“Do not forget, Fagan, that I am no longer a young novice studying at your knee. The killing of my betrothed took place before my sister’s sacrifice, which washed all vestiges of demon from the hybrids’ blood.”
This time it was Brighid’s words that broke the simmering tension. “Master Fagan, you know Cuchulainn. You also know what he has lost. If he has forgiven them and accepted them, does that not speak well on their behalf?” she said. “Can you do any less than to show them the respect Cuchulainn’s love has won for them?”
Cuchulainn’s eyes met hers. He looked as surprised as she felt at her own words. Love was not an emotion she spoke of openly-it simply wasn’t her way. But she Felt the rightness of what she had said, with the instinctual knowledge she was beginning to trust more and more easily. Cuchulainn did love the New Fomorians. They had quite probably saved his life.
And what of her feelings? She had just proclaimed to a Master Swordsman of the Guardian Warriors that little Liam, a winged hybrid Fomorian male child, was her apprentice. Could she have fallen in love with at least one of the children herself?
She’d never considered herself maternal-just the opposite actually. But she did know enough of the world to understand that blood did not automatically make a parent or a family. Love did. And trust. And bravery. And honesty. Liam had all of those things in excess. He also, she decided irrevocably, had her.
“Lead on, Huntress,” Fagan said, with a sudden smile that transformed his gruff face. “Let me meet these so-called New Fomorians who seem to have bewitched not only my favorite pupil, but a famous centaur Huntress as well.”
Brighid tilted her head in a small bow of acknowledgment, but her eyes flashed to the dark warriors who filled the pass and remained obviously armed and on guard.
“I have never before met a Guardian Warrior, but from the stories I have heard, it is a surprise they would stand armed against a group of children,” the Huntress said with thinly veiled sarcasm.
“Guardian Warriors do not fight children,” Fagan said.
Brighid lifted one mocking brow.
In response to Fagan’s slight arm motion, the army rippled to a more relaxed stance. “My guard, to me!” Fagan barked and six warriors stepped from the front of the line to join them.
Brighid’s smile was feral. “I, too, was nervous when I first met the children. Of course I am only a mere Huntress and not a Master Swordsman of the Guardian Warriors.”
“What is the first lesson you learned as my pupil, Cuchulainn?” Fagan fired the question at Cu without breaking eye contact with Brighid.
“To remain ever vigilant,” Cu replied automatically.
“My guard remains with me,” Fagan said.
Brighid snorted.
“As you wish, Master Fagan,” Cuchulainn said. “But direct them to keep their weapons sheathed. There’s no need for your vigilance to frighten the children.”
Fagan called a quick order to the somber men. Without another word, the three of them, followed closely by the Swordmaster’s elite guard, walked toward the crowd of silent children.
Brighid and Cuchulainn’s eyes met quickly with a look of mutual amusement.
“Perhaps you might want to prepare yourself, Master,” Cu said.
Fagan’s brows disappeared into the line of his thick graying hair. “A Guardian Warrior is always prepared.”
“Under normal circumstances, one would certainly think so,” Cu said.
“But these,” Brighid said, sharing a secret look with Cu, “are not normal circumstances.”
They approached the campfire. Nara knelt over Liam. They didn’t need to see her face to read the taut concentration in her body. Her hands moved quickly, and Brighid caught a glimpse of a curved bone needle as it flashed up from the torn wing and then back down again. The Huntress’s gut quivered as she realized Nara was sewing together the ragged edges of Liam’s wing. The Healer hid most of the boy’s body with her own, but Brighid could still see that Liam was lying too still, and she had a sudden moment of raw fear. Had he lost consciousness? Was he more severely wounded than she had believed?
“He is asleep, Huntress,” Nara said without taking her concentration from the boy. “I have given him a dram to ease his pain and make him sleep. He will not wake until morning.”
“Thank you,” Brighid said, surprised that her voice sounded so normal because she felt like someone had hollowed out her gut. Then the Huntress turned to Fagan. In a low, angry voice she said, “This is the child your warrior shot. Take a good look at what you think might be a demon.” Before Cuchulainn could stop her, the centaur grabbed Fagan’s arm and pulled him roughly around Nara ’s body so he had a clear view of Liam. The six warriors of Fagan’s guard moved menacingly forward and the Huntress whirled on them.
“Draw your weapons around this child and you will answer to my wrath!”
Cuchulainn stepped to her side, “And to the wrath of Clan MacCallan.”
Fagan made a restraining motion and the six men warily stood down. But as they began to step back, Brighid’s hard voice stayed them.
“No, come closer with your Master. You, too, should see what it is you wish to destroy.”
Hesitantly the men crowded around Nara and peered down at Liam. The child looked fragile and pale and broken. His round young face was streaked with tears and dirt, and his blond hair had fallen over one of his closed eyes. One dusky wing was folded neatly against his small body. The other one lay open across Nara ’s lap. The tear in it was jagged, as if the arrow had taken a ragged bite instead of piercing neatly. Blood oozed freely from the gash, even though Nara was tying the wound tightly together.
“If the bleeding does not slow, I will have to cauterize it,” Nara said, still keeping her attention focused on her patient, “but I would rather not. It would permanently injure the growing membranes of his wing. He is too young to bear the burden of being crippled.”
“Will he heal?” Cuchulainn asked the question when it was obvious that Brighid could not find her voice.
“Only the Goddess knows. But he is young and strong,” Nara said, then she did look up from her patient, into Fagan’s eyes. Her voice was friendly. “Do you have children, warrior?”
“No. I have not been so fortunate,” Fagan answered.
The Healer’s gaze traveled to the other six men all dressed similarly in black. “Are any of you fathers?”
Four of the six nodded slowly.
“Sons or daughters?” The Healer asked in a warm, conversational tone.
The four men glanced at their Master, who nodded. His men answered quickly.
“I have two sons.”
“I have a daughter.”
“Three daughters and a son.”
“I have three sons.”
Nara smiled at each man as he answered.
“You have been richly blessed. Tell me, have any of you ever made a mistake?”
The men did not speak, but each of them nodded.
“Would it not pain you terribly if your children were blamed for your mistakes?”
“It would,” the father of three sons said. The other men nodded again slowly.
“I pray to Epona that you will never know that pain,” she said earnestly. Then the Healer turned her distinctive green eyes back to Fagan.
“Warrior, do you believe a child should pay the price for the sins of his father?” There was no malice in her tone, just gentle questioning.
“No,” Fagan said. “I do not.”
“Then let us hope this boy heals, because if he does not then that is exactly what will have happened-he will pay the price for the sins of a grandfather he never knew.”
“We will beseech Epona that Liam heals and is whole again soon.” Ciara’s musical voice drew the gaze of each of the warriors. The Shaman walked gracefully to the group of men, and then with a fluid movement she curtsied deeply before Fagan. “Well met, Guardian Warriors. I am Ciara, granddaughter of the Incarnate Goddess Terpsichore. I am also Shaman of the New Fomorians, and I greet you on behalf of my people.”