The Huntress had shaken him to his core. Was it because she had literally touched a part of his soul? Had she been right to say that as soon as he became accustomed to being whole once more his feelings for her would go back to their proper place? What exactly was their proper place?
In his twenty-four years he had seduced many women, but had been in love with only one. His love for Brenna had been new and young and easy. Their life together would have been full-their children many. He would have happily grown old by her side. She would have been the only one for him. The first and last woman he would have loved.
And he would never have known the flame that had been ignited when he touched Brighid. When she’d kissed him his soul had rejoiced. He’d been consumed by her, and in return he wanted to possess her. His desire had been insistent and engulfing. Just the remembrance of the taste of her, the feel of her body against his own, was mesmerizing. It had been like nothing he had ever before experienced, and so overwhelming that while they touched she had become his world, as if he had been created to love her.
Surely that was just a side effect of the soul retrieval.
Regardless, they couldn’t be lovers. Brighid Dhianna was a centaur. A centaur.
He stood and paced back and forth in an attempt to relieve the energy that pulsed through his body. It was, of course, not impossible for a centaur and a human to fall in love and mate. He was a product of such a union. But that was a unique situation. His parents were lifemates because Epona always fashioned a centaur High Shaman as mate for her Chosen Incarnate. And a centaur High Shaman had the ability to shapeshift into human form so that their love could be fully consummated.
Brighid was not even a Shaman-and a High Shaman? Definitely not. To be gifted with such power was a rare and fantastic thing.
She is the eldest daughter of a High Shaman. Had she not left the herd she would have been expected to one day take her mother’s place… The thought teased him.
“But she’s chosen the life of a Huntress!” He argued aloud with himself. “Centaur Huntresses do not love human men. They rarely even form permanent bonds with centaur males. And they cannot shapeshift.”
Then why had she responded to his touch with a passion so fierce it had seemed to consume him?
What was he thinking? It had consumed him. She had breathed in his soul and then returned it to his body. That’s all there was to it. That had to be all there was to it.
There was only one word for anything else between them-impossible.
He drained the last of the wine, and then set the goblet on his bedside table. Feeling suddenly, thoroughly exhausted, he stretched out on top of the thick, down-filled linens that covered his bed. As sleep pulled him under, he could still taste her on his lips.
Cuchulainn liked waking early. It was a habit that had taken root during his warrior training. He often was up honing his skills before any of his peers had begun to stir. So rising early the next morning had nothing to do with knowing that Brighid often left the castle at dawn. He wasn’t trying to chance a meeting with the Huntress. He was just falling back into a comfortable habit.
He was hurriedly washing his face in his small private bathing chamber when he caught his reflection in the wall mirror. He looked like a gnarled old man. His hair was long and matted and wild. He frowned at his reflection. How long had there been gray in his hair? His beard was rough. He rubbed at his chin. And it itched. Cuchulainn glanced down at his kilt. It was stained and threadbare. He expelled a long breath. Little wonder Brighid had had such a startled look in her eyes last night, and had so rapidly rejected him. Not only was he a human-he was a pathetic-looking human. He sniffed. He even smelled bad.
First, he’d bathe. Then he’d shave and…he shook his head at the mess that was his hair. It needed to be washed and cut. Warriors of Partholon usually wore their hair long, but he’d never liked the mess of it. When he was younger he’d had many an argument with his mother over it. He’d told her over and over that he wasn’t less of a warrior with less hair-and then set about to prove it to her. When his skills had become almost legendary, she’d capitulated, and he’d even managed to coax her into trimming it for him herself from time to time…
He grinned at his rumpled reflection. His mother was currently lodged down the hall from him. After a bath and a shave perhaps he’d be a considerate son and join her for breakfast.
Humming to himself, he began to strip.
The door to the guest suite opened before Cu could knock on it. A striking young blonde dressed in a mostly see-through robe of diaphanous pink material giggled at his raised fist.
“Your mother has been expecting you, warrior,” she said.
“Of course she has,” he said. Then he felt himself returning the maiden’s flirtatious grin. “And it’s nice to see Mother still believes in surrounding herself with beauty.”
The maiden’s cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink that perfectly matched her gown, and she dropped into a lithe curtsy, which gave the warrior a clear view of her shapely breasts. Automatically Cu looked, with a long, hot gaze that had his body tightening.
He was, after all, still alive.
“Cuchulainn! Come in-come in,” Etain called from within the chamber.
He winked at the handmaid before she moved aside so he could greet his mother. Etain was sitting on a chair which was opulently upholstered in gold velvet. Another attractive young woman brushed the priestess’s mass of red curls sprinkled with silver-gray. Cuchulainn smiled at her, noting that she had covered the walls of the guest suite with tapestries depicting herself, bare breasted, riding the Goddess mare as young maidens frolicked about showering their path with rose petals. Etain had also filled the suite to overflowing with luxurious furnishings and a silk-canopied bed on-of course-a dais.
His mother never failed to travel in a style befitting the Beloved of Epona. The part of his soul that had been absent so long stirred, and Cuchulainn felt a sudden rush of love for the flamboyant, powerful woman who was his mother. Laughing joyously, he strode to her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her soundly. Her musical laughter joined his own as she hugged him.
Then she pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her smile widened and she laid her hand against his newly shaven cheek.
“It is so good to see you whole again, my son.”
“You knew, of course,” he said.
“Yes.” She paused and made a slight, graceful motion with her hand, dismissing the maidens. “I knew the day it happened,” she continued after they were alone. She kissed his cheek and smoothed back his long hair. “I would have helped you if I could have, but some things are beyond even a mother’s reach.”
“I wish you had known Brenna.”
“Epona has spoken to me of her often. Your betrothed was an exceptional young woman. She was-and is-very dear to the Goddess.”
Cuchulainn closed his eyes on the bittersweet pain. “Thank you, Mother.”
She patted his cheek. “Let her go, my darling. Think of her-remember her-but let her go. It is time you moved forward with your life.”
He nodded. “As always, you are right.”
“Of course I am.” She stood on tiptoe and again kissed him softly on the cheek. Then she ruffled his hair. “I had the handmaids fetch my scissors. Shall we get started?”
He grinned at her. “It’s a good thing that I’ve never tried to keep anything from you. It would certainly make life damned difficult.”
She raised her eyebrow at him, reminding Cu of his sister. “You know it’s blasphemy to keep secrets from your mother.”
“Blasphemy?” He laughed, but let her lead him to the golden chair. With the scissors in one hand, and a slim comb in the other, she began to work on his hair, sighing as she combed through the thick mass of it.
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into leaving it long. I could just take a little off here and there…”