by Kari Edgren
We stood at the edge of a large clearing. Henry circled near the middle, sword gleaming in a confident grip. In front of him, matching his every movement...
“A Mhaighdean bheannaithe,” Ailish whispered in Gaelic. Sweet mother of God.
Raw fear flooded my gut. I blinked. Then blinked again, but the image remained unaltered. “Dear God,” I breathed in a quiet plea, and made the sign of the cross.
The man—if he could be called that—towered over Henry by no less than a foot. I gazed at him, dumbstruck, as I took in the full measure of his unearthly form. Wild golden hair fell loose to the middle of his back. A tunic the color of ripened wheat reached to mid-thigh and rippled with each movement over chest and shoulders that were impossibly large. Smooth amber gemstones glistened in the sage-green belt that encircled his narrow waist. Muted brown breeches disappeared into leather boots laced to his knees.
In every respect, he appeared a mythical giant of old. Yet he moved with a grace of the gods, and the broadsword gripped easily in one hand looked capable of cleaving a man in two.
There was a blur of steel, and the swords came together hard, releasing a small shower of sparks. I jumped from the thunderous sound, yet neither man gave way to the force of the other. Henry fought in his shirtsleeves. His hair had come undone, and despite the winter air, sweat dotted his forehead and ran in droplets down his neck.
The dance continued, with knees bent slightly and blades held ready to either attack or parry. In a flash, the giant whipped his sword in a deadly arc. Henry responded quick as lightning, deflecting the blow, then retaliated with a strike that would have eviscerated any mortal. Pivoting on one foot, the giant spun to the side, a hair’s breadth from harm.
I bit down on my lip and tasted blood.
Henry struck again without pause. When his blade hit steel, he stepped back just enough to continue the motion, before retracing the trajectory in an upward cut aimed for the sage-and-amber belt. The giant deflected the blows, each agile parry almost too quick for the eye to follow.
The next strike came from the giant, higher than the others, and with the force meant to decapitate a man. I cried out, certain death flashing before my eyes. Henry ducked at the last second, and the blade sliced through the air, unhindered.
A relieved breath tore from my throat, but the reprieve was temporary as the men rounded for another strike. “I have to help him...” Or die trying.
Brigid’s fire rushed to my fingertips. I stepped forward, only to jerk to a sudden stop. Chilled flesh ran across my back and arms, and I coughed from the cape’s metal clasp that had been pulled tight to my throat. Twisting around, I saw Ailish holding onto a fistful of dark wool. “Let me go,” I rasped, “before Henry dies.”
She shook her head, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “Look at their faces, Selah. No blood’s to be spilled here today.”
I gaped at her. “Have you gone daft? They’re trying to kill each other!”
The swords connected again, and the earth shook as though thunder had crashed through the clearing. Ailish’s grip faltered as she stared at something over my shoulder. Dread coursed through me. I turned back toward the clearing, my pulse thumping in my ears. The scene unfolded before me, ripping a strangled scream from my throat.
Henry knelt in the grass, head bowed, his weapon useless at his side. The giant stood over him, sword raised high in the air. A proud smile played across his beautiful, unworldly face. Time stopped as the blade moved down, closer and closer to Henry’s neck. I stood frozen, unable to move, or even to breathe. A single thought circled like a vulture in my mind.
He’s dead... He’s dead... He’s dead...
My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees. The sword tip reached Henry’s shoulder. Its weight rested against my neck, the sting of metal against my skin. Brigid’s fire faded from my hands as I waited for the blow that would kill us both.
Ailish crouched down beside me. An eternity passed. And then another, but no blood appeared. The giant raised the sword, and my mouth fell open when he brought it to Henry’s other shoulder without a trace of a wound.
The next thing I knew, the sword tip was lowered to the ground. “Cruthaionn do chuid fola fior.” The giant’s deep voice vibrated in my chest and the small hairs stood up across my nape.
Your blood proves true.
Henry raised his head, his green eyes blazing.
The giant extended a large hand to him. “Eirigi, mo mhae.”
Arise, my son.
Henry stood, hand gripped tight with the giant’s. The clearing glowed around them, and I stared, unblinking.
Ailish leaned closer to me. A shiver ran through my muscles, but I was already too numb from all that had happened to feel any chill. “Can you believe it?” she whispered. “Your lord be one o’ us, Selah.”
The truth of her words rang in my ears, for Henry looked as though his soul had caught fire.
Chapter Eighteen
One Truth Too Many
He is one of us...
The very idea beggared the mind. It made perfect sense, and no sense at all. Henry wasn’t entirely human. He was leath’dhia—part god, like me. I continued to stare at him as my world shifted to meet this new reality. A dozen heartbeats passed. Blood rushed through my veins, thawing the numbness. And then pure joy swelled in my chest.
Ailish tipped her head toward the man towering over him. “Who do you think he be?” she asked, in a whisper that did little to hide her own excitement.
I tore my eyes from the clearing to look at her. So far as I knew, Henry’s surname offered the only lead. “Do any of the Tuatha Dé go by a variation of Alan?”
Her expression turned thoughtful, but after a moment she shook her head. “None that comes to mind.”
A different name tugged at my thoughts—one I’d first heard during an unfortunate encounter with Henry’s father, the Duke of Norland.
“My grandmother’s family immigrated to England three generations before my Grandfather Fitzalan claimed her for his wife. Maybe you are familiar with the surname O’Lughnane?”
I inhaled sharply. “It can’t be!” But there was no other explanation.
“What is it?”
“O’Lughnane... Henry...he’s descended from Lugh.”
“You be certain?”
“I’m positive, which means that giant has to be...” I swallowed hard. “I think he’s the Celtic sun god.”
Ailish blinked at me, her shock matching my own. Then we each turned back to the clearing. But the other man, or god, had vanished. Henry was striding toward us, sword gripped in one hand. In the other he carried a wooden spear near equal to his height. Golden light glinted from the pointed metal head despite the thick clouds and darkening skies above.
“See the tip there,” Ailish said. “I’ll warrant it’s got the power of the Tuatha Dé in it.”
I looked closer, at the soft glow that seemed to emanate from the metal itself. How is that possible?
A raven’s cry pierced the air as it took flight from one of the barren trees that edged the clearing. Startled, my gaze flicked up to the wide expanse of black wings. A second later the bird disappeared, replaced by Henry, whose large form blocked much of the sky.
I scrambled to my feet, Ailish alongside me. Henry pushed the sword tip into the soft earth to keep it upright. Then without uttering a single word, he pulled me into him and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. My breath caught from an unexpected shock of heat that flowed through every fiber of my body.
Lightheaded, I inhaled deeply to help regain my bearings. His familiar male spice teased my nose, but there was something else...something wild. “You smell different,” I murmured. Rather taken by the change, I tucked my nose into his neck and inhaled again.
Lifting his head, he glanced
into the woods behind me. “We should go.”
I started in surprise. Of course we should go, just as soon as we discussed what had happened in the clearing. “Do you know who you fought out there?” Another question followed before he could answer the first. “Do you know what it means?”
“I’ve a fair notion.”
He sounded so calm, I doubted he had the slightest notion whatsoever. “My goodness, Henry! That man you fought, well, he isn’t a man at all. I mean not in the human sense. He’s the sun god Lugh of the Tuatha Dé, and by what he said you’re his descendant.” The words tumbled out faster and faster, matching my excitement. “At least I’m fairly certain with the surname O’Lughnane. And he clearly called you son.”
“Selah—”
“Except you don’t speak Gaelic,” I continued without pause, “so you wouldn’t have understood him. I did though, every word of it. And it means that you’re like me.” I pointed between Ailish and myself. “Like us.”
“I understood everything he said.”
My eyes widened. “But he spoke in Gaelic.” I turned to Ailish for support. “Didn’t he?”
“That’s the way me ears heard it.”
Sweat dripped into Henry’s eye, and he ran a linen sleeve over his forehead to mop the remaining drops. “Doesn’t matter what language he used, I’m telling you I understood it.”
If that was the case, I found his behavior all the more shocking. “How come you’re so calm then?” I looked at him closer, struck by an odd idea. “Did you know before you came here today?”
Henry exhaled. “All I knew for sure was that I had changed somehow. It started this past summer, not long after we kissed in the woods at Brighmor, and has been growing stronger ever since. Then the moment I stepped foot in Ireland, it felt as though two sides had gone to war inside me.”
“I felt it too, in the bathing chamber, when we were...” I darted a look at Ailish, who was unabashedly hanging on every word “...you know,” I finished instead, my cheeks growing warm from the memory.
“At the time, I assumed it was an effect of your goddess blood. In part I was right, as you had just woken something inside me.”
My gaze shifted to the spear still gripped at his side. “And now you’ve learned that you’re descended from the sun god.”
He gave me a sheepish grin. “It could explain why I like to fight so much.”
A laugh escaped unintended. “I should have known from the beginning that you weren’t fully human.”
For a fleeting moment, a minute crack appeared in his calm expression, revealing a very different side to his emotions. It lasted only a second before the mask was restored, but in that time I glimpsed the battle currently raging inside him—between old and new, familiar and strange.
Understanding flooded my heart. Taking his hand in mine, I held it close. “I know it’s a lot to accept at once. Go as slow as you need to, and I’ll be here to help.”
“If only it were so easy.” His expression hardened and tension charged his deep voice. “I would have liked some time to adjust, but the knowledge is more valuable to me now than ever before.”
“What do you mean?”
He tipped his head in the direction of Deidre’s cottage. “Did you learn anything of use from the woman?”
“A great deal actually. Deidre knows for certain that Carmen is Deri’s mother, and she suspects they’re working together to break the curse. Her prison is about an hour’s ride from here.”
Henry dropped my hand. “You can tell me the rest on the ride back to the inn. James and the others may have arrived by now and can help us recruit more swords.”
Wariness pulled me back a step. “Not if you’re thinking of Sean and his men. We’ve no time to waste with any more quarreling.”
Henry’s mouth thinned as he slanted a look skyward in what appeared a bid for patience. “From what Tom and Cate told us of the legend, it took four Tuatha Dé to subdue Carmen. Is this correct?”
I nodded, and the spear tip seemed to glow a bit brighter.
“Four full-blooded gods and goddesses to subdue a single witch.” Henry yanked the sword from the ground, his knuckles white on the hilt. “I just fought against one of those gods, and only by his good will am I still alive. So how exactly do you think a few descendants can stand against Carmen?”
“Well... I...” My words sputtered to a halt.
Silence settled around us. Since leaving London, I’d never deceived myself by seeing the impending confrontation as anything other than dangerous. Perhaps even deadly. But from Henry’s words, any chance of success, not to mention survival, seemed utterly impossible. “I... I don’t know.” My voice broke from the hopelessness that had slithered into my chest and curled around my heart.
His eyes locked onto mine, expressing a truth that left me terrified. “Neither do I, Selah. Not without a lot more help, and even then, it may not be enough to save us.”
* * *
On the return journey to Wexford, Ailish chattered nonstop, entirely unfazed by either the strengthening winds that whipped through the treetops or Henry’s bleak revelation. From the time we retrieved the horses from Deidre’s front garden, she attempted to relate everything she had ever heard about the Tuatha Dé sun god. Clutching tightly to Henry’s back, she explained in great detail how Lugh had been snatched from death as a baby when his Fomorian grandfather, the evil one-eyed King Balor, tried to have him drowned in a river to defeat an ancient prophecy. Lugh had gone on to fulfill the prophecy anyway, killing Balor during the second Battle of Magh Tuireadh with a spear through his eye.
Ailish laughed with delight. “What do you wager it’s the same one you got now, milord? Your first sire be known in the legends as Lugh Lámhfhada. Lugh o’ the long arm,” she added, translating the name. “He was famous with the spear and never went into battle without it.”
My gaze settled on the weapon secured to the side of Henry’s mount. A cloth had been wrapped around the tip, I assumed to conceal the persistent glow. Taken in parts, it offered nothing more extraordinary than a long wooden pole topped with a pointed piece of metal. Compared to the deadly accuracy of a broadsword or pistol, the spear didn’t look like a weapon formidable enough to bring down a creature so reviled and feared as King Balor.
A cold gust of air caught me full in the face when we left the protection of the woods. My cloak snapped, and I grabbed the woolen edges to keep them from blowing apart. Dark clouds hung on the horizon with the promise of a storm sometime this evening. Sheltered by Henry, Ailish pushed on, oblivious to the elements except for a slightly raised voice to carry over the wind.
“Lugh be a god o’ every art and craft, and a grand warrior. He led whole armies when the Tuatha Dé still lived in Ireland, but nowadays folks best remember him for siring the hero Cúchulainn with the mortal woman Dechtiré.”
I stared bleakly ahead at the town walls while she spoke, which seemed to grow taller with our approach.
“To guess it, milord,” Ailish continued, “you come through Cúchulainn’s line, him being as great a hero as any man ever saw.”
“I am familiar with the name,” Henry said.
“How could you not be?” Ailish asked, “living just across the sea like you do. Legend goes that once when Cúchulainn grew weary in battle, his sire appeared to fight alongside o’ him.”
This last bit caught me by surprise. “If only he would do the same again,” I said over the wind.
Ailish scrunched her nose in thought. “From the stories, it only happened the one time, and Lugh’s not been seen in the mortal world since. Well, except for today, I suppose.” She rested her cheek on Henry’s back with a look of pure contentment. “Might have asked for some help while you two be fighting.”
“Would that I had thought of it.” A note of regret lingered in H
enry’s deep voice. “But at the time I was solely occupied with keeping my head attached.”
“Can’t blame you there, milord,” Ailish offered in consolation. “No man I know could have withstood those blows, and then to give some back like you did. It be a marvelous sight, that’s for sure.”
Marvelous indeed, and I would have preferred to ponder that particular memory, now that I knew he hadn’t really been in danger, rather than the many questions pecking at my brain. Why had Lugh chosen this of all times to appear to Henry? Did he know about Carmen? Was that why he left the spear behind? If so, the primitive weapon offered a poor substitute for the god himself, regardless of its oddly glowing head.
A bird cawed overhead. I glanced up to find a large raven gliding through the wind toward Wexford. Ailish had also noticed the bird, by the upward tilt of her head. It sailed over the gate tower, which now stood directly in front of us like a giant stone maw. The guards must have recognized Henry from earlier, for no one challenged our approach this time.
We fell silent once inside the walls to keep from being overheard by the numerous sailors and fishermen milling about the streets in search of a warm hearth and supper. Though the impending confrontation with Carmen never strayed far from my thoughts, anticipation for a different battle weighed heavy on my shoulders when we finally reached the inn. I resented having to play peacekeeper between two grown men when the real threat lay miles away. To his credit, I assumed Henry would attempt to be reasonable, unless, of course, any more threats were made against me. Then I could only guess at which limbs would need mending. As for Sean, the presence of Lugh’s blood should settle his quarrel with Henry, but considering my brother’s stubbornness and deep-seated hatred of all things English, I feared even the sun god would prove insufficient to the job. My only real hope was that Justine was present and could use her particular gift to help maintain order.
With a sigh, I pushed through the door into the inn, wanting to gather my wits while Henry returned the horses to the stables. Warmth met me. Hunger gnawed at my stomach from the scent of roasting meat. At first I was surprised that my appetite had survived the day, until I recalled how little Ailish and I had eaten since breakfast. We moved in unison toward the adjoining dining room, apparently in unspoken agreement on the matter.