They were silent, the two friends, both gazing out at the sleeping forest, considering the weight of Brighid’s words.
“Had I been more experienced in the ways of the spirit world, I would have guessed your truth. Now that you tell me, it seems obvious,” Elphame said. She glanced at Brighid. “Mama knows, doesn’t she?”
“Your mother knows everything,” Brighid said with a smile.
“Everything important,” Elphame added.
“No, I’m beginning to think she knows everything.” Both women laughed softly.
“That’s Mama,” Elphame said. “She’s scary and amazing and wonderful.”
Brighid hesitated for a moment, then said, “Today she told me that I remind her of you.”
Elphame grinned. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I have to tell you that after traveling with her and getting to know her that I am envious of you, El. I can only imagine what it would be like to have a mother who loved me selflessly.”
Elphame tilted her head and looked up at her friend. “It is a priceless gift,” she said simply.
“One I will never know.”
“You don’t have to be born someone’s daughter to share in her love.”
Now it was Brighid’s turn to blink in surprise at her Chieftain. Elphame grinned at her. “Mama has two daughters, but she has said over and over that she wished Epona had gifted her with more.”
The Huntress felt a rush of hot emotion. Acceptance. This was what it was like to be truly accepted and loved and honored for herself. And Elphame wasn’t jealous of her, or angry, or shocked. She was clearly pleased at the prospect of sharing her mother’s love with Brighid. It was miraculous.
Then guilt washed over Brighid. She had a mother. True, Mairearad was selfish and manipulative, and clearly cared more about herself than her offspring, but she was her mother nonetheless. How was it possible to have two mothers at once?
It wasn’t. By the Goddess, she wished it was possible. But it wasn’t.
“Brighid,” Elphame said softly, touching her arm. “Don’t let it tear you apart. Can you not accept one mother’s love without negating the other?”
“Isn’t that a betrayal?” Brighid asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice from trembling.
“No, sister. You are not capable of betrayal. Look elsewhere for that.”
“I’ll try…” she whispered. Turning her head away from Elphame, she wiped at the wetness that had leaked onto her cheeks. And a flicker of movement caught her eye. She refocused her vision. Two figures moved between the torches that illuminated Brenna’s grave site. One was a man, the other a wolf cub.
“It’s Cu,” Elphame breathed.
The warrior walked to the head of Brenna’s tomb. He stood very still, and then he cupped her stone cheek with his hand. Slowly he bent. Brighid thought he would kiss the effigy’s lips, but he simply rested his forehead against the unyielding marble. Then he turned, and stumbled into the darkness, with the wolf silently trailing him.
“I denied the Shaman power within my blood,” Brighid said softly. “Then I found your brother in the Wastelands-shattered and despairing, and somehow I have come to understand that I can help him. But that’s all that I really do understand. I don’t know why, but Epona has made you and your brother a part of my destiny.”
Elphame turned to her. “Our Goddess is wise. There is no one I would rather trust my brother to than you.”
“I hope I’m worthy of your trust.”
“You are, my sister.” Elphame smiled, and the hair on Brighid’s forearms prickled and lifted as motes of power swirled suddenly, unexpectedly in the air around them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Her chamber had been aired and made ready for her. It had been built as an addition to the warrior’s barracks, an extension of the long, narrow room that currently housed the New Fomorians. Elphame had ordered a thick wall constructed between the traditional barracks and the Huntress’s quarters, and she had even insisted the spacious room have a private entrance. Brighid didn’t need all the fuss, but her Chieftain had shrugged off Brighid’s protestations and created a chamber befitting the MacCallan Huntress. It was private and well appointed. And, Brighid noted with pleasure, in the days she had been gone someone had hung a tapestry depicting the Centaur Plains, flush with spring wildflowers and dotted with dark bison, along one of the walls.
“May the Goddess bless her,” Brighid whispered, knowing that it was Elphame who had covered Brighid’s walls with scenes from her childhood. Elphame understood her well.
One of the housekeepers had been considerate enough to start a cheery fire in the hearth, as well as light the sets of tall candelabrum that stood like iron sentinels around the room. The long, narrow chamber was sparsely furnished with a large dresser, a sturdily built table-constructed to centaur proportions-and an enormous down-filled mattress, which rested directly on the marble floor.
Brighid drew in a long breath, loving the familiar scent of the MacCallan candles, which were made by crushing oily leaves of local lavender into the wax. Then she smiled. May the Goddess bless Wynne and her bevy of cooks! On the table sat a basket filled with cold meats, cheeses, bread, dried fruit and-best of all-a skin of-she uncapped it and took a long, deep pull-excellent red wine from Etain’s own vineyards.
Brighid popped a piece of cheese in her mouth. They knew her habits. They understood that she enjoyed a snack during the night and that sometimes she rose even before the cooks. They wanted to make sure she had provisions. They cared.
She hadn’t lived here for more than three full cycles of the moon, yet every scent, every face, every touch, spoke to her of safety and acceptance. I think I’ve finally found my place.
It was a unique, wondrous experience to have a castle filled with people who worried after her and cared about her comfort. What would her mother think if she could see this? Brighid shook her head. Her mother wouldn’t ever see this, even if she were to stand in this very room. Mairearad Dhianna could see only shadows, never the light that cast them. She would find fault with Clan MacCallan and belittle their affection for Brighid.
Why was she thinking about her mother? That part of her life was over.
It was because she was so damned tired. The trip had been exhausting. She just needed to sleep. She’d be herself in the morning. Tomorrow she’d be sure the New Fomorians were settled-there was talk of building a village for them on the plateau south of the castle. Perhaps she would take Liam there.
She sighed, methodically blowing out the scented candles, until the only light came from the flickering hearth fire. What was she going to do about Liam? She’d proclaimed him her apprentice. She’d have to begin training him. Tracking, she thought with satisfaction, set him at scouting out different tracks-identifying…following…naming…categorizing. Tracking took most apprentice Huntresses years to master. She’d just keep him busy.
If she got lucky, he’d lose interest.
Ignoring the hard lump of the turquoise stone in her breast pocket, the Huntress shrugged out of her vest, and poured fresh water from the pitcher to the bowl that waited atop the dresser. Using the thick linen towel she found hanging from a hook shaped like a dagger, she freshened herself, and then she sighed deeply as she settled on her bed. Tonight she would sleep soundly. Tomorrow she would consider all the ramifications of the turquoise stone and the soul retrieval and the damned golden hawk she had conveniently been too busy to mention except to Cuchulainn. Tomorrow would be soon enough…