“However you want to do it is fine with me,” he said carefully.
“Oh, stop it!” she snapped.
“Stop what?”
She raised herself up on her elbow and jerked her chin at his stiff arms and motionless body. “You’re acting like you’ve never been in bed with a female before.”
This time only one eyebrow went up and his lip twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. “Is that how you’d like to relax me?”
She frowned at him. “Of course not.” She wouldn’t think about how having him there, so close beside her made her stomach tighten. She wouldn’t think about it, and she certainly wouldn’t mention it. She reclined back on the mound of bedding. “But you sound more like yourself now.”
“You’re a wily one, Huntress.”
“Just close your eyes and concentrate on being open. Remember, I can’t force your soul back. He has to want to come, and you have to accept him.”
“I’m ready.”
By the Goddess, she wished she was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
She reached into her vest pocket and pulled out the turquoise stone. Holding it tightly in her fist, she closed her eyes. Think of it as a hunt, she ordered herself. It’s not that different. Today it’s a shattered spirit I’m tracking instead of an animal. Brighid drew in a deep, slow breath and centered herself. As she did each day before a new hunt, she imagined a powerful light originating deep within the base of her spine, and as she breathed out, the power flowed around her. When she drew her next breath she imagined breathing in the light and letting it fill her body; then she breathed out again, again filling the space around her with the brilliant, powerful light.
As she continued to center herself, she imagined where she would begin the hunt-and for a moment she faltered. Where was her prey? Usually she would cast her thoughts out to the surrounding forest, seeking the flitting spark that she could always Feel as distinctly different for each animal. Finding the creature’s light always showed her where to seek her prey. But Cu had looked exactly like himself-she had no idea what color his spirit light would be, or even if it had a light at all. Consequently she had no clue as to where Cu’s habitat would be.
Should she break her meditation and ask him about his favorite places? No…he’d come to her before. She hadn’t had to seek him. He’d visited her favorite place-the Centaur Plains. Feeling suddenly more confident, Brighid focused her mind on the homeland of her youth.
She didn’t know her spirit had left her body until she felt the warm breeze on her cheeks. Even before she opened her eyes she knew she was there-the breeze had told her. It smelled of tall grasses and freedom.
Brighid smiled, and opened her eyes. She had returned to the cross-timbers near her family’s summer settlement. She could hear the Sand Creek tumbling lazily through the shady grove of oak and ash and hackberry trees directly in front of her.
In her dream she had heard Cuchulainn’s laughter, and that had led her to him, so she stood quietly, listening to the caressing breeze. Hearing only birdsong, she sighed in frustration.
Track him, she reminded herself. The Huntress studied the ground. Nothing. How was she supposed to track a spirit?
Ask for help, child…
Etain’s voice whispered on the wind. Brighid started, and looked around her. She saw no one, but her instincts told her she was not alone. Etain’s presence was watching, and Brighid couldn’t decide whether that made her feel better, or even more nervous. Stop worrying and think! she told herself.
Ask for help…
She squared her shoulders and, feeling a little foolish, the Huntress called into the wind. “I’m out of my element in this particular hunt, and I could really use some help!”
The familiar cry came from above her, and she looked up, shielding her eyes against the bright spring sun. The golden hawk circled over her head. Brighid felt a rush of excitement. The bird must truly be her spirit ally.
This time no words formed in her head, but the hawk dipped its wing and changed direction, heading away from the Sand Creek and out into the grassy plain. Without hesitation, Brighid cantered after it, trying not to get lost in the sensual experience of moving through the waving grass. The plains called to her blood. She could run there forever. Dividing her attention between the land and the hawk, she increased her pace, moving from canter to gallop and taking fierce pleasure in the bunching of her equine muscles and the satisfying way her hooves struck the rich earth.
She would have galloped past him if he hadn’t called her name. Cuchulainn stood on a gentle rise. Hands on his hips, he watched her slide to a stop and then gallop back to him.
“So, I see you took the gelding away from me. Why? Afraid that he would beat you in a race this time?” Then his gaze purposefully lingered on the slick equine muscles of her hindquarters. “Are you slowing up, old girl? You are looking a little…healthy. What have you been eating?”
Brighid opened her mouth in shock. Was the scoundrel saying she was old and fat?
Cuchulainn tipped his head back and let his laughter roll, which caused the Huntress to scowl darkly at him. “Oh, Goddess!” He held his side, gasping between chortles. “You should see your face!”
“You should see yours. You look ridiculous laughing like a village fool,” she grumped.
Still chuckling, he flopped down on the ground, looking boylike and terribly young, especially when she contrasted this carefree warrior with the haggard, world-weary man whose body rested beside hers at MacCallan Castle.
“What shall we do today, Brighid? Go back to the creek and fish? Or, if you’d produce my horse we could track some bison. I’ve always wanted to hunt bison. Tell me, are their tempers as evil as my father says?”
Instead of answering, the Huntress studied him. She had been wrong when she had thought Cuchulainn didn’t have a light of his own. How could she not have seen it before? The warrior shone like a young, golden god. He was filled to overflowing with life and joy.
Cu needed this part of himself, and the young godling needed the strength of the mature warrior who had stayed with his body and chosen to cling to life and try to survive the pain of loss.
Undaunted by her silence, Cuchulainn smiled at her. “Fine. We’ll do what you want to do. It is your dream.”
“It’s time to come home now, Cu,” she said.
The warrior shrugged and jumped lithely to his feet. “It’s your decision-your dream. Of course there aren’t any bison there, but the deer are amusingly suicidal. Want to see who can bring one down first?”
“No hunting. No dreaming. No more pretending. It’s time to come home.”
He huffed out some air on a strangled half laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brighid. Like I said before, it’s your dream. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Stop it,” she snapped, surprising them both with her vehemence. “This charade dishonors her memory. I understand grief. I understand loss. But I do not understand dishonor.”
Cuchulainn’s face lost some of its golden glow. “You’re not making sense.”
“Enough, Cuchulainn. You remember, I know you do. It’s time to face the real world. Back there we’re not rebuilding Elphame’s chambers. That was almost three cycles of the moon ago. Your sister’s chamber is finished. Much of the castle has been rebuilt, but you haven’t been there to see it. You’ve been in the Wastelands in self-imposed exile, grieving for Brenna.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
“No,” she said wearily. “I wish I were wrong. I wish I could undo it. But I can’t. You loved Brenna, and she was killed.”
“Why are you doing this?”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “When Brenna died, it shattered your soul. Since then part of you has been living and breathing and trying to cope with grief and guilt and pain. Trying to go on with everyday life. And I can tell you it has been damned hard for him because the part of his spirit that loves life-that’s filled with joy and hope and happiness-is here,” she spoke softly. “That’s what you are, Cu. A piece of a whole. Look inside yourself. You’re incomplete and you know it.”