“Against Brude with all his strengths, and given the fact that, with Wick gone, most of the young warriors will seek to follow him.”
“Most—not all. We have strengths also, and we do not stand alone. Old loyalties die hard. We have Gant on our side and, I believe, Gede as well. Gartnait, Pith…and True.”
“Pith? He is old, Tally, and blind.”
“You heard him speak up for us. And he possesses a great deal of wisdom; folk will listen to him. He also approves of True.”
Yes, Barta acknowledged ruefully—one of the few who did. “All well and good,” she told Tally, “but do you not see? Ranging up those who will and will not support us may well serve to split the tribe. We are already weak enough.”
“I do not believe it will sunder us. We are at a point of decision, yes. Do we continue to run, or do we go back and reclaim the land where our ancestors lie?”
“Tally”—Barta reached out and touched his hand—“I admire your spirit, I do. For all your youth you shame me with your courage and determination to fight. But we are not the tribe we were. It might be best to wait for spring before staging any acts of defiance.”
“By spring the Gaels will be well dug in. They will have time to bring in more of their folk—more weapons and more accursed chariots. I say hit them now while they—just like we—have suffered some losses. Did you not say they suffered casualties in that raid you led?”
“Yes.”
“And still more in the attack upon our settlement. I do not say we should stage battle proper against them. But a series of raids could hurt them.”
“That is what I thought.” Barta swallowed hard. “Only look what it cost.”
“Sister, you have lost your confidence. How will you get it back again? You were never so humble and biddable, and I cannot imagine you at Brude’s heel.”
Neither could Barta. But she said, “My selfishness has been well pointed out to me over and over again. It is past time I grew up.”
“You are right that this is no time for selfishness.” Unexpectedly Tally grinned. “If it were, I’d just enjoy Rekka’s company and that of the other girls who quite suddenly flock around me, thinking I may one day become chief.
“But, Sister, there is selfishness and there is strength. Those of our line have long been chiefs for good reason; we do not give up easily. Did Father give up when he suffered his terrible injury?”
“No.” Indeed, only slaughter had put an end to that bright courage. “But what of Wick, whose heart and spine were not up to the task set before him?”
Tally’s eyes gazed inward for an instant and turned misty. “My brother is no coward and will return. It’s up to us to hold things together until he does.”
“I must say I would not mind seeing Brude put in his place. But, Tally, I fear I have lost too much…”
“You have also gained much. Ah, here he comes now.” Tally slanted a look at her. “Your courage. To be sure, he never stays long away from you.”
Barta jerked her head around and saw True approaching, his gaze fixed upon her. At once some yearning inside her eased; she drew a deep breath.
“There, now.” A note of puzzlement entered Tally’s voice. “And does he not remind you of someone, Sister?”
“Yes, very much.” Barta let her gaze range over the man who came at a graceful lope, his shaggy hair gleaming in the weak afternoon sun. “But I will be accursed if I can put my finger on it.”
“You had best try, if you mean to make him the father of your children.” Tally lowered his voice as True reached them. “You would not want him to slip away from you.”
“No,” Barta agreed. “Never.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“So what do you think of our Tally?” Barta breathed the question into True’s ear when all had become still later that night.
He’d just finished filling her with his seed, arching his body in a movement so strong and beautiful it stole all words—all thought, for that matter. But now the sense of completeness that always found her when they were together and so closely bound allowed her to find her strength and her voice.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since her conversation with her brother. He’d spent the time moving about the tribe, speaking with everyone and employing a combination of their father’s determination and their mother’s charm. Testing the waters, Tally called it, when she asked him.
Brude watched it all from a distance and with a scowl. He did not interfere with Tally’s movements but continued to give the day-to-day orders that kept the tribe safe—chose and assigned the guard, set the squads for hut raising and firewood gathering.
At least he no longer came around Barta—lying with True had put paid to that, just as it had answered the deepest need of her soul.
She ran her palms down his naked back and drew him closer, though in truth it would be impossible for them to get much closer.
Before answering her question, he licked her cheek—an odd habit, though True did seem to favor it and she had no objections. She parted her lips for him, and their mouths fused again in a long and searing kiss.
She moved her hands into his hair and felt heat spread through her body again.
When at last the kiss ended, she murmured, “I thought we were done.”
“I will never be done with you. Never have enough.”
Her heart convulsed in her chest. “I do not know what miracle brought you to me. I am half afraid to question it. Mother used to say believing in things makes them so. And, True, what can I do but believe? When we are together like this I feel complete inside, every need answered.”
He went still. “Yet you still want to know how it is I came to you—and from whence.”
Could he read her mind as well as sense her every desire?
“It is just that folk have been coming to me and asking. Word has got round, you see, that we are lying together. And my sons will be in line for the succession. Folk would like to be certain about the man who will father those sons.”
He slid his fingers down from her breast to her belly in a gentle caress. “Do you think you are carrying my child?”
“I don’t know, do I?” The frequency and vigor with which he loved her argued it could only be a matter of time. And her heart leaped to embrace the possibility, one of purest joy.
Even if she brought a child forth into an uncertain world of battle and strife, it would be his child.
She felt him draw a breath. “Mayhap it would be best, Mistress, if I do not breed you again.”
Barta stiffened in protest. “Why should you say such a thing?”
He took a moment before he answered, motionless in her arms. “The magic that brought me to you will not last forever. I might be called away at any time without warning.”
“No.”
“Mayhap I should have reminded myself—and you—of that before ever we lay together, before we kissed. For now, Mistress, the ties between us feel so strong and so tight, I do not understand how I ever can leave you.”
“You cannot. You will not! Do you hear me?” Barta tried to imagine a future without him, a deep and wrenching loss beyond expressing.
“And,” she went on before he could answer, “do not call me that. Why have you begun with calling me ‘Mistress’ once again? I thought you’d decided to call me—”
“Barta.” He spoke it into her ear, and she felt magic swirl all around them, battling her terror. “I have no wish to leave you ever. Being with you is the one desire of my heart. But I felt you should remember, should I give you a child, I may not have leave to stay and help you raise it. So make your choice now when there is a chance you are not yet carrying—and I will not lie with you again.”
Tears stung Barta’s eyes; she fought them back. “If I have learned one thing, True, it is that loss comes suddenly. Losing you would be a wound I could never heal, but there would be some small comfort in having your child still.”
“To raise alone?”
; “To hold near my heart.”
“Then do not weep. We are together now, and surely you know I am, as ever, at your command.”
“Then with every sun that rises and each one that sets, I command you to stay.”
****
“I know who you are.”
The words came softly from Pith—an uncanny echo of those which Tally had spoken—as True helped the old man up from his bed in the frosty morning. They’d kept the habit of this, True coming to lend his assistance after he and Barta rose. He and Pith usually talked of little things like the weather or what might be in the breakfast pot. True hadn’t expected this admission.
He paused and gave Pith a stare. The journey east and the rough conditions in successive camps hadn’t gone easy with him. Already frail, he’d now dropped weight, and visibly struggled to get around on his own.
Yet his spirit held strong.
His grayed hair hung in a tangle across his face. The blow that had blinded him, taken in that long-ago battle, had left a deep scar and stolen one eye; the other appeared white and unfocused.
But he seemed to regard True for an instant before he smiled. “Why are you so surprised? Should I fail to recognize one who has served me so…loyally?”
True’s heart dropped. He stole a measured look over his shoulder to make sure no one was near enough to overhear. First Tally and now Pith—was he undone?
Turning back to Pith, he managed but a single word. “How?”
“Well, boy, you must remember I use all my senses to recognize those with whom I come into contact. I tend to connect with them spirit to spirit, and I sensed something familiar in you almost from the first. I am ashamed to say it took me far longer than it should have to put the pieces in place. But it is such an unlikely thing, I scarcely dared jump to it: a hound transforming into a man.”
“Master, please.” True went hot with desperation. “She does not know.”
“Barta? Well, as I say, no one would easily leap to it. That must have been a tremendous feat of magic. How did you achieve it?”
“I did not. The goddess—”
“Ah. Took pity on you, did she?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I wish she’d take pity on me and gift me such a fine strong body in place of this ruined one.”
“Master—I cannot tell Barta. Nor can you. I am here only for a time, and if she does not guess it on her own, the spell will break. I will become, once more, a dead hound.” In consternation True admitted, “I was certain she would guess at once, as soon as she looked into my eyes.”
“Yes, but, boy, it is a steep hill to climb, is it not? Especially for one weighed down by guilt. She sees you as a man, moreover one to whom she is attracted. Difficult to look past that.”
“Master, you will not tell?”
“What do you take me for?” Again Pith fixed True with that almost-stare. “Has no one else guessed? It seems so obvious to me now. The pieces were all there. None but one with the endurance of a hound could have won that competition—single-minded and near-impervious to pain. No one but Loyal would have bonded with Barta so quickly nor—as I am told—slept across her door.”
“Please, Master, do not use that name!”
Pith grunted. “Who else does know?”
“Master Tally. And I believe Mistress Essa guessed the truth.”
“Ah, yes, two very skilled at sensing magic. For, my boy, magic trails you like scent. You do not know how long you have with us?”
“No, Master.”
“Then was it wise to lie with Barta? Aye—that news is all over camp also. Was it canny to strengthen your ties in that way and risk breaking her heart?”
“Her heart was broken already when I arrived. I sought only to comfort her. Anyway—I do not suppose either of us could have resisted. The ties of which you speak run deep, deeper even than physical joining.”
Pith grunted again, unhappily this time. “Well if you want to keep others from guessing, I have a few suggestions.”
“Yes, Master Pith?”
“Be less the hound.”
True frowned over it. “How am I to do that, Master?”
“Become more the man—and a man, moreover, invested in your current position. Stop with calling folk ‘master’ and ‘mistress’—they are your equals now. And take your own life into your hands.”
“I do not understand, ma—Pith.”
“Young men, and particularly young warriors of your ilk, do not always wait to be told what to do. They are masters of their own fates.”
“But I have never been my own master.” He’d listened to Barta, or any other person who commanded him.
“There is your problem. Self-sacrifice is all well and good, True, particularly in a warrior. But if you want the place at her side, you must become the man she believes you to be.”
“How?” True asked again.
“Make a decision or two for yourself. Follow your own desires.”
“I am not sure I can. Anyway, her desires are my desires.”
“Ha! How intoxicating is that for a woman? No wonder she keeps you at her heels.”
“Ma—Pith, you will not tell her?” True swallowed hard. Bad enough having to worry about slips from Tally’s tongue, let alone Pith’s.
“Nay, but, boy, surely you want her to guess.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What hints have you given her?”
“Few. I fear the wrong person guessing—and speaking—if I do.” True swallowed hard. “That night, when the Lady transformed me, I felt so certain Barta would know me at once, as soon as I reached her and gazed into her eyes. I am still me, you see. The one who ran after her, comforted her tears, stood beside her in battle. Died for her. But at first she would not look into my eyes. And even now when we have been as close as the bodies of two persons can be, she knows me not.”
Pith reached out and clapped him on the arm, a gesture of comfort. “It is a great leap for a woman to make, that a man walking into her life used to run behind her on four paws—perhaps more than you can expect. Have you prayed about it?”
“Prayed, Pith?”
“As you must have done that night you were transformed. I’m guessing you prayed then.”
“Yes.”
“Sue the god and the goddess for mercy now, boy. Argue Barta’s need for you and yours for her. Perhaps you can learn how long you have with us—or win leave to stay for good and all.”
“You think so?”
Pith shook his head. “I called on the Lord of all when I was blinded—you can bet I did. He answered me not by restoring my sight but by bestowing on me a measure of other Sight. The gods, boy, do not think the same way as you or I.” The old man gave a rueful grin. “Or should I say, like me? I have little knowledge as to how a hound thinks, save seldom of himself.”
“Pith, please…”
“No, I will say no more of it. But”—Pith’s grip on True’s arm tightened—“until you can glean a hint of your future, I would not lie again with Barta.”
“Eh?” That only confirmed what he, True, had feared.
“Well, you might lie with her as I suppose hounds and their mistresses do, but I would not…”
“Mate her? So I did tell her. She insists.”
“If you leave her with child when the goddess snatches you away, it could prove difficult for her.”
“She says a child would prove a comfort and has welcomed my breeding. And I must admit, being with her so is a great comfort to me also.”
Pith shrugged. “It is up to you, boy.” He gave a small smile. “You can sacrifice for her again. Then again, you just might decide, for the first time in your life, to take what you want.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“It is cold tonight.” Barta snuggled closer to True in their blankets. Though several huts had been raised at this new camp beside the stream, those had been given to the elderly, the infirm, and the very young. She and True lay in the open with noth
ing overhead but the bare branches of a tree. Past those branches True could glimpse widely flung stars, and the air stung with frost.
He had tried to speak to the goddess that afternoon, after leaving Pith—had gone off by himself and called out to her. He’d won no response. No doubt Pith had it right—all the times he’d called to her and received an answer, he’d been under great duress and suffused with longing. His heart told him it must be thus before he reached her again.
Barta wiggled in his arms and buried her face in his neck. He recalled doing the same to her when he was her hound and wished, in the night, to gather her scent.
Now, though, her movement only served to arouse him. He recalled Pith’s words of caution and strove to rein in his emotions.
“Hold me,” Barta requested. “Closer. You know just how close I want to be.”
He did. Moreover, so did that part of him which served to link them in such pleasure. He sighed; this looked to prove a difficult night.
“What is it?” To be sure, near as she was to him Barta could feel his discomfort. “I thought you loved it when we are together.”
“So I do—” He got no further, for she slid her tongue into his mouth. Oh, most glorious sensation! He loved her, yes, from her head to her toes and especially this well of wild flavor when she desired him.
As a hound he’d lived always and ever for the moment. Must that change?
She wiggled again, mouth fused to his, and he felt her unfasten the ties on her tunic. Suddenly he wanted her breast in his mouth, desired it more than breathing. He wanted the strength and completeness that came when he slid into her. But…
He broke the kiss to say, “Barta, do you think you carry my child?”
“Is that why your hesitate? It is well, True; folks continue to make love together even when the child becomes great; it harms nothing.”
Not like hounds, then. The few bitches he’d successfully bred wanted nothing to do with him when not in heat and snarled if he came after them.
Barta definitely did not snarl—she caressed his face with her fingers and plunged them into his hair.
He struggled to retain control of his thoughts. “But—do you?”
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