by Laura DeLuca
“I feel wonderful!” he exclaimed through a mouthful of bacon. “You are a powerful witch indeed to have been blessed with such a healing touch.”
Morrigan blushed. “I think the medicine had a little more to do with it than I did.”
“You sell yourself short.” He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. “I remember most of the evening, Morrigan. You did not leave my side. The magic of your cooling hands against my skin is a more powerful gift than divination or control of the elements, for this magic was born of compassion. I would never have expected such tenderness from the daughter of Ceridwyn.”
His hand against her cheek had the opposite outcome. She felt herself flush with warmth. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. “Wouldn’t my mother want to heal the man she chose to be my guide? You must be special for her to trust you so much.”
“I am one of a million men in the service of the queen and easily replaced. Most royalty would not have cared for an injured lycan.”
Morrigan huffed, “Then most royalty would be idiots. This princess knows a good guy when she sees one. You’re worth saving, Tiarn, and I’m sure my mother would agree.”
Tiarn seemed unconvinced. “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps you are special.”
The way he was looking at her made her blush again. Yet, it also left her confused. His eyes said one thing, but just the day before he had clearly stated they could never be together. Had he changed his mind? Could her precognitive dreams of love finally be coming true?
Morrigan had to clear the lump from her throat in order to swallow even a mouthful of her food. The constant nervous fluttering in her stomach didn’t make for a strong appetite. She picked at her meal and halfway through, she passed her plate to Tiarn, who finished it off in a few heaping mouthfuls. When they were done, they sat down on the deerskin rug in front of the fire. After a few minutes of listening to the rain splashing against the roof of the inn, Tiarn finally broke the awkward silence.
He cleared his throat and sounded just as nervous about their closeness as she felt. “I wish to thank you for all you have done for me, Morrigan,” he said softly. “I have not always been a gentleman where you are concerned, and yet you risked much to care for me.”
Morrigan shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. It was my fault you got hurt. If I hadn’t brought out those stupid cards—”
“We would have had to face the soldiers eventually, one way or another,” Tiarn interrupted. “The battle was inevitable. And perhaps I would have survived the wound without you, but I certainly would not have been able to control the beast.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” Morrigan told him.
“No,” he shook his head sadly, “I have always been weak. But with you by my side, I feel that it is possible for me to become a better man.”
Morrigan couldn’t believe it when he leaned down to kiss her. The embrace was not furious and demanding like their first kiss had been. His lips were soft and gentle, and his touch much smoother with his clean-shaven skin. He gently stroked her hair and ran his fingers up and down her back. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as he explored every curve of her body. His breathing was hot and heavy as his lips explored the nape of her neck. When he finally pulled away, she was so breathless that it was hard to speak.
“And what about . . . the law?” she said through passion swollen lips. “I thought it was forbidden.”
“Damn the law!” he swore. “Damn Hecate. Damn the counsel of witches and all those who stand in our way. If we succeed in our mission, perhaps your mother will make allowances. If not, I have committed far worse offenses in my life. Let them put me in chains if they dare, but I can no longer fight my feelings for you. Nor do I want to. As long as you wish to have me, Morrigan, I am your humble servant.”
She smiled. Even though she knew her eyes were misty with tears, she had never been as happy as she was in that moment. “I was thinking more along the lines of a boyfriend instead of a servant, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Morrigan wished that afternoon could have gone on forever. They spent the better part of the day lounging in front of the fire, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. They had made a silent agreement not to speak of their quest for at least a few hours. They didn’t talk much about anything. Instead, they familiarized themselves with each other’s bodies. They did so modestly. Never once did Tiarn attempt to sneak a hand beneath the confines of her clothing. And though a part of her wished he would, she was certainly too shy to say so. By the time the sun had set, Morrigan knew every freckle, every laugh line, and every scar. Again she couldn’t help but notice the large marks on his back peeking out from the corners of his tunic, and she wondered where they had come from.
After a while, she decided to change his bandages again. She was relieved to see the angry swelling had disappeared completely, to be replaced by a slight scab that ran the length of his forearm. It hardly seemed in need of attention, but she went through her cleansing ritual anyway and even managed to force a few more antibiotics down this throat. It seemed strange that the wound would heal so quickly. She said as much to Tiarn, and he shrugged nonchalantly as he stoked the fire.
“Lycans heal much faster than humans,” he explained. “As do witches, though I pray you never have cause to prove my words true.”
Just as she was taping up the last of the gauze, Brigid arrived again, this time bearing supper. Morrigan couldn’t believe so much time had passed already. She barely even felt hungry after their late breakfast, but Tiarn tore greedily into the meal, gnawing at the large turkey leg and shoving spoonful after spoonful of vegetables into his mouth even as he swore that lycans preferred to eat only red meat. Morrigan rolled her eyes at him.
“You should slow down there, wolf man,” she teased. “You’re getting over a serious infection. I don’t know how you can eat like that after you were so sick yesterday.”
Tiarn ignored her advice and continued to gorge on his turkey, even while he eyed up the dessert of fresh apple pie. “Nonsense! I must have proper sustenance if I am to have the strength to continue our travels.”
Morrigan laughed, thinking that men of all worlds seemed to think the same way. She ate a much smaller portion of the meal. When they were finished, they cleaned up and put the used clayware outside the door so there would be no reason for Brigid to disturb them again. Tiarn sat back down in front of the fire and gestured for her to join him. It was getting chilly in the room, so both the warmth of the flames and his arms were a welcome indulgence. Seemingly unsatisfied with his large meal, he proceeded to nibble on the nape of her neck. It sent shivers up her spine. She ran her fingers along his arms and noticed a particularly long scar hiding underneath the thick, dark hair. It reminded her she had made a vow to learn the whole truth about her would-be-boyfriend.
“Tiarn,” she whispered as he continued to kiss her neck, “can we talk?”
“What do you wish to know? More questions of wars and witches? I will do my best to quench your curiosity, but might it not wait for another time?”
He tried to kiss her again, but she pulled away. He looked so hurt that she took his hand to try to assure him that things were okay between them. She needed answers, and she had no idea when they would have this kind of peace and solitude again.
“Tiarn, you said some things last night—”
He immediately cast down his eyes. “Princess, I was delirious from fever. You cannot chastise me for words uttered in sickness.”
“No, it’s not like that. I’m not angry with you. You didn’t do or say anything to hurt me. But you. . . .” She hesitated. “You mentioned a child. A child that had died.”
He pulled his hand away. “I do not speak of that day.”
“I know it must be painful, but if we’re going to be together, we need to accept one another completely—the good and the bad.”
Tiarn snorted, his good mood lost in an instant. “And what do you know of good and evil, Princess? Yo
u do not even know who you are.”
Morrigan was a little hurt by the rebuke. “I may have just learned who my parents are. But I have always known who I am. DNA doesn’t change the person I am on the inside.”
“You are right,” Tiarn apologized. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed every digit. “I did not mean to deal harshly with you. It is just that it is not easy for me to speak of the horrors that befell me that day.”
“Tiarn, you claim I helped to heal you last night,” she said as she pulled him close. “If that’s true, then let me help to heal this pain that haunts you. I promise I won’t judge you. I just want to help you.”
He nodded, but looked forlorn. “Very well, Princess. I only pray you still feel the same after you have learned the truth. It is a monster whom you have welcomed into the circle of your arms.” He sighed and stared into the fireplace. “It was just over two years ago. A beautiful day that hid any foreboding premonitions with its sunny and cloudless sky. I was travelling in the company of a band of gypsies. They have always been less judgmental of my kind, perhaps because they are considered outcasts of society themselves. After my parents moved on from this world, the gypsies became my family.
“In our travels, we came upon a small village, very much like this one. We intended to stay on for a few weeks so we could stock up on supplies. The women would earn coins dancing and telling fortunes while the men worked odd jobs. While we were there, my closest friend became smitten with the maiden daughter of the town mayor, who also happened to be betrothed to the local judge. They could not sway her interest, and she even talked of joining us when we moved on to the next town. Her father was furious his well-laid plans were suddenly being upheaved. So he accused my friend of theft and with the help of the judge, had him tried and convicted. The punishment for his conviction was to lose a hand.”
He sighed. “He was my friend, and he was being persecuted for nothing but loving the wrong woman. Of course the other gypsies were furious as well, but the town’s people far outnumbered them. In my mortal form, I could only stand by helplessly while they mutilated him. So I took on my wolf form, transforming right in front of the villagers. I had no intention of harming them. I planned only to distract them. As I had guessed they would, the men instantly flew from the stocks, intent on killing me. This left the other gypsies free to release my friend from his bondage and flee.
“After this point, things become unclear in my mind. It is much easier to allow the change, than to call the beast back. The longer I am in wolf form, the less humanity I retain. I become an animal with no conscience and no remorse. Once released, the wolf demands the freedom of the wild. It wants to run free, howl at the moons, and . . . feed.” He shuddered. “As the pure, unhindered animal form took control, my human consciousness must have slipped away. One moment, I was running through the underbrush, enjoying the wind in my fur. The next I knew, I was once again a man, lying naked on the edge of the town. My hands were covered in blood, and beside me . . . beside me lay the boy.”
His voice broke. There was no hint of his normal sarcasm and arrogance. He presented to her his raw, broken heart just as she had requested. Yet he did not weep. It seemed he wouldn’t allow himself the comfort of tears. Only when she held him close, wrapping her arms around him, did he finally release the emotion he had repressed for so long. His body shook with sobs.
“I swear, Morrigan, I do not remember. I do not know how it happened. I would never, in my right mind, harm anyone, least of all a child. Perhaps he was too close to a chicken or the wolf mistook him for a lamb it was tracking. But my musings are meaningless. There are no excuses for what I have done. The boy-child is dead at my hands . . . dead by the fangs of the beast within me.”
Morrigan wished she could offer him some words of comfort. What words were there to soothe such agony? He seemed content and even surprised she was still beside him at all. Instead of speaking, she encouraged him to continue with a squeeze of his hand.
“It did not take long for the villagers and gypsies to converge upon me. Nothing brings people together like the senseless death of a child. Even these two groups, who had once been enemies, now had the common goal to destroy me. My own dear friend, for whom I had risked all, was among the army of torches and pitchforks that led me to the same prison from which I had freed him. I surely could have saved myself had I transformed again, but I knew I deserved their punishment, and I did not fight them.
“It was decreed I was to die, but a merciful death was too easy a punishment for my crime. In the days that followed, they whipped me almost every hour. They denied me food and drink and left me naked and broken in the town square where children would throw rotten food at me. I wished for death, and yet, I knew it was a mercy I did not deserve. I lingered there for what may have been days or weeks, lost somewhere between life and death, and consumed by guilt. I was a condemned man waiting for the executioner. It was at my darkest hour that Hecate arrived.”
“My grandmother?” Morrigan asked, surprised.
“Yes. At the time, she was still the reigning queen and was passing through the town on royal business. She arrived in a black, horse-drawn carriage, draped in her black veils, with her large hound at her feet. At first I thought it was the Goddess Hecate, come to take me to the underworld. It was not until she spoke that I realized it was just the queen who bore her name. Through a haze of pain, I heard her chastise the villagers for ‘unlawful torture’ and ‘providing no fair trial’. The words touched my ears, but meant nothing. I waited patiently for death and endured the punishment I knew I deserved. But to my surprise, the physical torture ended that day. I only vaguely remember being freed from the stocks by the guards and carried to Hecate’s own carriage. She spoke to me only once for the duration of the ride. ‘Swear to serve me, and I will save your wretched life,’ she said to me.
“I managed to nod before the pain claimed me and I fell into darkness. The next few days made our struggles last night seem tame in comparison. The healer’s medicines often seemed far worse than the torture. Nevertheless, in time their cures worked, and I awoke one day, healthy and strong, but forever changed.”
Tiarn no longer wept, but Morrigan wept for him. Her poor, dark knight had suffered like no other, and she wanted nothing but to heal the wounds within him. Such things were not in her power, even if she was a witch. Some wounds went so deep; they could never be healed completely. Perhaps her love would be the crutch he needed to continue on his journey through life with some happiness.
“Hecate let me go, but promised she would call me when my services were required. She did so just a few short days ago. She requested I go through the portal to retrieve her granddaughter. I was honor bound to answer her summons, and so I went as I swore I would. And here we are, and here my story ends.”
“Here we are,” Morrigan repeated quietly. “And I, for one, am grateful my grandmother saved you.” She tried to give him a small smile. “I told you royalty weren’t so bad.”
He smiled back, but it did not touch his eyes. “I know I should be grateful to Hecate for saving my life. Yet, at times, I feel it is a greater punishment to live with the knowledge I took that innocent life. Sometimes, I wish she had left me to the villagers.”
“Please don’t say that, Tiarn!” Morrigan begged.
Morrigan, though horrified by all that he had suffered, felt no anger or disgust. She only shared his grief and his remorse. She held him and dried his tear streaked cheeks with the touch of her lips. He kissed her back in desperation. Their tears mingled, became one. At first she thought he might never release her from his embrace. It was deep and sensual and she felt herself sinking into it completely. But then he suddenly pushed her away. He stood and leaned against the hearth of the fireplace and wiped at his tear strained eyes, seemingly angry to have allowed himself this one small weakness.
“How can you stand to touch me now that you know the truth? I am a killer! I killed an innocent child! I am not worthy of you
r sympathy or your love.”
“And yet you have them both.” She stood and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It was an accident, Tiarn. It was the wolf and not the man. What happened isn’t your fault!”
“Do not delude yourself, Morrigan. The wolf and the man are one in the same. And the sins of that horrible day may well be repeated.”
She turned his head toward her. He didn’t fight her touch or the grief that poured forth from the depths of his soul. “You aren’t alone anymore, Tiarn. You can fight the power the wolf has over you. We will fight it together.”
“Oh, my beautiful princess. You almost make me believe I could be saved.”
Filled with a passion born from deep grief, he grabbed her up into his arms, and she gladly offered him refuge. They remained locked together, until at last they fell exhausted onto the rug beside the fire. They laid there for hours, exalting in their closeness and feeling happily cut off from the rest of the world. For just a few minutes, there was no past for either of them and no potentially fatal battle in their future. There was only the two of them and the budding romance they shared.
“You are a remarkable, beautiful woman,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Yet as much as I would love to linger in your arms forever, I will not take you as my lover this night. No matter how much our groins may beg for it.”
“Why?” Morrigan teased, though she blushed just the same. “Because my grandmother told you my maidenhead needs to stay intact?”
“It is not for Hecate that I make this sacrifice, but for you,” he whispered, still serious. “I would be doing you a dishonor to take you outside of our wedding bed.” Morrigan knew she turned beat red at the very mention of marriage. Yet, it didn’t seem nearly as insane an option to marry at seventeen than it would have just a few days earlier. “Come,” he told her. “This night, we will but slumber beside one another. We have the rest of our lives for more.”
As he stood, he suddenly grimaced and gripped his belly. Morrigan felt an immediate rush of concern, fearing he was having a relapse. “Tiarn?”
