by Phoebe Conn
“Did Lugh not teach you how to make a better tent?” he asked. With a single fierce yank he ripped the fabric from the branches before Oriana had time to leave her comfortable cushion. Ignoring her surprise, he bowed low, and then rolled the material over his arms to fashion a neat parcel.
Blinded by the sudden brightness of the sun, Oriana quickly looked down at her ornate pouch. Egan surely must have understood that she expected him to allow her the opportunity to exit the small enclosure before he tore it apart. He had acted precipitously out of spite, but she refused to allow him to gloat, and rose with a graceful ease to face him.
She was taller than most women, but her head barely reached his shoulder. He had very wide shoulders, she noted, and a broad chest that narrowed to a flat belly and lean hips. His worn tunic hid none of those superb physical assets, and his leggings were pulled tight over long, powerful legs made taut by his belligerent stance. When she ended her slow perusal and glanced up, she found him observing her with a mocking grin.
“Well, my lady, do you find me fit enough to serve as your champion? But I forgot, you undoubtedly know just how worthy I am, don’t you?”
Oriana clutched her ornate bag more tightly; other than the fact Egan was in some terrible danger, she could discern nothing about his future. She was confident that he had one, but for some maddening reason it was hidden from her, and that was a very troubling sensation for one who survived solely on her ability to know what others did not. Unwilling to share such a damaging confidence, she merely nodded.
“Aye, Egan, I expect you’ll do.”
Egan could not recall another woman ever dismissing him so casually, and his expression simmered between annoyance and disgust as he watched Oriana gather up her belongings. Her cushion was actually a spacious bag that contained her clothing. Once she had removed her long cloak from inside, there was ample room to slide in the small cushion he had used, along with the little basket that held coins and bits of hack silver, and the embroidered bag containing what he assumed were magical stones.
She went about her task with such fluid grace that Egan was swiftly distracted by visions of how beautifully she would dance. There were such talented musicians nearby that he was tempted to spend a while longer at the fair to satisfy his curiosity, but when Oriana wasted not a single motion before donning her cloak and pulling the hood low to hide her face, he knew she would never agree.
“You’ll not need your cloak on such a lovely afternoon,” he advised.
“Not for warmth, surely,” Oriana agreed, “but I’d rather not give those who’ve not yet seen me the opportunity to do so.”
She produced a thick cord from her bag, and after taking the bundled tent fabric from Egan’s arms, she wrapped it securely and used the last of the cord to fashion a strap she slipped over her shoulder. Then, with the bag containing her belongings gripped firmly in her hand, she quickly surveyed the small tent site to be certain nothing had been left behind.
“Where is your horse, Egan?”
Her gown was a pale gray he had mistaken for a soft blue white inside her tent, and her cloak, while patched, was as rich a dark brown as fertile earth. With her red hair, the color was a glorious accent, but he longed to see her dressed in bright green. He had expected her to be much older, perhaps a frail wisp of a woman he’d have to carry in his arms wherever they went. To find her young and lovely, and yet so distant, had unsettled him completely, but he quickly sought to regain control of their small party.
“If you’ll but follow me, mistress, I’ll take you there.” He considered making her traipse around the long way so she would be too tired to argue, but she had shouldered the tent without a word on its weight, and he knew he ought not to let her carry it.
“I’ll take that,” he offered, and grabbed the rough bundle before she could stop him. Egan led the way to his horse without causing her a single extra step, but he cursed under his breath the whole way.
Chapter Two
Oriana had slipped Egan’s beautiful amethyst into her embroidered pouch, but as they made their way past the village to his horse, she doubted that had been wise. The crystal’s uneven facets would prevent her from using it with her other stones, and it was too large to be fashioned into a piece of jewelry. It would be an attractive keepsake, but she had no idea when she would return home and put it on display.
Suddenly Egan paused in midstride and turned to face her. “I’ve been most inconsiderate,” he announced with sincere regret. “Would you rather return to your home before we leave for mine?”
Appalled that he seemed to have read her mind, Oriana took a quick step backward. “Unlike you, sir, I invite no one to my abode.”
Egan was doubly annoyed that while tardy, his effort at courtesy had been rudely rebuffed. He shrugged in dismay. “I didn’t expect to be entertained. I merely thought you might wish to bring other clothing, or whatever else you might need on our journey.”
Oriana rested her free hand on her hip. “Do you think me so easily fooled? I’ll caution you now that I move often and never return to the same dwelling twice.”
Egan had tethered his horse some distance from the village, but he quickly glanced over the gently undulating fields of oats and barley to make certain they had not been followed from the fair. No one had ducked out of sight as he had turned to face Oriana, and he was convinced they were alone. Still, he took the precaution of lowering his voice.
“We’re sure to have frequent arguments, but I’ll warn you only this once that you may not question my motives in front of others. If you must shriek and spit, you’ll do so in private. Is that understood?”
Out in the open Egan looked even taller and stronger than he had first appeared, and Oriana quickly vowed to behave in a more circumspect manner around him. Or at least she would make that attempt until Duncan was dead, and then she would do as she pleased. She slid her hood back to rest upon her shoulders so he could not mistake her expression, and nodded.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll not shame you in front of your kin. Now, it’s already afternoon. Can we not travel while we argue about whatever other disagreements we might have?”
Had her suggestion not been so reasonable, Egan would have argued with her simply to vent his temper, but forced to agree, he turned without comment and led her along the path toward the forest. He was uncertain how a considerate question could have prompted such an angry response. If Oriana continued to view each of his remarks in the most unflattering light, then he would swiftly stop speaking to her unless absolutely necessary.
Egan had left his stallion grazing in the sweet summer grass, and the ebony animal raised his head to whinny a greeting as they approached. Before Egan could warn Oriana to stand back, she walked up to the magnificent horse, and after caressing his neck lightly, stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. The stallion tossed his finely shaped head and snickered softly, as though he appreciated whatever had been said.
“Raven doesn’t usually take to strangers,” Egan offered as he gathered up his mount’s reins. “But he seems to have enjoyed your secrets.”
“He’s a horse fit for a king,” Oriana replied. “That’s all I told him.”
“Aye, he is that,” Egan agreed with an amused chuckle, and quickly tied Oriana’s bundled tent behind his saddle, where he stored his own belongings. Then he took a long look at her.
“We’ll both ride, but I thought you’d be an old woman who’d weigh no more than a leaf.”
Oriana straightened up proudly. “While I’ll readily admit to weighing more than a sprig of greenery, what makes you think that I’m not the oldest women in the valley?”
Egan’s eyes widened slightly. Oriana had been lovely in her shadowy tent. In sunlight, her flawless skin held a golden blush that was utterly enchanting. “You can’t have seen more than seventeen summers,” he swore.
“The gods do not age,” Oriana reminded him with gentle amusement. “So why should I? Perhaps I have seen several hundred s
ummers. Would that astound you?”
“Yes, it most certainly would.” Egan bent slightly and offered his interlaced fingers as a convenient step for Oriana. “You must regale me with tales of your many years as we travel.”
“I doubt that you’d find my life sufficiently entertaining to remain awake,” Oriana cautioned. Still holding her cumbersome bag, she placed a hand on Egan’s shoulder, stepped first in his hands, and then with an agile leap mounted Raven’s back. The horse shook his flowing mane, then turned to look at his master. Oriana gave the horse a reassuring pat on his elegantly arched neck.
“Raven’s in as great a hurry as we are, Egan. Let’s be on our way.”
“I’ve no reason to tarry, but every champion needs a sword.” Without further explanation Egan strode into the trees. Before the wait became uncomfortably long, he returned with a broadsword slung from a leather belt worn low on his hips. The sword’s copper hilt caught the sunlight to reveal an incised design of interlocking circles.
Egan had also retrieved his bow and quiver of arrows. He slipped them over his shoulder before looking up at Oriana. He had meant for her to ride behind him, but she had made herself comfortable in the saddle as though she were the one who belonged there. He was about to complain when he realized she had unwittingly placed herself in his arms, where he could conveniently place one hand over her mouth if need be. Cheered by that thought, he swung himself up behind her. After sliding his right arm around her waist, he held Raven’s reins in his left hand and urged the horse west, toward his home.
Egan’s broad chest made a surprisingly comfortable backrest, and without conscious thought, Oriana gradually relaxed against him. She was still preoccupied with thoughts of Duncan, but knew she should try to prepare herself for whatever she might find at Egan’s home. She supposed that like other wealthy men he must live on an impressively large crannog. She had never spent more than a single night in a water-ringed fort herself, and hoped she would not be confined to his for long.
“You claim to need someone you can trust,” Oriana remarked absently. “When we arrive at your home, do you wish me to merely tell fanciful fortunes, and then tell the truth to you?”
Egan had expected Oriana to continue to be as annoyed with him as he was with her, and he had never expected her to cuddle against him with the easy familiarity of an affectionate lover. When her golden curls brushed his chin, she smelled so sweet, and felt so enticingly feminine, it was difficult to form a coherent reply.
“Aye,” he rasped. “That will do for a start.”
“I should have made you promise not to become as furious with me as Duncan is if the truth is not to your liking.”
“I’m already expecting the worst, so you needn’t worry that you’ll disappoint me.”
Egan’s thighs were pressed along the length of Oriana’s, and he was grateful the thick folds of her cloak separated the inviting roundness of her buttocks from the uncomfortable fullness in his groin. He drew a ragged breath and wished he had simply let her ride while he led Raven. Seeking to distract himself from the taunting physical need he knew she would regard with disdain rather than satisfaction, he sought to allay his curiosity about her.
“For now, I want to hear how Lugh came to choose your mother for his wife. It has to be a fascinating tale.”
Caught off guard, Oriana dipped her head momentarily. She leaned forward on her lumpy travel bag and ran her fingers through Raven’s mane. She wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of her heritage but still hesitated to share such a personal story.
“What’s wrong?” Egan persisted. “You’re trusting me to protect your life. Surely you can trust me with a romantic story.” He raised his right hand from her waist to make a solemn vow. “I promise never to repeat it.”
Oriana licked her lips nervously, for in truth, she had never been called upon to trust anyone. The only time she was with strangers was when she told fortunes, and then people placed their trust in her, not she in them. With the gift of the knowing, she trusted in herself, and that was all that truly mattered. A long moment passed before she straightened to rest against Egan’s chest.
“Egan, when you mentioned your need for a clear view of the future, I should have asked if you didn’t trust your own instincts,” she mused aloud.
“Oh, yes, indeed I do,” Egan assured her. “But I still need confirmation I’m correct in my judgments before I act on them. Now stop attempting to distract me. Tell me about your mother and Lugh.”
“I’m not certain I can do their story justice,” Oriana murmured softly, “but because you insist, I will try.”
“Please do, and you will earn my undying gratitude, dear lady,” Egan responded, with more sarcasm than he had intended.
Even with her decision made, Oriana needed a long moment to gather her thoughts, and she completely missed Egan’s rudeness. “People sometimes describe me as pretty, but my mother was the embodiment of beauty itself. She was the daughter of a wealthy farmer, and was greatly admired. She had many fine suitors, but regarded the whole lot as unbearably tedious and at every opportunity escaped into the forest to be alone.”
Oriana paused to look up at Egan, and he responded with an encouraging nod. “One afternoon she chose a new path, and came upon a lake of such crystal purity that she tarried far longer than she should have merely contemplating the reflection of the clouds overhead. When she finally started for home, darkness overtook her, and wandering lost, her steps circled back to the beautiful lake. That was where Lugh appeared, and he took her hand in a clasp of exquisite tenderness and guided her home.
“Unlike her suitors, who talked of nothing but themselves, Lugh spoke not a single word that night. As you might expect, my mother was very favorably impressed, and the next day, she returned to the lake where they had met. No,” Oriana corrected herself. “What she always said was that she was drawn back, as though pulled by an invisible tether. It was a lure so powerful, she swore she could not have resisted its force. She found Lugh pacing the shore of the lake, anxiously awaiting her arrival. When he drew her into his arms, the whole forest came alive with a hauntingly beautiful melody.”
Egan believed that gods and spirits inhabited every rock, tree, river, and hill, but that did not mean he believed a single word of Oriana’s enchanting tale. However, he was immensely entertained. “Was your mother always so poetic?”
Oriana had only to close her eyes to hear her still. “Yes, and her voice was as sweet as a songbird’s. She was lovely in every way, a fit bride for a god. Her parents had expected her to make a fine marriage and enrich the whole family. But she couldn’t return home and wed another after giving her heart to Lugh, so she fled with him deep into the forest.
“He was with her when I was born, and I imagine quite often after that, but he didn’t allow me to see him until I was grown, and he came to escort my mother into the Otherworld.”
Egan thought it far more likely that Oriana’s mother had had a mortal lover of whom her parents did not approve. The scoundrel must have abandoned her when she had conceived, and she had hidden in the forest rather than face her parents’ wrath. That she had raised her daughter on a poetic fantasy rather than an ugly truth was understandable, but that Oriana claimed to have seen Lugh was absurd.
“Wait a moment,” Egan urged. “I’ve no doubt that you saw someone, but how did you recognize him as Lugh?”
Oriana turned slightly to face Egan and instantly took exception to his skeptical frown. “He was exactly as my mother described him, a being of such radiant light he could have been no one else. You may scoff as loudly as you please, but it will not change the truth of what happened.”
Egan found the stubborn tilt of her chin so charming, he refrained from any such rude outburst. “No, I’ll not laugh, my lady. Now, I should not have interrupted you. Please continue, and tell me where you spent your childhood.”
Oriana shook her head slightly and turned back toward the road. “No. I should have known better t
han to confide in you. The mistake was entirely mine. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Egan stressed, but failed to hide his discontent. “Were you a happy child?” he asked. The slump of Oriana’s shoulders made it plain that she had not been. He could easily imagine her chasing squirrels and climbing trees. He could not bear to think she had been unhappy.
“Please,” he urged with surprising tenderness.
Oriana could not recall a man ever speaking to her in such an intimate manner. While telling fortunes, she had heard everything from polite inquiries to bawdy teasing, but nothing ever quite that softly suggestive. It brought a strange longing for something she could not even name, and she spoke more to herself than to him when she replied.
“I don’t like to recall that time because people were often cruel to my mother, but the creatures of the forest were kind, and once we discovered I possessed the knowing, we never lacked for anything.”
“Wait a moment,” Egan urged. “Did your mother never return to her people to tell them about Lugh, or to show off her beautiful daughter?” He could not believe any family would disown Oriana’s mother if she had been even half as lovely as her daughter.
“Once my mother left to be with Lugh, she never returned home. I’ve no idea who my mother’s people even are, but it’s always given me great comfort to know I am the daughter of a god. Would you like to hear his song?”
Egan could not resist giving her a fond pat. “Please sing for me. I’m most eager to hear your father’s song.”
From such a beautiful young woman, Egan anticipated a delicate soprano, and perhaps a pretty tune the minstrels would covet, but when Oriana began to sing, it was in a rich, throaty alto. There were no words, but the most haunting melody he had ever heard. It soared, then dropped to a near whisper, at once joyous and so poignant it brought tears to his eyes.
