Skye tested the weight of the blade with a few practice swings and was impressed by how light and well balanced it was. Arching a brow, she swung the sword a few more times experimentally, increasing the speed of her movements each time. The blade glided easily through the air and maintained lethal precision. Her mind mapped out precisely how much damage this weapon could inflict in Taran’s capable hands. With her calculations completed, she turned and gave him a thoroughly impressed look.
“I can see why you chose this one as your own. It is every bit as beautiful as it is deadly,” Skye commented appreciatively.
Taran joked out of reflex, “It would seem I have a type then.”
Skye’s brow arched high in response to his surprisingly Ciaran-esque comment, and she was not the only one caught off guard by his bold words. As quickly as they left his mouth, Taran was wincing and biting his lips shut, lest any more ill-advised remarks escape. He shook his head and held up a pleading hand before dragging it roughly over the length of his face. With his fingers tightly curled over his mouth, he looked over at her worriedly, trying to gauge whether she was angry.
When he was finally ready to trust his traitorous mouth again, he relaxed his grip and assured, “I am sorry. I will work on that.”
Skye rolled her eyes but said nothing at first. The Taran before her was a child compared to the ancient man she knew. Recent transgressions and resulting magical punishments aside, his core personality was bound to be more playful than what she was accustomed to seeing from him.
“There is no reason to apologize,” Skye finally stated. “I know you meant no offense. And… I do understand that you are unsure of how to act towards me. I can relate. I honestly do not know where we stand right now, either,” she admitted.
She narrowed her gaze as she studied him. It was both utterly impossible and all-too easy to imagine simply walking up to him in that moment, kissing him deeply, urging him down onto the bed of flowers at their feet, and having her way with him. She saw him simultaneously as a stranger and her beloved King.
“Considering what has happened… and all that will happen between us… It is a very peculiar situation we find ourselves in,” Taran commented when he noted the mournful, distant look in her eyes. He could always tell when she was looking at him yet longing for his future self instead. He wished he could be that man already and fill that gaping hole in her heart.
He was struggling to find a safe middle ground, but every step was uncertain. Every word, a potential mistake. He did not want to offend her, but he was going to have to interact with her to train her. He could not do that if he was still cowering and too fearful to speak. Also, try as he might, he could not ignore his attraction to her. He was in no way immune to her allure, the way his body responded to her, or the way his heart ached with longing to experience firsthand that powerful, deep connection she had shown him in her memories. Out of a deep respect for her and remorse for his behavior (as well as a strong desire to keep all parts of his anatomy attached and in their proper locations / conditions), he would not act on his hunger for her, but it was still there.
“Precisely,” Skye said as she struggled with the image of him in that moment: the eyes of a stranger framed by those brutally-handsome, wondrously-familiar features. She swallowed with a bit of effort and went on in a steady, careful tone. “I do not know where that leaves us now. What I am sure of, however, is that I do not want you to stifle your personality for me. In my time, you are often the stoic and serious one. It is actually part of your charm at that age…” she recalled fondly. “But that is not who you are now, and it is not who I expect you to be. You are still young, Taran. Be young,” she implored. “Laugh. Joke. Speak freely. When we meet again, I will spend my days trying to bring out your playful side and I will enjoy every minute of the challenge. It is not my intention to arrive here, only to stamp out all traces of your youthful sense of humor before you lose it with age. I ask that you respect me, bear in mind all that I have shared with you, but do not fear being yourself.”
Taran thought it over for a moment before giving her a cautious smile. “You may well regret those words,” he warned with a wink.
Skye smiled and assured, “Oh, I am sure I can handle you.”
“Hmm… We shall see,” he joked as he picked up another sword. Holding her gaze, he gave it an effortless, grandstanding spin, toss, and catch.
Not even attempting to hide how impressed she was, Skye’s eyes widened. She pointed at him and declared, “You are definitely teaching me how to do that.”
Taran laughed victoriously.
He taught her basic offensive techniques at first, then switched to defense. The morning and early afternoon passed quickly with him giving her pointers and advice as she followed his instructions verbatim. When he had attempted to prepare himself mentally for this training, he assumed Skye might be talkative or easily distracted – possibly even withdrawn or combative, given his reprehensible behavior towards her. Skye was none of those things. She was the epitome of focus. She clearly respected the importance of the knowledge he was sharing. Learning these lessons well was a matter of life and death for her. As such, she gave his lessons the appropriate level of attention. She carefully and precisely mirrored each stance and strike he demonstrated, asking all the right questions and even suggesting ways she might adjust them to better suit her drastically-smaller frame.
He was relieved by the ease with which she incorporated these new techniques into her own style. Her history of fighting proved immensely helpful. She already knew instinctively the importance of minding her footing and paying attention to her surroundings. He did not need to stress to her the crucial importance of items like using the position of the sun to her advantage or never allowing herself to be cornered. These things were already ingrained into her every thought.
Once he was satisfied that she had learned enough for their first day, they began to spar against one another. She surprised him by staying up close and well within his guard. She was relentless, and her technique was incredibly effective. Her persistent proximity completely denied him the advantage of his greater reach. It prevented him from ever taking a full swing and kept him trapped on the defensive. It was a strange experience for him.
In a word, she was good. A natural, even. As if she had been born with a sword in her hand. It made Taran’s heart swell with pride for the warrior woman he would one day marry, yet he felt guilty for that pride. He had a long way to go before he was deserving of such a prize. He vowed to himself yet again to give his all to becoming the man she would one day take for her mate. He would take her instruction as seriously as she had his. He would aspire to be all the good she saw in his future self: patient, kind, steady, wise, and utterly devoted to her.
When the sun was setting, and they were both drenched in sweat and tiring from the intense sparring, Taran decided to end it. Out of curiosity more than anything, he abandoned his sword in favor of attempting to physically grab her.
Skye instantly changed tactics in response, dropping out of reach without hesitation and rolling clear of his grasp. She even took a retaliatory swipe at the side of his calf as she retreated. The blade barely drew blood, but the message was clear. Had they really been fighting she would have just taken his leg out from beneath him.
Taran chuckled in approval as she got back onto her feet several yards away, leveling the sword at his throat with a glint of warning in her eyes.
“Well done,” he commended and bowed his head to her. He watched in amusement as the wound on his leg quickly healed.
Skye eyed him suspiciously for a moment, gauging whether he was truly finished the day’s lesson, before lowering the sword and standing up straight. “Likewise,” she replied with a contented smile.
Turning the sword, she held it by the blade and offered its hilt to him. Taran retrieved it and offered her a waterskin. As she drank, he turned away to watch the fiery rays of the sun’s fading light pass through the trees. The o
range tint of the sunset gave the lush green canopy overhead and sea of bluebells at their feet an otherworldly feel. The forest was even more beautiful than usual, he noted. It was practically glowing with power.
With a thoughtful frown, he studied the young Goddess beside him and wondered whether this ethereal atmosphere was a result of her current sated mood. The day’s lessons seemed to have been incredibly cathartic for her – if a bit painful for him. He decided the trade was more than fair, if it put that peaceful look in her eyes.
Skye easily fell into a new routine. She ate the evening meal with Faolan and her clansmen. Aodh attended and sat at her table. He had settled nicely into his new home within the village. She was thrilled to see how happy he was and how every single faoil went out of their way to make him feel safe and welcome.
While they ate, Skye enjoyed watching their antics, exchanging stories, and answering their questions. When asked the first night what she missed most about home (aside from her Trinity and pack, of course), she thought for a moment, then replied with a grin, “Cheeseburgers.” She crinkled her nose and closed her eyes, groaning at how badly she wanted one right then. A big, hot, greasy, messy cheeseburger… Fuck, she was going to eat a hundred of them her first day back, she swore it. She shared her memory of the taste with Taran and Ciaran, and both of them were suddenly envious of the future for a new reason. Seeing her ability to share such things, the men began requesting to see how they would one day look.
Ailean was very impressed with his future self, and thoroughly proud to note just how impressed Skye was with him in her memories. She rolled her eyes and informed him that a person would need to be blind to find him unimpressive.
When Aodh asked to see his future self, Skye gladly showed him – and several of the others.
They all gaped at him in disbelief.
“What in the name of the spirits did we FEED him?” Eògan demanded in astonishment.
“Or rather, what DIDN’T we feed him?” Drostan asked.
“We shall starve for sure getting him to that size!” Ciaran joked.
Aodh clapped and laughed in silent glee.
Ruarachan had been too anxious at first for her to touch him, but his curiosity finally got the better of him. He was genuinely surprised by her memories of him watching over Taran, always close and vigilant. “It is true, there is a very handsome man hiding away beneath all of that hair. I have seen him with my own eyes,” she teased. What little she could see of his face blushed crimson.
Upon the rising of the moon, she went to Sorcha to practice using her power. The first several nights were relatively unproductive, but Skye finally began having intermittent success overcoming her fears and abandoning her form. They discussed how they would erase the clans’ memories of her time there. Sorcha was predictably unconcerned by that particular hurdle. She assured Skye that it would be simple to accomplish. It took considerable effort for Skye to mask her irritation at that. They discussed her need to practice traveling through time, and Skye was disappointed to learn that Sorcha could not aid her with it. The spell on Faol Seunta prevented Sorcha from leaving, but it also prevented Skye from using her power to leave the forest. If she wanted to practice time travel, she would have to do it on her own and beyond the borders of Sorcha’s lands. Fantastic.
Beyond that, Skye found herself struggling to delve any further into her lessons with the Moon Goddess. It felt as if she might be showing her hand to a potential enemy. She did not want the full extent of her limitations and abilities to be known. Her gut told her to play things close to the vest. Thankfully, Sorcha misinterpreted her unease for her being embarrassed to ask for help. That worked just fine for Skye.
The more time they spent together, the more Skye noted a disconnect between them. For all the seemingly affectionate, caring words Sorcha spoke, she did not strike Skye as the sentimental type. On the surface, perhaps. For appearances and for the span of a few sentences, but it did not hold up now that they were alone for extended periods of time. Underneath, Sorcha was ice and silence. Faolan, on the other hand, was warm to the core with a heart as golden as his eyes. Skye thought back on her first meetings with the two. She realized that Sorcha had always been a bit off. A bit distant, but Skye had attributed it to Sorcha being an ancient celestial being. Now, Skye wondered over it in her vigilantly shielded thoughts. Less and less of what she had seen and heard from the Moon Goddess seemed sincere. She could not help but wonder, was Sorcha even capable of the feelings she portrayed?
Sorcha commented that when Skye returned to her own time, they would continue her lessons. Skye somehow doubted that.
When they finished their practice each night (close to midnight, by Skye’s estimate), she retired to her temporary home and the waiting, welcoming arms of Ciaran. She worked through her emotions in his embrace – her fears, sorrow, and worries. Ciaran took it all, everything she put on him and more, and eagerly so. They healed one another. Her open need of him was his tether to hope and light. It filled him with a sense of safety and purpose. Skye leaned into him like a shelter from the storm. She breathed into him all her love and longing for her future dark one and King. She prayed that somehow, someway, it would carry across the seas of time. That off in the distant future, Ciaran would take even the smallest measure of comfort from the touches she gave now.
By the second day, it became clear that Skye’s schedule was filling up. Faolan and Skye agreed that mornings would be reserved for them to have breakfast together. No one else sat with them. Her Wolf Father wanted to soak up every available second of one-on-one time with her, and the feeling was mutual. A carefully-guarded part of Skye was fearful for Faolan’s safety and what the future might hold for him. She was thankful for the opportunity to be in his calming presence. She was doing as her King had once taught her: cherishing the moments of peace and togetherness, even if she feared they were fleeting.
Since their arrival in Sorcha’s forest, Skye had refrained from further explorations of Faolan’s memories. She found it odd that he never mentioned her prior trip into his head – or her self-admitted link to Brandubh, for that matter – to Sorcha. She was thankful for his silence, but curious over it. He seemed to not only hold his tongue on these matters, he actively avoided them. He steered the conversations well away from the subjects. She was not even sure he was conscious that he was doing it.
After breakfast, she trained with Taran. The first week under his tutelage was spent perfecting her sword techniques and plotting out the weaknesses of the Droch-draoidh’s creatures. Drostan provided his artistic talents and created some helpful, remarkably detailed sketches of the beasts from Skye’s memories. Using the sketches, Taran was able to point out the best places to slice, slash, and stab. Skye marveled over his grasp of the musculature of the beasts. She smiled as he added his own sketches over Drostan’s, illustrating how the tendons and ligaments were positioned beneath the flesh. She had not realized just how integral a knowledge of anatomy was for a Warrior Lord, or how advanced such knowledge could be so far into the past.
By the second week, Taran began transforming into his faol form for their sparring. It made more sense than their original lessons – she needed to practice using a sword to defend against beasts, after all, not men with blades. Unfortunately, this left her struggling to avert her eyes twice daily. She was all-too-familiar with this struggle, resisting the urge to stare at his glistening, naked body. She had not endured this epic internal battle since they first became a mated pair. It was every bit as difficult as she remembered, but still, she had to keep her eyes elsewhere. She did not want dwell on just how deeply she missed being wrapped up with that solid, magnificent body in sweaty bliss.
Ciaran’s nightly routine was amended at that point to include taking on all of her growing sexual frustration over her heavily repressed yearnings for Taran. (Not that Ciaran complained at all, mind you.)
In the third week, Taran decided it was time to relocate her training to the deepest, darkest
caves within the forest. His first selection for a site, however, did not go over well. She adamantly refused to enter and insisted that he find a different location. Just as he opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, he saw the haunted, broken look in her eyes. It was all the answer he needed.
With a chill that ran straight to his bones, he moved to stand beside her. He eyed the cave mouth warily. Without thinking, he reached down and took her comparably tiny hand in his own, easily interlacing their fingers as if they were molded to fit together. She leaned her arm against his, silently accepting the offer of comfort.
“It was in there, then? Where you… carried me?” he asked in a cautious whisper, not entirely certain he wanted to know.
Skye swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. In her vision, the scene before her kept changing to the way it had looked that terrible night. She could feel the weight and cold of his dead body against her. Could feel the crushing despair and grief.
Taran’s grip on her hand tightened as he resisted the urge to embrace her. He could sense her profound heartache. He was enduring his own in the face of his future failings. Unwilling to fail her now, he whispered resolutely, “I swear to you, Sgitheanach, you will return home. You will be with your King again.”
“They are synonymous,” Skye said as she looked up at him. In response to his curious frown, she explained, “Being home IS being with my King. Cannot have one without the other.”
Goddess Rising Page 44
