide ample protection from the elements.
“Brother,” Ciaran greeted as he approached Taran.
Taran looked up from his work and did a doubletake upon seeing Ciaran. He shook his head before commenting, “Finally managed to tear yourself away?”
Ciaran smiled somewhat sheepishly at that. He realized all too well how strange his behavior had been since Skye’s arrival, he just did not care what anyone else thought. “What can I say? She inspires undivided attention,” he joked with a dazzling smile.
Taran sucked his teeth in reply. His jaw flexed as he turned back to the largely-unnecessary, mostly-habitual task of sharpening his weapons. He chuckled with a subtle hint of bitterness. Squinting back up at his brother, Taran granted, “Oh, your face alone makes that much clear.”
Ciaran tilted his head to the side, not catching his meaning.
Taran arched a brow and drew his hand over his beard. He studied Ciaran’s expression and posture for a moment, gauging the differences he found there. After a moment, he abruptly stood, causing his brother to take a step back. He motioned to his own left eye, then pointed to the fact that Ciaran’s was equally bare.
“It would seem you have had time to think of nothing else since her arrival,” Taran noted coldly.
Ciaran’s features tensed in response. His eyes widened in realization as he reached up to his unpainted eye and scalp. For the first time in nearly a century, he had not thought to mark himself as mourning.
A war instantly began raging within Taran. Part of him was glad to have wiped the cheerful smile from Ciaran’s face… but that was just the jealous part wounded by Skye’s blatant disinterest. The rest of him immediately felt sorry for taking a swipe at Ciaran. If anyone in the world deserved happiness, it was Ciaran. How could he begrudge his brother this?
Taran took a deep breath and reigned himself in. He did not apologize – as such a thing was not in his nature – but he placed a hand on Ciaran’s shoulder and gripped it affectionately. Judging by the light, knowing smile Ciaran gave in reply, he was aware the action was meant to convey his regret for speaking so harshly.
“Well, what is it? What brought you so far from your new favorite position wrapped around Skye’s little finger?” Taran joked.
“I hear talk of Faolan’s imminent arrival… And I see that Latharn has given Skye the royal furs. Does this mean –?” Ciaran began nervously.
“That you and I are destined to be bound to the One?” Taran finished. He met Ciaran’s gaze and answered plainly, “Yes. Skye declared herself to Sorcha last night with Latharn as witness.”
Ciaran took a staggered breath at the stunning revelation. Not only was Skye a descendant of Sorcha, she was the One? Which would mean…
“Skye is Queen of all the Tàcharain Fhaol Clan,” Taran added in a measured tone. With considerable effort, he fought down for the moment his feelings of jealousy and the lingering question of Kingship. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Faolan is on his way to receive her now. Once the two of them decide they are ready, the clan will escort them to Faol Seunta. She is to seek council from the Great Mother.”
Ciaran looked back at Skye in wonder. True, he knew without titles or lineage that Skye was the single most important being he had ever encountered in his long life, but to hear her named? It was overwhelming.
Skye looked over at them then, feeling their eyes upon her even from a distance. She frowned at the bewildered look on Ciaran’s face, before sighing and shaking her head knowingly. Apparently, he was now aware of her full identity, too.
Commotion nearby drew her attention. Several of her clansmen had begun hurriedly digging a hole in a small dirt patch behind her in the cave. She walked closer and watched in open curiosity, wondering what they were up to. Once the hole was several feet wide and deep, the men layered it with hot stones from the fire and covered them with a layer of dirt. Next, they unrolled a large animal hide and spread it out over the dirt.
At first, Skye was unsure of what they were hoping to accomplish. Her answer came when the first of many large vats of heated seawater was brought from the fire and poured into the hole. It was a makeshift tub, she realized in surprise. The hide had been treated with some type of oil or animal fat to make it waterproof.
A chalky white substance was added to the seawater. Its purpose became clear when she noted that the men were all using bowls of a different type of similarly-chalky – though far more pungent – water to whitewash their hair. The liquid worked like bleach, and it was being used by everyone, even those with hair that had been blonde to start with.
She chuckled to herself at that. Turned out she had ancestral reasons for bleaching her golden blonde hair back when she had escaped the fògaraich’s captivity.
Once it dried, the men combed their stiff tresses upward to stand up high on top of their heads, then down to be gathered at the napes of their necks. The resulting look was striking – like a Mohawk or a horse’s mane. She watched as they used blue woad paint to draw symbols and lines on one another’s faces and bodies.
Ciaran returned to her side while she watched. She turned and gave him a smile of sympathy in reply to his thunderstruck expression. “I know. The One. Freaky, right? Rocked me pretty hard, too,” she joked.
Ciaran shook his head, gathering the gist of her words. “A surprise, for sure,” he agreed before giving her an appraising look. “And a mystery – for what would you want with me, of all people?”
One by one, the men left her and Ciaran alone in the cave. The last two brought forth a bowl of woad and a brush to Ciaran, along with a bowl of the whitewash for her hair, before setting up a curtain to block the tub area from view.
It slowly dawned on Skye. She, apparently, was set to receive a far more involved whitewashing than the men. “Well, shit,” she sighed, looking down at the milky white water apprehensively. She scrunched up her face as she took into consideration the fact that it was bound to get all up in every nook and cranny. Mercifully, it did not smell as badly as the men’s ancient hair product, but God help them all if she went along with this only to find out, after the point of no return, that whatever was in her impromptu tub was itchy when it dried.
Ciaran’s beautiful Gaelic words caused her to turn. She watched as he attempted to relay that she needed to disrobe and get into the water. He blushed terribly and looked completely unsure of himself over having to ask her to get naked in front of him.
But Skye was completely comfortable in his presence again, even after her temporary setback the night prior. No matter what year it happened to be, Ciaran was Ciaran. She recognized his soul and energy. Unlike the unpredictable younger version of Taran, she sensed that Ciaran was still very much the same man underneath (minus the 4,000 years of man-whoring, of course.) Without hesitation, she undressed. She found it incredibly charming the way Ciaran determinedly kept his eyes away from her nudity. The way he bit his plump bottom lip as he did so was hopelessly alluring. She smiled over at him and took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He was just so painfully beautiful – anxious and innocent and utterly hers. It stole her breath to look at him sometimes.
And it suddenly occurred to her.
Her mouth dropped open as she realized that she had seen this exact moment before. The very first day – in her own time – that she had met Ciaran, he had stirred a vision in her mind. It had felt like ‘a memory that could not possibly be a memory.’
She laughed in wonder and clapped excitedly as it suddenly made sense. Ciaran turned and looked at her as if she had lost her mind. She only laughed harder and joyfully announced, “I was here already! When we first met, I had already been here! In this time! In this cave! This had already happened!”
Ciaran only shook his head, still not understanding, but that was fine, because Skye finally did. The vision that she and Ciaran shared the day they met had bee
n his memory of this moment. For some reason, he had been unable to recall it freely, but once he was in her presence (the day they thought they were meeting one another for the first time), flashes of it had started to come back to him. And that meant she knew what came next...
With an adoring smile, she slowly closed the distance between them. Ciaran’s brows drew together. His lips attempted to form a question, but he abandoned the effort as he gazed down into her eyes. His Goddess… There was no point in asking what she wanted. Anything she wished or willed, it was hers. He would deny her nothing.
He fought back his fear that he might somehow be betraying Taran with his ardent love and devotion to Skye. A Trinity, she had said. Equal parts. Working together. In her time, they were lovers. In her time, there was no jealousy amongst the two brothers. He tried to steady his nerves and trust her assertions.
Tentatively, knowing how anxious he was, Skye reached out and traced her fingertips across his cheekbone. His eyes rolled closed in response to the pleasure of the contact. A soft moan fell from his lips. It was pure, divine ecstasy to be touched by her. She watched with bated breath as he eagerly leaned into her touch. He nuzzled against her hand, drinking in the sensation of it before kissing her palm.
When she stretched up to kiss his lips sweetly, he drew a staggered breath. Through their link, she reassured him that this was right. She soothed the tension that remained regarding Taran. He squeezed his tearful eyes shut against the impossible beauty of it all – being here with her, belonging to her, being loved by her. His heart ached at the joy it brought for such a thing to be possible.
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