The Stag Lord

by Darby Kaye

  “Come on, Cor.” Shay held out her hand. “Let’s let your dad sleep. Plus, I want to see to that cut. Then we’ll eat. But I have to warn you—Rory’s made sandwiches with some scary choices in condiments.” Ignoring her hand, Cor slid off the bed, careful not to jostle his father, and disappeared into the bathroom. Max trotted after him.

  Hugh rose. “I’ll go check on your cousin. His culinary skills are dubious at best.” He grinned, giving her ponytail a tug as he used to when she was a child, and left.

  Smiling from the familiar—and familial—gesture, she snagged the jar of sláinte nettle and followed Cor. “Out,” she ordered Max. “Not enough room in this bathroom for you.” She shook her head when the dog sank down on his haunches in the middle of the hallway and chuffed out a breath. “Oh, deal with it.”

  Cor waited for her by the sink, staring into space, glassy-eyed from fear and exhaustion. I need to get him doctored, fed, and in bed before he collapses. “Take a seat.” She gestured toward the edge of the tub, then opened the brew and soaked a corner of a washcloth. Holding Cor’s chin in one hand, she dabbed at the cut. More of a nick, really. “So. You hungry?”

  Cor gave a one-shoulder shrug. He kept his gaze fixed on her left earlobe.

  She tried to think of something to lighten his melancholy. The storm outside moaned, followed by a rat-ta-tat as the wind rattled the bathroom’s exhaust vent. This would be a good night for a fire. An idea popped in her head. “Well, how about after supper, we make s’mores in the fireplace?” She dipped a clean corner of the cloth into the solution, then placed it against the cut. “Here. Hold this on until it stops tingling.”

  “‘Kay.” Half-hidden by the cloth, Cor’s face brightened. “Can we really?”

  “Sure. You can help me. I always torch mine.” Shay screwed the lid back on the jar and put away the supplies. “Okay, that should be enough for now. Let me see.” She peered at the wound. Thank the Goddess for young skin and supernatural brews. “I don’t think you’ll even have much of a blemish once we get it healed. Although it would’ve been a pretty cool battle scar. All the other Knights would think you’re this total badass.” She winced. “Oops. My bad.”

  “That’s okay.” Cor glanced up at her, a weak smile tugging at his lips. It faded after a moment. “Um…Shay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure. Anything.” She leaned a hip against the counter.

  He looked down. “It was my fault,” he whispered to the tiles.

  Oh, Cor. “No, it wasn’t. Those Fir Bolgs…” Shay paused when Cor tensed, shrinking in on himself with shoulders hunched and fists clenched in his lap. As if speaking the very name of those creatures might make them burst into the room.

  A violent protectiveness swept through Shay like a wildfire. The gods help anyone or anything that ever lays a hand on this kid again, she thought. Gutting with a dull knife would only be the first thing I would do to them. She swallowed, waiting until she was sure her voice was steady. “Trust me, Cormac Boru. It was not your fault. Not. One. Bit.” For a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but he simply nodded.

  “Wish Dad would wake up.” He gazed across the hallway where his whole world lay unconscious.

  “Me, too.” Because I’m so not good at this stuff. How do parents do this? How does Bann do this? “But sleep is a healer. And he’ll recover a lot faster with a good night’s rest.” She straightened. “C’mon. Let’s go see what Rory managed to make using salami and peanut butter.”

  After a meal that was creative, to say the least, Shay shooed everyone out of the kitchen and started searching in the cupboard for marshmallows and bars of chocolate. Because every Healer worth his or her weight in leprechaun gold always keeps s’mores supplies around.

  “Thanks, but hell no,” she told Rory when he offered to clean up. “I’ll never find anything. Plus, you and Hugh have done enough. You want to help—get a fire going before you guys head out. Woodpile’s just out back.” She placed the marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a pair of long, sturdy skewers on a tray and handed it to Cor. “Put this on the coffee table.”

  He studied the tray. “What about the chocolate?”

  “I’ll bring it out later. I don’t want it lying around where Max can get into it, the pig.”

  As Cor, with Max’s help, carried the tray into the living room, Rory stepped out the patio door, leaving it open. Lingering at the table, Hugh leaned back in his chair and yelled. “You guard your arse out there, Rory Collin Doyle. Don’t let the night ogres get ahold of you!” He grinned at the muffled response of bite me. “Now, are you sure you do not need for us to stay?”

  “No, the wards will keep out those pieces of…” Shay paused and glanced across the great room at Cor teasing Max with the unopened bag of marshmallows, then lowered her voice. “…pieces of shit. No, really. It’s all good.”

  Twenty minutes later, flames snapped and popped in the fireplace in defiance of the storm outside. After saying good night to her uncle and cousin, Shay closed the door, making sure to lock it. “Okay, before we start, let’s check on your—”

  Almost tripping over Max, Cor raced toward the hallway. The dog bounded after him, apparently unable to exist more than three yards away from the boy. Now, his boy.

  “—on your dad,” Shay said to an empty living room before following. At the sound of low voices talking, she slowed and hesitated in the doorway.

  Cor was kneeling next to the bed, his face almost touching Bann’s, whispering things that only a well-loved son would say—could say—to a father. To Shay’s surprise, Bann’s lips parted in a weak smile. Eyes closed, he murmured something.

  “‘Kay. I will.” Cor stretched over and pressed his forehead against Bann’s. “Codladh sumh, Dad.” Sitting back on his heels, he paused for a moment, then spoke over a shoulder. “It means sleep well in Gaelic.”

  “I know,” Shay said softly. “My dad used to say it to me, too.” Refraining from asking Cor what else Bann had said, she stepped closer and laid her palm on the Knight’s forehead. “Better. We’ll give him another dose in an hour or so.” She glanced down at the figure huddled on the floor. “Want to go melt some marshmallows now?” The thought of all that gooey sugar made her want to gag.

  Chin resting on a raised knee, Cor messed with his shoelaces, tying and retying them. “Can I just stay here for a while?”

  “As long as you want. Max, come.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Shay?”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “Can Max stay with me?”

  “Of course.”

  She moved aside as Max walked over and flopped down between the beds, resting his head on Cor’s feet and making sure to take up as much room as possible. Cor toyed with the dog’s ears. She blinked in surprise at the next request.

  “You, too?”

  Forever and a day. “All right.”

  She wedged herself between the empty bed and the hound on the floor, stretching her legs across the furry body. Her heart melted when Cor scooted closer to her in the dogpile. The light from the lamp formed a cap of amber on his head but threw his face into shadow.

  The storm’s dirge filled the room. Snow hissed on the panes, frustrated it wasn’t invited to join the vigil.

  14

  IT WAS THE LESSENING of the pain, the ability to take a breath without passing out from agony, that woke Bann. Which was immediately followed by panic.

  He couldn’t move his legs. A weight pinned them down at the ankles, forcing one foot to bend at an awkward angle like a gymnast pointing her toes for the judges. His eyes flew open.

  A familiar ceiling greeted him. He blinked and looked around. Morning sunlight gilded the edges of the closed curtains of Shay’s guest room. Wondering at the weight, he looked down. Cor lay curled in a ball, fast asleep and his head resting on his father’s blanketed feet. The boy’s fists were tucked under his chin in a fashion Bann hadn’t seen s
ince Cor was a toddler. The cut under the boy’s eye was a small, accusatory scar.

  Blame flogged him raw. Then Shay’s voice whispered in his head. “Guilt’s a crappy, useless emotion. Not when there’s a better one.”

  “Which is?”

  “Revenge. Cold, calculating, Celtic revenge.”

  Holding on to that lifeline, Bann cleared his throat. “Cor,” he rasped.

  The boy blinked awake. For a moment, he stared bleary-eyed.

  Pushing the cover aside, Bann lifted his arm on his uninjured side in invitation. Cor crawled along the mattress and burrowed next to him. Tucking the boy further under his arm, Bann kissed the top of his head, then rested his cheek on the hair rumpled from sleep. The smell of shampoo and clean cotton greeted his nostrils.

  “Dad?”

  “Son.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cor whispered.

  Retribution, not remorse. He ignored the guilt filleting him, slicing at his innards with razor teeth before feasting. Straightening, he pulled Cor closer, nestling him against his bare chest. “Now, what kind of talk is that? You did grand. Clever of you to call Shay.” He paused. “Those Fir Bolgs—”

  Cor tensed. “Don’t.”

  Not wanting to push the boy to talk about it, at least not yet, Bann nodded. The click-click-click of nails on wood filled him with relief. Max appeared a moment later, nudging the door further ajar as he joined them. Trotting around to Cor’s side, he shoved his nose under the boy’s hand, demanding his due.

  “Max found us, you know.” Cor traced a finger along the dog’s snout and up between his eyes.

  “Aye, he did. So, we’ve two heroes to honor, eh?”

  “Really?” Cor looked up at Bann, eyes still filled with the horror of yesterday but desperate for absolution.

  “Truly. A warrior, ye are, Cormac Boru.” He nailed his son with his eyes, willing Cor to understand what he was about to say. “For it is how a warrior overcomes the enemy, not what the enemy does to him, that makes him a true hero. Ye ken?”

  Cor stared back. For a moment, Bann spied, in the planes and lines of the boyish face, the man his son would become. Then a faint smile.

  “Aye, I ken.”

  “You know, from anyone else, that would’ve sounded like lines from a bad movie.” Shay appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in one hand. Bann wondered why the room seemed brighter.

  Her smile dimmed. She glanced briefly at Cor, one eyebrow raised in question, as if to ask: Is he going to be okay?

  Bann nodded slightly. I believe so.

  Their gazes locked over the top of the child’s head. For a split second, the power of three, a number full of might and vigor, pulsed around the room. Then it was gone. Bann blinked. He noticed Shay shaking her own head as if to clear it.

  “Okay, that was weird.” Bemused, Shay set the mug on the bedside table, then pulled the chair closer and sat down. She studied his face. “You’re still a mess, but not as bad as yesterday. I’ve been practically drowning you in the nettle brew all night.” She pressed her palm to Bann’s forehead, then laid the back of her fingers against his cheek.

  The feel of her skin against his made his heart skip a beat. It had been so long since anyone beside Cor had touched him, outside of social etiquette. Especially a woman’s touch. He blushed, hoping she wouldn’t notice the increased warmth.

  “Well, you’re no longer running a fever. Let’s check that wound.”

  His blush deepened when she slid the blanket off his bare chest. As she began folding it back, he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was naked under the covers.

  “Say, Cor? Why don’t you go…” He fumbled for some errand on which to send the boy. He didn’t care a whit about being naked in front of his son. It was being naked in front of a woman in front of his son that made his ears burn.

  “…go see if Max wants more to eat,” Shay finished the sentence. “He didn’t get all his dinner last night.”

  “‘Kay.” Cor wiggled out from under his father’s arm and slid off the bed. “C’mon, Max.”

  Shay waited until Cor disappeared. A grin teased her lips as she pushed the comforter away, baring his body all the way down to his thigh, but keeping a fold of material discreetly covering his groin. “Bannerman Boru, I can’t believe you’re embarrassed. Why, we’re Celts, for Danu’s sake. Our ancestors went into battle wearing nothing but woad on their faces, a torc, and a boot-’em-in-thearse attitude. And it’s not like I haven’t seen a naked man before. I’m a Healer, remember?” He noticed she didn’t mention the fact she had seen him naked just last night.

  “I am not embarrassed.”

  “Yes, you are.” She began peeling away the surgical tape, her fingers gentle.

  “Well, perhaps a little.”

  “Ashamed of your body?” She probed the wound, studying it.

  “Should I be?”

  You’re flirting with her, and you practically on your deathbed, said a tiny voice in his head.

  So? He answered back.What if I am? No harm in an innocent exchange. And as for being on my deathbed, why, I’m feeling much better now, thank you.

  The voice rolled its eyes.

  Her stare swept along his length of his body with a look of frank appreciation. Bann was grateful for the thickness of the quilted comforter as her gaze lingered on his chest, then traveled downward, clearly enjoying the journey, to his stomach. His pulse surged from a trot to a gallop when she moved on to his bare hip.

  “Nope. Not at all.” She placed the soiled bandage to one side. Back in Healer mode, she smoothed the covers in place and helped him sit up, bunching the pillows behind him with a practiced move. “Drink. Then we’ll talk.” She handed him the mug of tea, then reached across the bed and opened the curtains before taking a seat in the chair by the bed. Morning blessed the room.

  After draining the mug, Bann settled deeper in the pillows. He found himself captivated by the sunlight gleaming on Shay’s hair—its color a match for the sun—flowing around her shoulders. His enjoyment faded when the Healer leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Irritation deepened her eyes to indigo.

  “Well, Bannerman Boru. I hope yesterday’s events taught you a lesson.”

  “And what lesson would that be?” He was not above stalling for time.

  “Taking off like that. You know, that whole ‘lone wolf’ act is going to get you and Cor hurt. Or both of you killed.” Or Cor killed. She left the words unspoken.

  Which would be the same as my own death, Bann thought.

  “Why won’t you just admit you need our help? No, listen. Hugh and I talked last night. We’re going to do everything we can to protect you and Cor. Which could get dicey, seeing there’s some rogue Fir Bolgs to contend with as well as a crazy god guy.”

  “Shay—”

  “The first order of business is to get you healthy. Luckily, we’ve got some breathing room with Samhain over three weeks away. In the meantime, Hugh’s going to see what he can find out about how one goes about killing a god.”

  “Shay,” Bann tried again. “I don’t think—”

  “That’s for sure. Because you’re lying there all beat up with a hole in your side, trying to figure out how to explain why you cannot accept our protection, and how once you’re well, you need to flee with Cor, and blah, blah, blah. Give it a rest and accept the inevitable.”

  “Which is?”

  “Why, that you’re outnumbered.”

  “And just how do you figure—”

  Cor walked in with a bulging daypack on his back and another one in his arms. “Shay told me to get a bunch of clothes for me and you from the camper.” He dropped the pack on the other bed, then turned and fell backward beside it. For a few moments, he wiggled like a turtle on its shell until he worked free of the straps, then stood up. “All done.”

  “Underwear and socks?” Shay hinted.

  Cor smacked his forehead. “Be right back.” He disappeared.

  Shay grinned in tri
umph, her nose crinkling slightly. “See? Two against one. Remember?”

  “Fine. I admit defeat.”

  “And I bet that hurt worse than being stabbed.”

  “You have no idea.” He shifted on the bed, then winced at the pull of the injury. “How does it look, by the way?”

  “Well, I finally figured out the stab was a puncture, probably from that prong. It must have had some bad mojo on it, because your body fought one hell of an infection all night. The wound looks better today and is finally reacting to the sláinte nettle. Somewhat. How’s the pain?”

  “Bearable. The potion is helping.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Not really. But I’m sure I will be after I move about some.” Bann started to fling back the covers when he realized that would not be a good idea. “Would you mind handing me my jeans?” He looked around. “Which are where?”

  “Washing machine. And why? You’re not going anywhere—you’re confined to bed under Healer’s orders.”

  “I need to relieve myself.”

  “I’ll get you a bedpan.”

  “I’ll hold it, then.”

  “Obstinate.”

  “Tyrannical.”

  “Why did you call Shay a dinosaur?” Cor asked, walking in with a plastic grocery bag of underwear in one hand.

  Bann laughed, then hitched in a breath at another stab of pain. The increasing pressure on his bladder didn’t help any. “Look, I really do need to go. What if Cor helps me there and back?”

  Shay relented. “All right. Cor, you’re in charge. You stay with him and make sure he gets right back in bed afterwards. Bann, I’ll fix you a tray.”

  After she left, Bann directed Cor to fetch a bath towel from the bathroom. He waited until the boy returned, then flung the covers back. Easing his legs over the side of the mattress, he let Cor pull him up to his feet. For a moment, the room imitated a Tilt-A-Whirl. He kept one hand on the boy’s shoulder until his balance returned. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he shuffled out of the room and across the hall. Cor paced beside him, holding his father’s elbow.