These unfamiliar words held no meaning for Drostan, but he took from her emotions that they translated to ‘home’…
The sounds and scents of this land were overwhelming…
Great metallic beasts passed by at terrible speeds…
Mortals were trapped within their interior…
‘Cars,’ Skye called them and – strangely – she was unafraid…
Rigid lines made up unfathomably colossal structures…
They shimmered in the sun and soared up into the heavens…
‘Skyscrapers,’ her thoughts offered in explanation…
Drostan struggled with the knowledge that men could create such things, but Skye’s mind conveyed that it was so…
As if in response to his distress, the scenery abruptly changed…
He saw another place, far more peaceful and to his liking…
Rising up from lush green grass, a colossal stone structure…
‘Castle’… Skye called it… ‘Faol Seunta’…
Again, a sense of ‘home’ washed over him…
Massive rocks had been fashioned in unnatural manners…
They were sculpted in ways that defied reason…
To his confusion, he suddenly saw an image of himself in this bizarre place… Despite drastic changes in hair and clothing, he slowly began to recognize his brothers there, as well…
Skye’s thoughts flitted about in a disorganized manner, but he fought to follow along.
Bits and scenes from her memories flashed by…
Each made it clear that she was no enemy to the clan…
He saw each of them with her in brief flashes…
Sometimes smiling…
Sometimes embracing…
Sometimes battling against common enemies together…
No individual scene gave much information…
He struggled to press on, but he sensed a building concern in her mind for what she was showing him…
It was as if she feared the impact of sharing too much…
Foreign words made up a question that he did not understand…
‘Will this change our future?’
Just before she abruptly severed their link, Drostan caught a flash of memory that stunned him…
“Sorcha,” he gasped in recognition. He had seen Her through Skye’s eyes, had seen that Skye was beloved to the Great Mother for some reason. He opened his eyes in confusion to find Skye studying him anxiously. She asked something in a hopeful tone, and he gathered that she wanted to know whether he had seen enough.
“She fears sharing any more with me,” Drostan relayed.
“Of course, she does,” Taran muttered skeptically.
“She has already shared plenty, brother,” Drostan assured firmly. “I do not understand how it is possible, but she is from another place. And in that world, we are all dear friends to her.” He swallowed hard before turning and meeting Latharn’s gaze. “She is cherished by the Great Mother. I saw Her through Skye’s eyes.”
“How can such a thing be possible?” Taran asked incredulously. “The Great Mother slumbers. She holds council with no one.”
Latharn frowned in consideration and studied the girl’s features. While it was true that he could see a resemblance, the timeline did not seem to match up. Skye’s age did not readily align for her to be one in Sorcha’s lost line. A birth late in life could explain it, but that did not strike him as the reason.
Hearing that the conversation was focusing on Sorcha, Skye began to mutter to herself worriedly. Latharn watched with interest as Ciaran, yet again, instinctively responded to Skye’s distress by moving to her side to provide comfort and care. In a wholly uncharacteristic turn of events, Ciaran was failing to heed Taran’s wishes. It was lending to Taran’s current stress and irritability. Ordinarily, Ciaran followed Taran’s every request to the letter. Given the way Skye and Ciaran seemed to so readily connect, Latharn decided to use it to their advantage.
“Ciaran – see if she can tell you how she knows the Great Mother,” Latharn ordered.
Ciaran looked over at him in surprise. His expression turned sheepish when he found Taran gaping at their recurrent close proximity in disbelief. Ciaran tried to ignore his brother’s disapproval as he addressed her. “Skye? How do you know Sorcha? How are you connected?”
19: THIS?!
Understanding the gist of Ciaran’s question, as well as the fact that Latharn had specified that Ciaran be the one to ask, Skye frowned. Evidently Latharn had been a know-it-all right from day one.
“All right… I’m,” she began with a sigh, putting her hand on her chest, “Skye. But Sorcha and Faolan are my–”
All the men bristled and gaped at her in astonishment.
“Oh, good. We all know Faolan,” she said with a smile.
Ciaran nodded and eagerly urged her to continue.
She looked around the cave for anything resembling chalk for a second before casting them a hopeful look and miming writing.
Drostan called out something and grabbed a rock, crouching beside her and showing that it left a mark on the cave floor. She smiled at him appreciatively when he stood and handed over the stone.
Without hesitation, she moved to kneel on the ground. She gasped and quickly abandoned the effort when it brought on an unexpected wave of pain. This slow-healing bullshit was getting old really freaking fast. With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she waited for the flaring of pain to recede to its previous, manageable level.
“Skye?” the compassionate young version of Ciaran whispered worriedly.
She opened her eyes and found that he was beside her, studying her features and seeking instruction on how he could assist her. With a forced smile, she nodded that she was okay before accepting his help so that she could carefully kneel on the floor. Ciaran took his place beside her there, just in case she needed any further aid.
“Okay, so Sorcha…” she began and drew a stick figure to represent the Great Mother. She laughed bitterly at the pitiful representation of the Goddess. “Sorry, we’ll all just have to suffer through my utter lack of artistic talent here. This is Sorcha,” she said, pointing at the figure and waiting for them to nod. “And this is Faolan,” she declared once she had drawn a second stick figure. She drew a downward-facing arrow between them and a third stick figure beneath the point of it. “This is their daughter, Sitheag. Is everyone with me so far?” she asked and waited for more nodding.
For several moments, she drew a mate to each female and a child from each union. Once she ran out of room on the ground around her, she waved her hands hoping to convey this continuing for a long time.
“And on and on and on… Until – finally...” She held up a finger before drawing one final stick figure. She pointed at it, as well as herself. “Skye.”
The perplexed expressions the others gave in response were truly priceless.
“Is she saying what I think she is saying?” Latharn asked worriedly.
“She is somehow… from a time that has not yet passed?” Ailean asked in confusion. “Is such a thing possible?”
“If she is indeed kin to the Great Mother, I would not rule anything out as impossible,” Eògan offered in wonder.
Taran frowned, reluctant to consider this was anything other than a trap but unwilling to overlook facts. “There was a flash of blinding, white light just before she arrived,” he recalled and shook his head. “Not lightning. Definitely something more powerful.”
“If it is as she says, it would explain her appearing here from thin air and knowing that Drostan has the sight,” Latharn pointed out.
“She seems pretty clear in what she is trying to convey,” Ciaran said distractedly. His attention had just become focused on the fact that she was looking rather pale. The task of mapping out her lineage had apparently been physically draining. In response to his concerned look, Skye rested her head against his shoulder wearily. He smiled down at her curiously and, despite his anxiety over her closeness,
tried not to appear too awkward when she worked her way under his arm.
“So, if this girl is somehow, someway a descendant of Sorcha… and she somehow came to our time… why has her first priority been cuddling with Ciaran?” Drostan asked in amusement.
“You know… he has a very good point,” Taran agreed. His features gradually softened. For the first time since Skye’s unexplained arrival, Taran began to relax ever so slightly. The possibility that this girl was set to be joined to his most-beloved brother was intriguing. He looked her over with renewed purpose. She was incredibly attractive in body and face. A fine match for his brother – possibly the one to bring him out of his grief once and for all.
“No. It is not that,” Ciaran said dismissively.
Taran scoffed at his brother’s denial. “She did not shy away from your touch when she was nude, brother, and she hid behind you when she was frightened. She needed protection, and she instinctively went to you for it.”
“Perhaps you are to be her mate,” Latharn breathed in surprise.
The other faoil all looked over at Ciaran in awe.
“You are going to land yourself a mate that is a changeling? Ciaran, you lucky bastard,” Eògan teased with a grin.
“Do not start the celebration just yet. It is too early to draw any conclusions,” Ciaran insisted and shifted awkwardly. “If she is a descendant of the Great Mother, she could have her pick of any faol in the clan. What would she want with me as a mate?”
“Look at how she is sitting. Look at how she presses against you in such a familiar way,” Taran urged impatiently. “But all right, brother, if you want to believe she is not your mate, then perhaps it is a more relaxed arrangement. Perhaps she just lays with whichever of us she pleases when the mood strikes her. Ask her, Ciaran – ask her how she knows you.”
Ciaran sighed. “I will try, but we are very limited on what we can express to each other.” He peered down at her and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Skye? How do you know me? How does Skye know Ciaran?” he asked, pressing his hand to his chest as he spoke his name and giving her a curious look.
Skye gave a longsuffering sigh in response.
The corner of Ciaran’s mouth lifted in a light smile. He fought the urge to laugh as he watched her wave her hands and ramble in her strange language. Even with the linguistic barrier, it was clear that she was hopelessly flustered, yet her tone often returned to one of sarcasm and playfulness. Faced with a situation which had rattled her, she was clearly still seeking out the humor in things.
There was something impossibly endearing about her. Every time he met her gaze, Ciaran felt his heart clench. It was funny, really. For the first time in the long century of his life, he was genuinely captivated by a woman. It was just his luck, too. He would take an interest in someone with which he had no chance. Skye was impossibly, painfully beautiful. Almost ethereal in her perfection. Her blue and yellow gaze held the unmistakable flare of intelligence, along with a healthy dose of what appeared to be fondness for him (as confusing as that was.) Her distractingly-alluring body was soft and hard in all the right places and currently pressed against him. There was something inexplicable about her – an energy or light. It was difficult to take his eyes off of her. He could not put his finger on it, but something about her called to him.
He struggled to reign in his awe of her and focus on her unfamiliar words instead of his pointless infatuation. He knew that he would never act upon it. He was not a ladies’ man like so many of his brothers. He never knew what to say. He never felt confident or comfortable in their presence. He could count on one hand the women that he had bedded in his life, which was perfectly fine by him. Ciaran sought a connection with his lovers; a link which had always eluded him. Besides, Taran’s gaze was now wandering appreciatively over Skye’s form. If Taran had taken an interest in this girl, Ciaran knew there was zero chance of catching her eye. Taran – unlike Ciaran – would gladly take any attractive, willing woman to his bed. And there was never a short supply of them for Taran. On all counts, Ciaran knew that his misguided infatuation with Skye was doomed to fail. It seemed that any chance he’d had at love was lost with his mortality, lost along with his daughter’s life…
Drawing him back from the hollow sadness of his thoughts, Ciaran felt Skye’s hand unexpectedly slide into his own. He looked at her in surprise as she gave him a warm, reassuring smile. She threaded their fingers together as if they were meant to fit that way. He tried in vain to keep a smile from forming on his lips in reply. As if she had somehow sensed the direction or tone of his thoughts, Skye had known to provide comfort at precisely the right moment. He marveled over her and worried, ‘How will I ever endure losing this wondrous woman now that she has walked into my life?’
Skye was still looking around thoughtfully, babbling to herself in her strange dialect and apparently still trying to think of how to express the answer to his original question. Finally, she gasped and let out a happy exclamation – evidently having come up with a solution – and began scratching a response on the floor.
“She is not going to draw the little sickly-looking people again, is she?” Latharn joked.
What she drew, however, completely conveyed her response. The men all gaped down at the marking in disbelief. She had drawn the Trinity. She pointed to each of its ends, speaking a name for each.
“Skye, Ciaran, Taran,” she announced with a smile.
“A Trinity…” Taran breathed as his eyes widened in shock.
“Great Mother,” Ciaran whispered fearfully. “Just as it was with Sorcha, Faolan, and…” He dared not finish that sentence.
Skye squeezed Ciaran’s hand reassuringly and shook her head. She leaned closer and kissed his cheek, causing him to blush terribly at the intimate, affectionate contact. Turning her attention back to the cave floor, she drew another Trinity knot, pointing to each of the points and naming, “Sorcha, Faolan, Brandubh.” She drew a heavy mark over Brandubh’s point and shook her head as she scowled.
Taran and the others nodded in approval at that, all recognizing the warding symbol she added.
She returned her attention to their Trinity knot. “Skye, Ciaran, Taran,” she said softly and lovingly as she touched each point. With a warm smile, she nodded to Ciaran.
“Well, would you look at that? It seems the two of you are sharing her just fine,” Drostan laughed.
“Sharing her?” Taran scoffed. “Unlikely. She is no doubt coming to me strictly for sexual gratification and Ciaran for all the rest.”
And that sounded like the absolute best arrangement Ciaran had ever heard in his life. He studied Skye’s smiling eyes in wonder, finding that his earlier assessment of the way she looked at him had been spot on. She really did care for him. How on Earth had he gotten so lucky?
Taran, on the other hand, was quickly becoming annoyed. Now that Skye had declared herself to be his, he found that he greatly disliked her sitting there, barely dressed, for just anyone to look upon. He grunted in disapproval.
“She will need suitable clothing,” Taran announced before adding purposefully, “and we need a moment to speak privately.”
The other faoil did not question him. They quickly took their leave. Ciaran, however, did not move a muscle. Skye was still pressed to his side and made no effort to move. She looked up at Taran in uncertainty as he approached, clearly not as readily comfortable in his presence as she was with Ciaran.
Taran scowled at this. He greatly disliked the drastic difference in how he was being received. If she was, for all intents and purposes, his mate, she should have been eager to return to his side. He frowned as he thought about it. He supposed she might still feel a bit leery of his touch after the way he had threatened her when she arrived… but surely that could all be forgotten now. He had not known who she was at first and had merely been trying to protect his clansmen. An understandable mistake and response on his part. Now that she had cleared up the confusion, they could move forward.
&
nbsp; He stopped a few arms’ lengths away from her and held out his hand expectantly. The gesture adequately conveyed his bidding. She was to come to him and pay him the appropriate respect and affection.
Skye looked at Taran’s outstretched hand and struggled to put her nerves at ease. For some reason, however, she was unable to shake off her instinctive fear of this younger version of Taran. After a long moment, she summoned the courage to abandon the safety of Ciaran’s side. This was still Taran, after all. She was just overreacting, she told herself.
Her body went rigid when, the moment she was clear of Ciaran, Taran muttered a command.
“Ciaran, leave us,” he instructed. “I wish to become acquainted with my mate.” His eyes met with Ciaran’s challengingly, waiting for any sign of hesitation.
Skye looked back at Ciaran with barely-concealed anxiety.
Ciaran exhaled slowly as his eyes passed back and forth between them. After taking it into consideration, he inclined his head to his brother. It was not his place to stand between them, Ciaran reasoned. No matter what his gut was telling him, he had no right. Skye had just clearly declared before the clan that she was involved in a relationship with him and Taran both. It stood to reason that they would wish to be given a bit of privacy.
Struggling to fight off his nagging, relentless instinct to remain by Skye’s side, Ciaran gave her a look of reassurance before reluctantly leaving them alone. He tried to busy his mind by focusing on the supplies he could gather to make her more comfortable. If he kept his thoughts on ways to aid her, it distracted him slightly from his nameless concerns.
Skye hated the way her apprehension soared the instant Ciaran was out of sight. She hated the way her muscles locked up when Taran’s eyes wandered approvingly over her body. This is Taran, she kept reminding herself, why the hell am I freaking out?
Much like the first time they had met back in her own timeline, Taran circled her slowly, taking in her appearance. This time, however, things were horribly different. The reason for her instinctual discomfort in his presence was made painfully obvious by the look in his eyes. Where her 4,000-year-old King looked upon her in open wonder and adoration – as if she was the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes upon – this younger version of Taran eyed her as if she were little more than cattle. He made no effort to conceal the fact that his interest in her was strictly sexual.
Goddess Rising Page 27