by Phoebe Conn
Oriana understood how desperately Egan needed her prophecy to be false, and thoughtfully did not repeat it. The specter of death still loomed between them, however, making them increasingly awkward companions. Their journey finally drew to an end on a breezy afternoon.
“Can you smell the sea?” Egan asked, and urged Raven forward at a swifter pace, while the brown horse they’d named Brute trailed on a tether.
“Aye, I can,” Oriana replied, for the salty scent drifted easily on the light wind. It was an invigorating fragrance, but, filled with dread of what lay ahead, she kept her fingers laced in Raven’s mane.
As they neared the rocky coast, Egan pointed toward the craggy face of a mountain half veiled in mist. “My home lies just ahead,” he bent to announce, his breath warm against Oriana’s ear.
Oriana strained to see. This was no crannog with thatch-roofed huts, but a stone fortress cradled against the mountain’s stark cliffs. She caught sight of the black pennant flying from the tower the same instant as Egan did. He cried out as though he had been struck, and she had no time to brace herself before he yanked Raven to a jarring halt.
Egan leaped from his stallion’s back with Oriana still clutched in his arms. He swung her around to face him, and his fingers dug into her arms like claws. “This was no mere prophecy,” he screamed. “All this time you’ve known my father was dead!”
Furious anger darkened his eyes to a threatening gray, and Oriana looked up at the mighty warrior she had hoped would slay Duncan O Floinn. Egan had possessed the strength that day, but not this stunning violence. He could snap her neck as easily as a twig, and she sensed he was sorely tempted.
“I shared all I knew as a warning,” she reminded him. “Perhaps now you’ll believe in the danger that surrounds you.”
Egan shoved her away with a foul oath. “You are the greatest danger I’ll ever face!”
“I’m no threat,” Oriana assured him calmly. “You are your father’s heir, and that’s where the danger lies.”
Egan could barely force himself to think beyond the crushing pain of his loss. He stared at the black pennant and thought himself a fool for leaving home to chase a prophecy that had led him to the greatest tragedy he had ever known. He drew his knife and cut Brute’s tether, then tossed it to Oriana.
“Aye, I am his heir, and now king of the Dál Cais. I have no further need of you. Take this cursed horse and be gone.”
Oriana stared in stunned silence as Egan left her to lead Raven up the wide trail to his home. She had sought to end their bargain, but not with this bitter scene and his heart broken.
“No, I think not,” she said in a vivid imitation of Egan’s frequent vow.
A gust of wind whipped her curls, lashing her face, and she quickly pulled her hood low to protect her eyes. She then gave Brute a fierce yank to start him along the path, and with a regal step followed the angry young king.
Chapter Four
Oriana struggled to keep up with Egan, but within moments the mist rolled down off the mountain, slid into the valley, and surrounded her in a thick shimmering veil. One moment Egan and Raven were just ahead of her on the trail, and the next, both man and horse had vanished in the moist haze. Oriana dared not call out and infuriate Egan further, so she hurried after him, straining to follow the echo of Raven’s hooves on the rocky trail. She yanked on Brute’s tether, but he was unwilling to tread upon ground he could no longer see clearly and stubbornly resisted her lead.
To Oriana’s left, the sea slammed against the rocky cliffs, inspiring her to guide Brute to her right. Unwilling to abandon her mount, she feared she had missed the entrance to Egan’s fortress when just ahead she saw a torch flare. The light barely pierced the deepening mist, but allowed Oriana to make out the shadowy outlines of Egan and Raven.
They were standing outside a wide iron gate that was embedded in a high stone wall. In another few steps, she would have led Brute right into them. Relieved and yet anxious still, she hung back as the gate was raised with a squealing clang. There was still time to retreat unnoticed, but she watched in rapt fascination as Egan was quickly surrounded by six torch-bearing guards.
For an instant, they appeared to dance around him in a welcoming circle, then reversing direction to uncoil, they led him through the gate. The instant Egan again disappeared from view, Oriana’s decision was made. She urged Brute forward. Because of her flowing cloak, she was immediately mistaken for a servant Egan had acquired on his travels. She kept her head low, pressed close to the huge gelding as she untied her travel bag and went unnoticed as Egan questioned the men.
Egan shouted at each in turn, yanked them forward and then shoved them aside as he sought a reasonable explanation for his father’s sudden and totally unexpected death. Nothing he heard satisfied him, and he began a second round of insistent questioning. In the flickering torchlight, his expression was as harsh as the raw edge of his voice, and his gaze as dark as his grief.
Oriana caught only snatches of the disjointed conversations, but heard enough to understand Egan’s father had fallen ill rather than suffered a fatal accident. Others had also contracted the same grave illness, but clearly Egan cared only about the man the guards referred to as Cadell.
In an anguishing quandary, Egan did not catch sight of Oriana until he turned to hand Raven’s reins to one of the guards. His eyes widened slightly, as though her lingering presence was an additional dreadful shock. He raised his hand to point accusingly, and his lips curled in a menacing snarl.
Oriana straightened to face Egan squarely, and heard more than one gasp of surprise as the men who had greeted him now recognized her as a woman rather than a helpful lad. The abrupt arrival of darkness had brought a chill, and it was all she could do not to shiver pathetically. She watched Egan’s hand as his gesture took form, but there was no dread in her expression. She smiled slightly, as if to remind him that he had been the one to seek her out and bring her there.
Egan stared at Oriana, more furious with himself than he could ever be with her, but he could not understand why she had followed him when the sight of her sickened him so. Perhaps all she wanted was the gold he had promised, but she had been a fool to risk his continuing wrath when the price could very well be her life.
Who’s the fool?
Egan heard the softly voiced question clearly but when he glanced over his shoulder, no one stood behind him. Indeed, the guards at the gate had pressed themselves back against the wall to escape another taste of his anger.
He had never heard voices and could not even imagine who might have spoken now. His father’s ghost, perhaps, he agonized. Then the melody Oriana had claimed belonged to Lugh brushed by his ear in a gentle hush, and its sweetness filled his heart with an aching sorrow. Confused and bewildered, he swayed slightly, then turned his palm upward to beckon Oriana to come forward.
Even in her patched cloak, she moved so gracefully she seemed almost to float, and though Egan was certain it was a trick of the mist, he was still moved by the sight. Shaking off that unwanted distraction, he gave the guards a quick order.
“Care for our horses, and one of you should show my lady to my chamber. I’m going to find Ula.”
Egan turned away, leaving Oriana surrounded by men too awestruck to carry out his commands. There was no hostility in their eyes, but simply undisguised amazement. She was equally astonished that Egan had referred to her as his lady, but there had been no time, nor was he in any mood, for her to debate the curious label now.
Striving valiantly to assure respect for Egan’s orders, she cleared her throat. “I doubt the horses are any happier than I am to be kept waiting out here in the cold, but Egan will scarcely be pleased to learn how slowly you do his bidding.”
After an embarrassed jostling, one of the men was shoved forward by his companions. He made a perfunctory bow, then raised his torch and led the way across the open bailey to the inner fortress. A small door cut into a much larger wooden entrance swung open as they reached
it. A tiny white-haired woman wrapped in a long gray shawl held up a small lantern and greeted them curtly.
“I’ll see to her now,” she announced to dismiss the guard. “Enter quickly, my lady, or we’ll need the warmth of a thousand fires for heat.”
Oriana had never been inside a stone structure of any size, and as she crossed the threshold, she looked up at the massive wooden timbers that supported the floor above. Her hood fell back upon her shoulders to reveal her windblown curls, and she heard the little woman cry out in surprise.
“Forgive me, my lady,” the elderly servant begged, “but for a moment, I thought the master’s dear mother had returned from the dead. It’s only the red hair that fooled me, though. You don’t resemble her otherwise.”
Oriana wondered if she also reminded Egan of his mother. If so, he had neglected to mention it. “My name is Oriana,” she offered politely. “And who might you be?”
The little woman tugged at her shawl. “I’m Myrna, an old nurse with no babies to tend, but the master asked me to show you to his chamber, and I best be taking you there.”
Oriana followed Myrna’s glance toward a spiral staircase built into the large entryway’s rounded corner. She did not want to share Egan’s quarters, but overwhelmed by the sheer size of his home, feared she might never find him if she asked for other lodgings.
The remaining ache in her hips and legs from the long ride went unnoticed as she followed Myrna up the steep stairs. She trailed her fingertips along the wall for balance, but the rough stones held an aura of dread that caused her to quickly pull away. She had never felt so out of place, and wondered if Egan felt lost there too.
“Does the weather often change so abruptly?” Oriana inquired. “The afternoon was so pleasant.”
“Aye, the mists settle around us most nights,” Myrna murmured, and grateful for an excuse to catch her breath, she paused on a narrow landing.
“ ’Tis Mount Royal, the mountain at our backs. Some say it’s enchanted. Others swear that it’s cursed,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Which do you believe, Myrna?” Oriana had already begun to lean toward the latter opinion.
“Oh, that I’ll not say, my lady.” Myrna grasped a bit more of her skirt, raised her lantern, and continued up the stairs.
Oriana hung back. She did not want to leave without speaking to Egan, but she had not anticipated feeling so severely confined. “Where is Egan’s chamber?” she asked fretfully.
Myrna gestured as they reached a wide landing that opened out onto a long hall. “It’s at the end here, but you needn’t fret. I’ve already sent a boy to light the fire, and the chamber’s always well-kept, even when the master’s away, which is usually the case. He’s not been in residence for more than a month in many a year.”
Huge tapestries lined the wide hall, but the occasional torch did not provide sufficient illumination for Oriana to recognize their subject. “I thought he’d been home quite recently,” she responded as they made their way down the hall.
Myrna appeared confused. “Did he say that? Then it must be true. I’ve become rather forgetful of late. Here we are.” She entered a deep arched doorway and gave the heavy wooden door a practiced shove.
Oriana was uncertain what to expect, but as she entered Egan’s chamber, her attention was immediately drawn to the raised platform which supported Egan’s bed. Strewn with furs, it was indeed a bed fit for a king, but she had absolutely no desire to share it. It was only the sure belief that Egan would not want her there either that kept her from turning to flee.
Fresh rushes covered the plank floor, and candles lit the wooden chests stacked along the wall. The breeze off the sea billowed the tapestry hanging over the narrow window, but the design was easily discernible as falcons in flight. A crackling fire burned on the hearth, but Oriana sensed more than mere warmth in the room.
Unlike the dreary stairwell, Egan’s spacious chamber radiated calm strength. It was as though the essence of the man himself lingered even when he was away. Oriana turned slowly to observe the room more carefully, and then successfully hid her surprise when Myrna directed her attention toward the adjoining privy. Certain the fortress must contain all manner of astonishing features, she hoped to enjoy a complete tour.
“You’ll be wanting some supper,” Myrna announced, and moved toward the door. “And hot water to bathe after your long journey.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself on my behalf,” Oriana begged, embarrassed by how disheveled she must appear. She clutched her travel bag a little more tightly and cast an apprehensive glance toward the huge bed.
“Oh, I don’t plan to climb the stairs again, but I’ll send up some bread and cheese with the tub and water.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Oriana murmured softly as Myrna slipped out the door.
There was a beautifully carved wooden chair with a comfortable leather cushion near the fire, and Oriana sat down to wait. She doubted she would spend more than a single night in Egan’s home, but she was grateful she would at least have an opportunity to bathe and fill her stomach before she faced him again.
When the wait proved uncomfortably long, she wondered what the intricately carved chests might contain. His clothing, weapons perhaps, or treasures from his travels, but she made no move to satisfy her curiosity. She simply sat, consciously absorbing the sense of Egan’s presence and wishing, however forlornly, that he had trusted her.
When later that night Egan finally returned to his room, he found Oriana asleep on the foot of his bed. She lay dangerously close to the edge, as though she were deliberately taking up as little space as possible. Her pose reminded him of the hunting dogs who loved his bed but knew they belonged on the floor.
Oriana’s fiery hair curtained her face and spread around her shoulders to mingle with the furs. She was wearing a gown he’d watched her wash in the river and smelled enticingly of perfumed soap rather than Raven’s sweat as he did, but he reacted to her fair beauty with a rude shove.
“Wake up,” he chided. “I’m hoarse from yelling at Ula, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy with you.”
Rudely jarred awake, Oriana sat up slowly and swung her bare feet off the high bed. She brushed her curls out of her eyes, and stared up at him with what she hoped would pass for sincere sympathy rather than abject pity.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she replied. “I tried to wait up for you.”
Egan tossed his cloak over a nearby chest, then ripped his tunic off over his head and threw it atop the cloak. “Why? Did you really believe I’d listen to your apologies?”
Oriana’s eyes widened, and she hoped Egan would not continue tearing off his clothes to confront her naked when she was already all too aware of his size and strength. “Why would I apologize to you, my lord? You were the one who not only doubted me, but abandoned me at the edge of the sea.”
Considering Oriana worse than insolent, Egan’s face filled with rage. He bent to yank her off his bed, to shake her, to punish her for the unbearable pain of his father’s loss, but the word fool again rang in his head so loudly that he released her as though her pale skin had scorched his hands.
“How do you do that?” he demanded.
Oriana was trapped between the broad wall of Egan’s chest and the foot of his bed, but with a great force of will remained calm. “Just what is it that you believe I’m doing?”
“The voice. It’s calling me a fool just as it did at the gate, and I’ll not tolerate it another moment.”
He looked ready to rip her head from her shoulders, and yet Oriana was more intrigued than frightened. “You heard someone call you a fool just now?”
Egan swiped his hand through his hair as he turned away and began to pace in front of her. “Aye. I’ll not have you running through my head, Oriana.”
He had not reached for the knife at his belt, but bare-chested with his hands rolled into fists, he looked as though that might be his next move. Oriana extended her han
d to graze his arm in a tentative caress, and he spun toward her, his light eyes aflame.
He was a terrifying sight, and yet as wildly handsome as she had ever seen him. That stunning awareness came at such an inappropriate time that her cheeks flushed with shame. “I possess no magical powers, Egan. None at all,” she stressed. “If the gods are speaking to you, please listen. They’ve never lied to me.”
“Do you think me a fool as well?” he asked accusingly.
“No. Of course not,” she assured him. “You’re heartbroken over your father’s death. I wish I’d been better able to make you heed my warning, but even if you had, it wouldn’t have softened this terrible blow. Now please tell me what Ula said.”
Egan’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “You’re simply trying to distract me,” he swore darkly.
Oriana held her breath a moment and willed herself to look deeply. She was disappointed when, as before, her gift failed to provide clear insight into Egan’s future, but she was convinced she would never come to any harm at his hands. He hated her, she could see that without relying upon the knowing, and though it saddened her, she wasn’t afraid.
“No,” she confided in a hushed whisper. “That would be devious, and I merely wish to learn what she revealed.”
Taking that for a blatant lie, Egan cursed under his breath and resumed pacing. He would never forgive himself for failing his father in his time of desperate need, and as the guilt raged within him, he spoke to unburden himself rather than out of any desire to confide in the beauty whose honeyed voice had always warned of doom.
“Ula swears she fell ill and suffered such violent pains she begged to die. Father summoned her Druids to cast their spells, but though they succeeded in curing her, when he fell victim to the same torment, their incantations failed to save him. Several others fell ill and died, an ancient Druid among them, but apparently my half brother, Kieran, felt no more than a slight twinge and recovered fully.”
