by Dee, Bonnie
The blood spatters were all over the place, not pooled beneath the corpses. This led Clark to speculate that they had been moved during and after the massacre. Who had done that? Where were the hands? Where were the clothes and weapons? Why were they slain in this manner? And why had they found a fresh corpse murdered exactly as these ancient men had been slaughtered?
The body of Tom Brennan, one of the guards, had been discovered earlier that morning stashed beneath some heavy underbrush near the perimeter of the site. His lips were drawn back in a hideous rictus of pain. And his hands were gone, just like those poor souls in the cave. A soggy, heavy dual trail of blood led from behind the electronics van, where it appeared he had fallen, to the brush, where his body had been found. His watch and all his jewelry had been stripped from him. His gun, his walkie-talkie. Everything.
There was no family to inform of his murder. His wife had died the year before in an accident and he had been drinking more and more each day. Clark had hired him only as a favor to Eddie Doohan, one of the other guards. They hadn’t even looked that hard for him, figuring he’d drunk himself into a stupor and was somewhere sleeping it off. Eddie had found him and, after puking up his guts, had beat himself up for not searching harder for Tom. It was only when they realized that he had been dead long before Eddie had found the body that he stopped blaming himself.
Eddie had driven into town and informed Macklin, the garda officer. They all agreed to keep it under wraps for the present. No need getting the townspeople upset. Yet. Only Lord Nolen had been informed as he was informed of everything that went on in the town.
Who the hell could have killed poor Tom? And in such a manner? Macklin had immediately thought of the members of the Warrior Cave team, as they called the people working on the site. Other than Macklin, they were the only ones who had seen the inside of the cave, the only ones who knew about the missing hands. Whoever had done this had to be crazy and no one on the team had any history of mental illness. But they were the one lead that Macklin had in this bizarre, horrible murder.
Clark could only be grateful that the camera crews had left before the body had been discovered. He sat on the cave floor and pondered the bodies. Something niggled at his brain. Something about the hands, but damned if he could put his finger on it. Well, nothing more he could do now. Macklin was questioning each of the team members one by one inside the electronics van. It would be his turn soon. Till then he’d sit here in the quiet of the cave and try not to think of hands.
Chapter Two
29th April—Midday
“It’s gorgeous here. I’m so glad we came.”
Brigid’s smile lit up the forest as she twirled, her unbound hair flaring around her. She threw herself down next to Gabe, who lay stretched out on the blanket they had brought with them, the remains of their picnic scattered about him. She sighed with contentment and turned her head to look at him. For the first time in a long time, he had slept through the night without any bad dreams. When she’d tiptoed to open the window for some fresh air, he had been sleeping so deeply, he hadn’t heard her raise the squeaky window.
They’d slept late, making love before they had even gotten out of bed and then fallen back to sleep, not leaving the cottage until after they’d raided the fridge and found a feast. Lemonade, sliced beef and cheese sandwiches, potato cakes, apples and pears had been left for them. In the cabinets were hand-crafted crockery, linen napkins, chunky glass goblets making for the most elegant picnic Brigid had ever had. She gazed at the beautiful birch trees, listened to the clear running stream and the birds. It was like paradise. To think, they’d almost missed out on all this. “I’m going to rinse everything at that stream we passed. Shouldn’t take me long. Just relax.”
She rose to leave, but he grabbed her hand.
“Not yet. It’s very secluded here.” He smiled and ran his hand up her arm. “Connelly told us not many of the townspeople come this way.” He tugged her and she fell across his chest. “Make love with me. Here. Now.”
His fingers tangled in her hair as he plunged his tongue in her mouth. She moaned and pressed against him, undulating her body. His hands slipped under her T-shirt and he groaned as he felt her smooth skin beneath his fingers.
No bra.
He pulled the shirt over her head, exposing her breasts to the fresh air, and her nipples tightened. He slid his hands under her shorts, trying to take them off.
“Let me,” Brigid said.
She lifted off Gabe’s body and, with trembling hands, unbuttoned and unzipped her denim shorts. She pulled them off with her panties and tossed them on to the blanket. She’d never seen him like this before. Oh, he was a vigorous lover, but yesterday and this morning, he was demanding, a little rough and seemingly insatiable. They had made love only a little while ago and now he was hungry for more. She giggled. Maybe it was something in the air.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Me. Us. Making love where anyone could find us.”
He frowned. “You’re right.” He brightened. “I’ll leave my clothes on. Make love to me now before they find us.”
“You!”
She undid his fly and released his penis. He was hard and hot in her hands. She rose to her knees and then sank down, feeling him slip into her sex as easily as a key in a lock. She closed her eyes and rocked on him, the sun kissing her skin while she inhaled the potent mix of sex and the forest smells. She pictured what the two of them looked like in the middle of the woods, making love. She moved faster, an exquisite ache building in her core. She kept her eyes shut as she thought of the shadows of the leaves dappling their skin, the fresh, pure touch of the morning dew coating their bodies. Faster. She moved faster, racing to achieve her climax. She grunted as her movements grew choppier. She felt rough, callused hands on her ass, kneading her flesh, urging her to come with him. Join with him.
“That’s it, my bright love. Now!”
The orgasm that ripped through her was greater than any she had ever experienced. She screamed and opened her eyes.
And for one split second, the man beneath her was a total stranger.
And she fainted.
*
“Bridge? Darling? Are you okay? Wake up!”
She felt a soft cloth on her brow and opened her eyes. Gabe gazed down at her, his face filled with concern.
“You scared me, darling. You’ve never fainted after we made love.”
“I’m okay.” She smiled. “You’ve never before made love to me like that.” She chuckled. “You’ve become a randy goat in your middle age!”
He laughed. “Yeah. You’re okay, all right.” He cupped her bare breast. “Get dressed and relax. We’ll clean up later.” He smiled ruefully. “I think I could use a little time to recharge my batteries.”
“I didn’t know you used batteries,” she teased as she put on her clothes. “I want to freshen up a bit. I’ll take the picnic dishes with me. I promise I’ll hurry back.”
“You sure, hon?”
She nodded.
“Well, you know, I think I will take a snooze. Wake me up when you come back and we’ll do some exploring.”
Brigid gathered everything up in one of the large linen napkins and headed to the stream about a half-mile away. The countryside pulled at her; the woods seemed eerily familiar. She shrugged off the feeling. All forests looked the same. All birds sang as sweetly. Every breeze caressed her skin. There was nothing different about this place. Nothing. Except that she thought she had just fucked a stranger! She shook her head. It was just a weird dream.
Right.
She found the stream without any problem and knelt by the water. For a few moments she let her fingers drift in the gentle current. The water was so clear you could see straight to the bottom. Was it drinkable? She cupped her hands and brought a small mouthful to her lips. It tasted sweet and pure. She splashed her face and neck with the glittering drops, letting them trickle down the front of her T-shirt. She closed her eyes an
d savored the moment. The scents of the forest. The peace.
* * * *
Torc gazed in fascination at the woman. He had strayed from Cull and Ma’an to empty his bowels. Heading back to cross the stream, he heard the sounds the female had made as she marched noisily through the woods. He watched in silence as she knelt on the bank. Watched as her buttocks were displayed for his pleasure by the strange, tight clothing she wore. Her skimpy blouse barely shielded her full, lush breasts and he could see her nipples thrusting out the material. Golden hair like the sun swung freely, shielding her face as she bent to drink from the stream. He could span her waist with his hands and her sweetly rounded ass begged to be fondled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a female. His cock grew as he thought of how it would feel to take the woman from behind. She might get up at any moment. If he were to take her, now was the time to act. He crept slowly toward her, his silence at odds with his size.
Closer now.
*
Brigid grunted as the breath was crushed out of her by the great weight that crashed on top of her. Her head was flung forward, her face into the muddy bank, her hair slipping into the water. She felt a rough, hairy hand grab at her waistband, trying to drag it down. The smell of an unwashed body overwhelmed her as she raised her head from the water. There was dirt in her mouth as she tried to catch her breath and escape.
The bastard kept trying to pull down her denim shorts. The stiff material cut into her flesh. Her hand groped blindly for the utensils, trying to find a knife, even a fork, to stab him. She gasped as a blade cut into her palm as she fumbled with it. She could feel blood seeping from her wound, but she thrust wildly behind her, striking flesh and causing the man to rear back. Quickly, she rolled over and opened her eyes. And stared in mute horror at a hideously deformed face, a gaping hole where the nose should be. She opened her mouth to scream when a fist the size of a dinner plate blotted out the horrible vision and brought blessed oblivion.
* * * *
“By Luchain’s cock, what have you done now, Torc?”
Ma’an’s voice assaulted Torc’s ears and he winced.
“Is the woman dead?” Cull asked.
“Nay.” Torc’s voice was filled with wonder. “’Tis Brigid.”
“Dagda’s daughter?” Ma’an laughed incredulously.
“’Tis her,” Torc insisted. “Even with a mud bespattered face, she is beautiful enough to be a goddess.”
Ma’an and Cull took in their fill of the unconscious woman. Her scanty attire displayed her slim arms and long, shapely legs. Torc wiped the dirt from her skin as best he could and then only a bruise marred the fairness of her cheek.
“Beauteous I’ll grant you, and a strong resemblance, but the goddess Brigid? Why didn’t she pierce you with her arrows or cause you to go blind?” Ma’an asked.
“I surprised her from behind. She couldn’t speak with a mouth full of mud and she is weaponless. She did attempt to kill me with that puny knife. I don’t know for sure whether she be Brigid, but can we take the chance?”
“True. For once you are not thinking with your cock. Cull, bind her hands. We’ll take her back with us to the camp. Mayhap we can obtain useful information from her.”
“She tried to scream when she saw my face.”
“We want no screams, nor do we want her to curse us. Cull, gag her then wake her and tell her that she is our … guest. And treat her with care. I shall search the woods nearby and make sure she travels alone. I’ll join you shortly.”
Cull gently shook Brigid’s shoulder. She started, her eyes wide with fear as she looked into Cull’s bearded face. She bucked and kicked as he pulled her up into a standing position.
“Brigid, daughter of Dagda, you are our guest. We mean you no disrespect, but we must insist that you come with us.”
*
Brigid shook her head. What was he saying? Her eyes darted like a trapped fox’s as she looked for Gabe. He was nowhere in sight. Could they have found him back at their picnic site and killed him? Tears blinded her and she offered no further resistance as the man bound her wounded palm with a strip of cloth cut from her shirt and tied her wrists with a narrow leather belt from his waist. He grasped the trailing leather end and led her away from the stream.
Brigid stumbled after the bearded man, the stench of his unwashed body nearly gagging her. The horrible creature who had assaulted and tried to rape her followed behind. She glanced over her shoulder once and saw his appalling face glaring at her. He winked and rubbed his crotch, grinning. From then on, she stared straight ahead at the back of her other captor. Where the taller man was, she had no idea. Suddenly, her assailant called out and she looked behind. The clean-shaven man hurried after them. He was naked from the waist up, except for a short, dusty cape thrown over his shoulders. In one hand he carried a bulky bundle made from a dirty, bloody jacket. The men greeted him briefly, their conversation incomprehensible to her. The newcomer quickly took the lead. They led her deeper and deeper into the forest, away from the village, she assumed. She tripped once and the disfigured creature picked her up, hoisting her back to her feet. He whispered something into her ear, his stale breath making her gag. She knew his words were some lewd suggestion.
The bearded man gave her tether a slight jerk and she tripped after him, trying her best not to stumble again. Finally, they reached a large clearing. A small, grassy knoll jutted prominently at one end. A large, centuries old ash tree posed as sentinel across from her. Off in the distance, amethyst-tinged mountains climbed to the sky. As they entered farther into the glade she saw the ashy remains of a campfire.
The air around her seemed different, as though the world had taken a deep breath and hadn’t let it go.
All her strength disappeared. She fell to her knees in the dirt near the stone-encircled campfire.
She sagged forward in utter dejection. She still couldn’t believe what happened. The day had started off so wonderful. Now, her world was destroyed. This town … they should never have come here.
*
Cull stared at the dirty, forlorn female. She sat in total silence, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head bowed. Her glorious, golden hair was tangled with forest detritus. Her condition tore at Cull’s heart. Could this pathetic creature be Dagda’s daughter? She acted as if she couldn’t understand their speech. He shook his head. He would soon find out. He hunkered down and set to it. Grasping her chin, he lifted it and stared into her sky-blue eyes.
“Cull.” He pointed to his chest. “Brigid.” And he pointed to her. She repeated his name and he nodded.
He picked up a piece of kindling and drew a picture of the sun in the dirt. He pointed at it and named it, then pointed to Brigid. She was smart and caught on quickly. Soon, he had the words for dozens of objects. She nodded encouragement as he parroted them back to her. He still couldn’t communicate any sort of complicated sentence. He needed to hear more. He had always had a talent that enabled him to understand any language of which he heard enough. The best way he knew to encourage speech was to converse as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, he began.
He told her the tale of how he and his comrades found themselves in their present situation, though he believed she understood not a word. He spoke eloquently, the story flowing from him like a gushing river. Finally, he stopped, the words once more dammed up. He waved a hand in her direction and smiled as she slowly began to talk.
“I don’t know who you are, Cull, but you’re a bastard and you and your friends deserve to die a slow death, your eyes pecked put by crows and your pricks cut off. If I get the chance, I’ll kill you. So don’t turn your back on me, you piece of filth and don’t leave anything by me that I can use as a weapon, for I will use it and I will gladly strike you down. I swear it.”
She stared into his eyes and defiantly spat at his face.
Cull wiped the spittle from his cheek. By the time she had finished her tirade, he had understood her. Maybe it was the intensity
of her words, but he had never gleaned the understanding of a language as quickly. Maybe it was because she truly was Dagda’s daughter. He grinned widely. His ability to speak her tongue would shock her. Perhaps he could provoke her to confirm or deny her identity.
“Brigid of the golden hair, are you Dagda’s daughter?”
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. But her eyes held no reaction to Dagda’s name when she responded. “Dagda? I’m Brigid Kawsantower, daughter of Sean Dunleavey. You sneaky bastard, you speak English. Well, I hope you understood every word I said. And I meant every word I said. Who the hell are you? Why did that ugly bastard accost me? Why am I here? What do you want from me?”
Cull shook his head. “English? I do not know this word. Then Dagda is not your sire?”
The woman stared and shook her head. She looked so tired. The afternoon’s events must have battered at her strength.
She rubbed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Why won’t you leave me alone? Why did I ever come here?” Her voice trembled. “Maybe if I shut my eyes and wish real hard this whole day will go away.”
As though she willed it, her eyes closed and she slumped forward into the dirt at his feet.
* * * *
“Brigid, daughter, listen and do not speak. I am Dagda, your father. Let your Terran sprit awaken now in this time of need. Glean what you can from these three and know that there is another far more dangerous who threatens to destroy all who stand against him and his unbridled desire to bring the world to its knees.”
Brigid moaned and stirred. As though viewing a movie, she saw a heavily muscled man in his middle years, his golden hair lying in a long, thick braid that reached the middle of his back. In one hand he carried a huge hammer, its wooden handle carved with ancient runes. He wore a short cape of woven, natural wool and a knee-length linen tunic the color of spring grass. He stood tall and proud in an immense cave brightly lit by torches. His blue eyes looked tender and he smiled as though he could see her.
