by Phoebe Conn
He had not believed such a thing was even possible, but surely the song was divine, and Oriana really had learned it from Lugh. All too quickly she fell silent, and Egan had never felt so deprived. He was at a loss for a means to describe how deeply he had been touched by the deceptively simple song.
Egan drew Raven to a halt with a quick yank on the reins. “Would you sing that again, please?” he whispered.
When Oriana turned to look up at him, she found his eyes had lost their amused sparkle and reflected instead a stunned amazement. At that moment she could have given up speaking entirely and for the rest of her life sung only that one painfully sweet song.
But as she drew the breath to reply, she heard the faint echo of hoofbeats in the distance. A chilling terror stole up Oriana’s spine, and she grabbed hold of Egan’s tunic.
“That’s Duncan coming. He’ll be upon us swiftly, and a meaner man was never born.”
Jarred from the blissful music of paradise to that gruesome image, Egan urged Raven off the worn trail, leaped down from his back, and thrust the reins in Oriana’s hands. Although he thought it might be a different, harmless man on the road, he intended to be ready for the worst. He shed his cloak, drew his sword, and swung it around above his head before bringing it down upon the grass in a powerful blow.
“Remain with Raven,” he ordered. “If it looks as though I’ll be the one to die, save yourself and ride away.”
Oriana was already tempted to flee, but fought down her fear long enough to shake her head. With Duncan intent upon killing her, she wasn’t intimidated by the mere fierceness of Egan’s scowl. Celtic warriors would kill for mere sport, but her cause was just, and Egan would be a true champion.
“Even if you have never trusted anyone, trust me now,” she begged of him. “Duncan will swear to the boldest lie. Nothing will appease his lust for my blood, but I am innocent of any crime. Please believe me.”
Forcing his concentration away from her and toward the road, Egan shoved the tip of his blade into the earth, rested his palms on the incised hilt, and widened his stance. “It is you who are not trusting me, Oriana, or you’d know I’d never forsake you.”
Before Oriana could respond, Duncan O Floinn came into view. He was a great bear of a man with a full red beard. His mud brown steed exhaled with a groaning snort each time his hooves struck the packed earth of the trail. Duncan had let it be known that he would pay well for word of Oriana’s whereabouts, and only that morning a runner had brought him the news he desired. For the last hour he had ridden hard to reach the village before Oriana again vanished into the forest.
He had not expected to find her alongside the trail, nor had he anticipated her having a warrior’s protection. He barely slowed his mount before leaving his saddle with a flying stumble. Regaining his balance, he brandished his sword and approached Oriana cursing with the foulest language possible.
“Step aside,” Duncan shouted at Egan. “Just hand over that flame-haired bitch, and I’ll allow you to live.”
Egan laughed as he raised his sword. “I’d never abandon a lady, nor will I allow you to address her as though she were the unfortunate woman you call ‘wife.’”
At that taunt, Duncan let out an enraged howl and charged Egan. With blurring speed, Egan swung his sword to block Duncan’s blow. Their iron blades crashed together with a bone-jarring clang that sent every bird in the nearby forest screeching from its nest. The sky darkened with beating wings, then cleared as the graceful wave soared aloft.
Equally startled, Raven reared up on his hind legs, and Oriana threw her weight forward and clung to his mane to steady him. She had not ridden on horseback more than half a dozen times in her life, and would have had difficulty controlling such a spirited mount when he was in a tranquil mood. Now it was all she could do just to stay in the saddle. Certain she would be trampled to death beneath Raven’s dancing hooves should she be thrown, she hung on tightly.
Unaware of Oriana’s predicament, Egan continued battling Duncan without a glance in her direction. The weight of the broadsword soon made his shoulders ache, but he was too finely trained to allow fatigue to slow his moves. He blamed himself for not taking Oriana’s bargain more seriously when she had made it, but he would be damned if he would die for the mistake of arrogant pride.
Far more agile, Egan drew back and circled just out of Duncan’s reach. “Before I cleave you in two,” he boasted, “tell me what wrong Oriana has done you.”
“Her curse killed my beloved,” Duncan screamed, and he charged Egan with renewed fury. Egan countered each of Duncan’s vicious blows with his own blade, and after a rough shove, Duncan drew away.
Barely able to draw the breath to defend herself, Oriana fought to turn Raven toward the men. “I gave only a prophecy, Egan, not a curse!”
“My Rose is dead!” Duncan turned his head to shout.
With one mighty blow, Egan could have beheaded the larger man in that split second of inattention, but instead he gave him only an insulting slap with the side of his sword before again stepping out of Duncan’s range.
“Your fight is over here with me, Duncan,” he reminded him with a wide grin.
Nearly blinded by the sweat dripping into his eyes, Duncan swung his sword in a dizzying swirl. He had always relied upon his great size to overwhelm an enemy, but none had ever possessed Egan’s combination of strength and grace. Duncan had fought hard, but with his arms growing weary, he feared he could not fight much longer. In what he hoped would be his last blow, he let out a bloodcurdling yell and charged Egan.
Appearing paralyzed by fear, Egan stood his ground, but at the last instant he stepped aside, stuck out his foot, and sent the larger man sprawling onto the dusty trail. Before Duncan could catch his breath and rise, Egan kicked his sword out of his hand and picked it up.
He feigned a momentary interest in the weapon and then tossed it away. “You’d be far better off making a plow of that blade. Now apologize to the lady and be on your way.”
Duncan was astonished that Egan had not pinned him to the road by driving his own blade through his back, and sensing a trick, got to his feet with a rolling scramble. His leggings were torn at the knees and blood dripped down his shins. Backing away, he raised a shaking hand to point at Oriana.
“She is no lady!” Duncan screamed. “The bitch killed the lovely lass I meant to take for my wife.”
“That’s a lie!” Oriana again protested in her own defense.
“Be quiet, Oriana,” Egan warned darkly. “I’ll handle this.”
“I’ve no quarrel with you,” Duncan repeated, but his eye darted toward his sword, which lay in the thick grass at the side of the road. “Stand aside and let me avenge my dear wife.”
Egan cocked his head. “Now you have confused me. Was this poor dead lass your wife or not?”
Duncan sputtered with rage. “She was mine! And that murdering bitch killed her!”
“You are beginning to annoy me,” Egan complained. “What proof do you have of your accusations?”
“I need no proof when my dear Rose is dead!” Duncan yelled back at him.
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Egan acknowledged wearily. “But how did she die? Was she struck by lightning, or thrown from a horse? Could she have drowned?”
Duncan raised his hands to his hair and looked ready to yank it out by the handful. “No. None of that. She just stopped breathing. It was a curse that struck her down.”
Despite Egan’s objections, Oriana countered softly, “Rose had a weak heart.” Raven had stopped his restless pacing, but she continued to cling to his back with a terrified grip. “I warned Duncan not to expect many fine sons from such a frail woman, but he refused to believe me.”
Duncan clenched his fists at his sides, and growled, “Murderess.”
“Why would she murder your beloved?” Egan asked, and began to circle Duncan with a slow, sliding step, forcing the brute to keep turning to face him.
Duncan raised his ha
nds in a helpless shrug. “She must despise me. I know not why.”
Egan kept circling. “Oriana, do you hate this poor wretch?”
“No, sir, I do not.” Oriana held her breath, for she feared Egan was merely playing with the defeated man. Surely he was lulling him into a foolish complacency and would soon lunge and drive his blade clear through Duncan’s sagging belly. She shuddered at the thought of such a dreadful sight; she did not wish to hear Duncan’s flesh tear, nor his horrible screams of agony, but she could not force herself to look away.
She had been too busy hanging on to Raven to view more than momentary flashes of the men’s battle, but she had seen how smoothly Egan fought compared to Duncan’s wild, hacking blows. It had been such a sickening spectacle that she felt nauseated still, but she thought Egan cruel for prolonging its inevitable end.
“Who are your people, Duncan?” Egan asked suddenly.
“The O Floinn, and if I fail to kill that lying bitch, they will track her down and slay her,” he bragged bravely, and then spit in the dirt.
“No. I think not,” Egan replied. “Because I’m generously going to allow you to exchange your sorry life for hers. Should any harm ever come to her, I’ll be the one to hunt you down. I’m Egan of the Dál Cais, and I don’t issue idle threats, so mark my words carefully and remember them well. Now give me your solemn promise to speak nothing but praise for Oriana’s name. I think I’ll also take your horse, although he is no better a mount than you are a warrior.”
Duncan cast a confused glance toward Oriana, unable to believe Egan simply meant to let him go. “All you expect is my word?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye, and that ugly horse.” Egan nodded toward the beast, who had lumbered into the forest when their battle had begun, and stood grazing in the tall grass. “And your sword,” Egan amended.
Duncan stared at him as though uncertain whether to accept his conditions, prompting Egan to be more explicit.
“Would you rather meet your death here in this narrow road? I will warn you now that I’ll not kill you cleanly, so you can expect to lie moaning in your own blood for hours before I finally slit your throat. Well, make up your mind. Which is it to be?”
Egan had now quelled any hope Duncan might have had of regaining his sword, and though Duncan’s glance remained murderous, he nodded stiffly.
“Swear,” Egan prodded.
In the long silence that followed the order, Oriana was as deeply confused as the newly humbled Duncan. As she relived the vicious sword battle in her mind, she wondered if Raven had commanded so much of her attention that she had simply missed seeing Egan attack. She had seen him defend himself admirably, but not once do more than taunt Duncan with his blade.
By the time a crestfallen Duncan finally raised his hand and swore that he would never harm her, she was convinced this stunning defeat was all Egan had ever wanted. From the start, perhaps from the moment he had accepted her bargain in her tent, he had not meant to strike Duncan dead.
Appalled, Oriana slid off Raven’s back, and after dropping his reins so he would remain where he stood, she walked away into the woods. She was shaking so badly that she had to lean back against an oak, and even then, she didn’t feel secure. She had given her word to a man who made expedient bargains, but that did not mean she would go back on her own.
When several minutes later Egan touched her shoulder, she jumped in surprise. “Is Duncan gone?” she asked fretfully.
“He’s limping back to the village. He’ll find somewhere to stay the night, and start for home in the morning. You needn’t worry he’ll overtake us on the road.”
Oriana watched Egan rake his hair off his forehead. A light sheen of perspiration coated his features, but otherwise, he scarcely seemed to have exerted himself. “You’ve made a very bad mistake,” she warned. “In sparing Duncan’s life, you’ve left mine in danger, and created a new enemy for yourself. It isn’t too late though. You can still kill Duncan before he reaches the village. You have that right. Go now and do it.”
She was pale and obviously shaken, but Egan was unmoved by her plea. She had a peculiar habit of ordering him about, but he saw no reason to obey. “No. I’ll not go back on my word,” he stated firmly.
“What of your word to me?” Oriana felt her lower lip tremble and slid her teeth over the soft fullness to hide such a pathetic show of weakness.
Egan found the gesture charming. He rested his arm against the tree and leaned so close that their noses were nearly touching. “I agreed only to be your champion, my lady. I said nothing about killing anyone. Duncan is a clumsy oaf, but I did risk my life defending yours, and now I expect you to show some gratitude.”
He closed his eyes as he inclined his mouth toward hers, but rather than meekly acquiesce, Oriana shoved away from the tree and ducked under his arm. “How dare you!” she cried. “I willingly offered my gift, but that’s all I’ll exchange for your defense, inadequate as it was.”
Dismayed by the insult, Egan straightened to his full height. “Inadequate? If I went around killing every man who’d ever offended a woman, I’d be the only man left alive.”
“Duncan did not merely offend me, sir. He threatened to kill me merely because my prophecy proved correct!”
The color had rushed back to Oriana’s cheeks, and as she shook her fist at him her hair flew about her head in a wild tangle. Egan wanted to laugh, but even more, he longed to lure her back into his arms, spread her worn cloak over the grass, and bury himself in her heat.
“Tell me exactly what transpired between you and Duncan,” he suggested instead. “You’ve yet to supply the details, and I believe that’s where my confusion lies.”
Egan crossed his arms over his chest and looked prepared to listen to a lengthy confession, but Oriana’s words were few. “It was at a fair similar to the one where we met. Duncan was with several drunken friends who dared him to consult me. He asked only if Rose would give him many fine sons, and I couldn’t lie.”
“Of course not,” Egan scoffed, “but couldn’t you have softened the truth a little?”
Oriana began to twist her hands, then quickly hid them behind her back. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “I have done that upon occasion when the prophecy is a gloomy one, but what can one say when the specter of death is so clear?”
In spite of himself, Egan was being drawn into her tale and he had to agree that death was indeed a very difficult prophecy to soften. “Well, yes, I see your point, but just what did you tell Duncan?”
Oriana tried to recall her exact words. “I told him that while Rose was very beautiful, she was too frail to be his wife. I begged him to set his sights upon another. When he refused, I told him how sorry I was, but that Rose would not live to see their wedding day.”
“And she obviously didn’t,” Egan surmised.
“No.” For a long moment Oriana studied the grass curving over her soft leather shoes. “Actually I was being very kind to him, and I hope he never learns the truth.”
“You mean there’s more to this story?” Noting how preoccupied she was, Egan closed the distance between them with silent steps.
“Yes. Duncan was desperately in love with Rose, but she thought him as clumsy an oaf as you do. Her parents were thrilled by his wealth, though, and welcomed him as her husband. When they told Rose they had arranged the match, she was so terrified she ran from their home, and the strain on her heart was too great. She fell dead in their meadow before anyone could reach her.”
When Oriana looked up at Egan, she wasn’t at all surprised to find him again standing so near. He always seemed to be at her fingertips, and yet now it wasn’t disconcerting. “I would never have told Duncan that Rose would rather be dead than his bride, however. That would have been too cruel a thing to say to anyone.”
“I agree. Did all this fascinating information come to you when you first met Duncan?” Egan tried to keep the laughter out of his voice, but failed.
“I don’t blam
e you for not believing in me, but all I actually saw was that his dear Rose would soon die. As for the details of her death, I learned those later from one of her friends.”
“Oh, I see,” Egan murmured, and ran his hands up Oriana’s arms. When she didn’t flinch, he tightened his grasp slightly. “Perhaps you’ll answer this one question for me.”
Oriana tried to hide her panic, but she really didn’t believe she could tell Egan anything more than she already had. She had never been able to see into her own future, and had only the faintest glimpse of his.
“That depends upon what it is,” she replied unsteadily.
“Whether you have lived for several hundred years, or merely seventeen, why have you no husband to defend you? Had I not come along, you’d have had to face Duncan all alone.”
Oriana licked her lips, not realizing how provocative it appeared. “I have no family, no dowry to offer any mortal man, so I’ve received no proposals, but my mother always assured me that Lugh meant for me to wed a god just as she had.”
“Is that what you want?” Egan asked in a hoarse whisper. He still believed her mother had raised her on fantasy, but the song Oriana had sung hovered in his mind as a taunting reminder that perhaps at least a part of her past was true. He made the mistake then of looking into her lovely golden eyes, and realized he wanted her so badly that he did not care if a god cursed him.
What Oriana saw in Egan’s expression was such naked desire that she quickly broke free of his grasp. He had boldly asked for her gratitude, but she would never surrender her body while her heart remained untouched.
“I will hold you to our bargain, sir,” she swore as she backed away. “I owe you my prophecies and nothing more.”
She turned and ran away from Egan as swiftly as Rose must have fled the awful news that killed her. Overcome with an unfamiliar sense of defeat, Egan took his time in following.
