The Stag Lord

by Darby Kaye

  “No!” A wail rent the air.

  Horror stabbed another hole in Bann. Cor was running toward them. As he watched, the boy tripped and fell. Sprawled in the snow, Cor fumbled around, then paused, staring down into the drift. With a shout, he leaped to his feet, waving something long and gray and familiar over his head.

  Bann’s knife.

  Cernunnos turned his head at Cor’s cry. A mad glee suffused his face. “Why, this is perfect. The child comes to me of his own free will.” He raised his own weapon and started for the boy.

  Impossibly, Max lurched to his feet and flung himself at the Stag Lord. His teeth closed around the shapeshifter’s throat. Jaws locked, he dragged Cernunnos down with the weight of his dying body. Blood—a god’s blood—sprayed out in a fine mist from either side of the dog’s muzzle.

  Bann swayed to his feet. Gods, help me!

  And they did.

  “Dad!” With an underhand move, Cor tossed the blade toward him.

  The knife flew in slow motion, flipping haft over tip in a lazy loop-theloop before landing with a smack in the Knight’s palm. His fingers curled around the handle. With a strangled cry, he lunged at Cernunnos. And missed.

  Staggering to his feet, the shapeshifter swayed, matching Bann’s drunken movements as they circled each other, the gash from Max’s fangs like a second smile under his chin. Blood poured down his chest in rivulets.

  Keeping himself between Cor and Cernunnos, Bann fought to keep his feet from walking out from under him. Black dots crowded the edge of his vision. He blinked and straightened; the agony in his butchered stomach helped focus him. Gasping the Song, he managed a few words before giving up, unable to breathe and sing at the same time. A corner of his mind noticed the Stag Lord trembling as if it were all he could do to stay upright.

  “It appears,” Cernunnos panted, “that all I need do is let you bleed out.”

  “I could say the same for ye.”

  “Yes, but I will recover eventually. It takes…it takes more than a hound’s bite to…to kill one such as me.” He gasped and sank to one knee, then toppled sideways. The antlers tumbled from his fingers.

  Kill him! Bann’s mind screamed at him. Kill the foul creature while he is weakened. He lurched forward. Between one heartbeat and the next, his body decided it was done for the day. He folded to his knees. As if in a dream, he watched the knife slip from his grasp into the red snow.

  Only an iron blade, wielded by one of noble blood. The words echoed in his head. He stretched his fingers toward the haft.

  Another hand appeared out of nowhere. It reached down for the weapon.

  Before Bann could stop him, Cor picked up the knife. Holding it in a two-handed grip, he marched over to the form sprawled on the ground. The boy stood looking down at the creature stirring feebly at his feet.

  Then, with a scream, he plunged the iron blade into the Stag Lord’s chest.

  31

  TIGHTENING HER GRIP ON her weapon, Shay ran toward the sound of a boyish shriek. That’s Cor, she thought wildly. What’s he doing out here?

  She lengthened her stride, careless of the footing underneath. Legs and lungs, honed from years of cross-country running, helped her outdistance the others. James and Rory struggled through the woods behind her while Hugh brought the rear.

  The back wall loomed up through the storm. She slowed, thigh muscles suddenly shaky and heart galloping out of control. “Oh, no. Please, no.”

  Bann was kneeling on the ground, the snow around him stained a pinkish red. Cor crouched next to him, trying to keep his father from collapsing face-first into the gore. A few yards away, smoke rose from a man-shaped mound of ash. The stink of roasting venison filled the air.

  Squatting beside father and son, Shay blinked back hot tears. Focus, she ordered herself. She sucked in a ragged breath. “Let me see.” With gentle fingers, she unzipped Bann’s jacket and reached for his shirt. Hugh and the younger Knights hovered nearby.

  “Max…first,” Bann rasped.

  Shay turned. Beyond the dead shapeshifter, a furry body lay in a spreading crimson pool. Even before she could scramble over, she knew. Dropping to her knees, she laid her hand on the still-warm head and stroked it. Brown eyes blinked up at her in adoration. “Who’s my good boy?” she whispered.

  Max’s tail thumped twice. Then it stilled as he left the world to run with Sirius in the next.

  Swiping at her face, she hurried back to Bann. Their eyes met. She shook her head, not wanting to say the words aloud.

  She carefully peeled his shirt up, the fabric wet and sticky. Oh, gods. A red apron covered his stomach, the holes still dribbling blood. Panic stabbed its own horns into her. She took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, I can do this. “We need to get you home.” She beckoned James and Rory over. “This is going to hurt.”

  Bann nodded. He clenched his jaw as the Knights each took an arm. When they lifted him to his feet, she wondered what it cost him to not cry out.

  By the time they got him into the house, the blood had soaked his jeans all the way to his knees. As James and Rory struggled to carry him inside and up the stairs, Hugh followed with a white-faced Cor in his arms.

  “I’ll see to the lad. You go save the father.”

  For the next hour, Shay marveled at how much blood a person could lose and still remain conscious. Or alive. All the while, the part of her that was falling—had already fallen—in love with Bann wrung its hands in despair over the damage. The other part, the Healer part, fought to keep her patient from bleeding dry. She wished he would sink into unconsciousness as the Knight bit his lips raw.

  “You are one lucky bastard, you know that, Bannerman Boru? If those prongs had gone any deeper, we’d be gathering stones for your burial cairn.” Bending over him, she dabbed salve into the last of the wounds, relief making her fingers unsteady. The aroma of sláinte nettle perfumed the room as it worked its magic.

  Bann nodded, skin stretched tight with pain. He tried to lift his head from the pillow. He gasped, then let it drop down. His skin, pale to begin with, grew even whiter. “Cor?” he whispered. “How is he?”

  She glanced over at the lump of misery curled up in an armchair in the far corner. She recalled how, in spite of Hugh’s gentle urging to come away, the boy had wormed his way into the room and knelt beside the bed. The Knight had had to peel the boy’s fingers, one by one, from his father’s hand so that Shay, with Ann’s help, could work without tripping over him. “Sleeping. As should you.” She straightened and set the bowl of salve on the bedside table. “I’ll get you something to help.”

  “Shay, about yer dog. ‘Tis my fault he—”

  “Stop. Just…stop already. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t Cor’s fault. So, let it go.” The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Max. Her heart just couldn’t take grieving for her dog, stressing over Bann, and trying to keep Cor from melting down. “Be right back.”

  Walking through her bedroom toward the bathroom, Shay glanced out the window. She wondered how it could only be midday. Snow continued to fall, but more slowly now, as if the storm had wrung itself out.

  After passing her fingers over the item four times without noticing—girl, get your head in the game—she located the small bundle of valerian sachets tightly sealed in a plastic zippered bag. Too tired to walk all the way to the kitchen for hot water, she ran the faucet long enough for steam to rise, then filled a drinking glass and dropped one of the packets into it, holding the glass as far away from her nose as she could. This stuff works like nothing else, but damn, does it stink. As it steeped, she scrubbed her hands, making a face as she examined herself in the mirror. “Very attractive.”

  Muck and blood and something nasty-crusty streaked her face. Her hair hung in strings around her face, the braid a mess. Pulling off the tie, she combed it out, rebraided it, then washed her face. As she patted it dry, a memory of Max, who always hovered in the bathroom door each morning while she got ready for the day, made her eyelids burn
. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath, then picked up the valerian and headed across the hall.

  The sight of a now-awake Cor sitting cross-legged on the bed with his back to the door, blocking Bann’s view, made her pause. Before she could announce her presence, she caught her name.

  “I think Shay’s mad at me,” Cor said in a quiet voice.

  “She’s not.” Bann sounded like it was all he could do to stay awake.

  “Yeah, she is. ‘Cuz of Max.”

  “My fault, son, not yours.”

  A pause, then, “Dad, can we go home?”

  “Home?” Bann said weakly.

  “Back to our old home. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

  Bann mumbled something, Shay wasn’t sure what. Easing out of the doorway on silent feet, she tiptoed back to her own room and set the glass on her dresser. Knees shaky, she sank down on the foot of her bed.

  Numbness. Like the moment when she had fallen out of the upper branches of a tree at the age of eight, Cor’s age, and landed on her back in the grass. She had lain sprawled, lungs refusing to work and entire body deadened from the shock of impact.

  They’re leaving.

  The thought was a knife in her heart. A really sharp knife that someone kept twisting. Clenching her hands into fists, she gritted her teeth. Okay, enough! You’re a Healer. Start acting like one. She picked up the glass and marched back across the hall. “I better warn you. This tastes worse than it…” She paused in the doorway.

  Bann was asleep, face free of pain. Cor was gone. The sound of running water declared his location.

  Right. Well, then. I should go eat something, then get some rest, since I’ll be up all night with Bann.

  Dragging herself down the stairs and into the kitchen, she poured the potion down the drain, grateful to be done carrying the nasty thing around. She wandered over the refrigerator and opened it, staring inside without a trace of an appetite, vaguely wondering where the others were. She eyed a beer. Better not. Instead, she closed the door, grabbed the teakettle off the stove, and headed for the sink. While it filled with water, she peered out the window. They’re leaving. He’s leaving. She dug her fingers into the lip of the sink.

  “Um, Shay?”

  She turned at Cor’s voice. “Hey, kiddo.”

  “I’m sorry about Max.”

  “Oh, Cor.” She leaned against the counter, turning the water off with an elbow. “It wasn’t your fault. Not one bit.” The look on the boy’s face begged to differ with her. “Max was crazy about you the moment you two met, and he wanted to protect you. And your dad, too.” Inspiration popped into her head. “He was like a canine version of a Knight, you know?”

  “I know.” Without another word, he left.

  “Shay?” Ann appeared in the doorway, a tray in her hands. “I brought you supper.” The aroma of potato soup preceded the woman into the room. “I want you to eat something.”

  Straightening from a slumped position in the upholstered chair she had dragged closer to Bann’s bed, Shay took the tray with a feeble smile of thanks and placed it on her lap. Not sure she could eat but knowing her aunt would hand-feed her if she didn’t, she picked up the spoon and dipped it into the bowl. A glass of iced tea accompanied the dish.

  “How is he?” Ann moved to the bed and gazed down at Bann’s still form. The light from the bedside lamp held the evening’s shadows at bay.

  “Still sleeping, which is good. He’s lost a lot of blood, though. We may be here awhile until he’s strong enough to…” She sipped a spoonful to keep from finishing the sentence.

  “You know you’re all welcome here for as long as you want. I’m enjoying the sounds of family in this house again.” She pulled up another chair and took a seat, studying Shay with the focus of a hunter. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” She kept her eyes on the tray.

  Ann snorted. “No wonder you never play poker with the boys. You’re a lousy liar.”

  “They’re leaving,” Shay blurted out. “I heard them talking. Cor wants to go back to Pennsylvania.”

  “Why?”

  “Cor feels guilty about…about…Max.” She took a gulp of tea. “And, of course, Bann feels guilty about Max. Because, you know, if there’s something else to feel guilty about, Bannerman Boru is going to leap at the chance to pick it up and beat himself stupid with it. Not that he’s not already there.” Shay stabbed a chunk of spud, slopping soup on the tray, “I swear, Ann, sometimes I want to smack him across the back of the head with a…with a tire iron.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “See what?”

  “Why, you’re in love with him.” She held up a hand, forestalling her protests. “It’s the head-whacking thing. A sure sign.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not in love with Bann. We’ve only met three weeks ago.” Why are you lying to her? And to yourself?

  “So?”

  “So, this isn’t some romance book. People don’t just meet, fall in love, and live happily ever, blah, blah, blah, gag me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because they don’t. Not in real life. And anyway, there’s Cor to consider.”

  “I thought you liked Cor.”

  “I do. I adore that kid.”

  “But you’ve only known him for three weeks.”

  Can you call your aunt a bitch and still remain in the family? Shay wondered. “That’s different.” As soon as she said the words, she cringed.

  “I’ll ignore that statement—too easy an opening. Now, do you think Bann has similar feelings for you?”

  “I think we’re friends.” Shay took another sip of tea.

  “A good start. Really, the best start in my opinion. And certainly, you’ve slept together.”

  Shay choked. Not sure what to say, she gulped more tea, face and ears flaming.

  Ann grinned and patted her knee, then rose. “Cor ate a few bites, by the way. He’s downstairs with the boys, pretending to watch TV. I’ll get him to bed in a little while.” She left.

  Appetite gone, Shay put the tray on the floor beside her. Slumping back, she sighed, studying Bann’s rugged features, softened by the glow of the lamp. He wore a look of determination even in sleep.

  Damn, how did I get in over my head so fast? One minute, I’m all Independent Professional Woman, and then almost overnight, I’ve got this guy, actually these two guys, who are making some serious footprints in my home. A corner of her mouth twitched. And in my heart.

  For a moment, she let her imagination have its time in the sandbox, fantasizing about spending her life with the Knight. Raising Cor together. Building a life and a home. Having children together. Working for their people. We’d be good for each other.

  A faint line appeared between Bann’s brows. It deepened when he stirred with a soft groan. Eyelids fluttered opened a moment later.

  “Hey.” She scooted her chair closer. “Look who’s alive.”

  “Half.” Bann croaked. He swallowed with a grimace and licked his lips. “Cor?”

  “Downstairs, being smothered with attention.” She picked up a glass of sláinte nettle she had placed there earlier and plunked in a bendable drinking straw. She held it to Bann’s lips while he drank a few sips. “How’s the pain? Do you want something stronger? I have valerian if you need it.”

  “Bearable, so no.” He paused, then continued. “Shay, I must tell you—”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “I overheard you and Cor talking.”

  “I see.”

  Weary beyond death of pretending her heart wasn’t drying into a lump of dead tissue, Shay changed the subject. “You did it. You killed that son of a bitch.”

  Bann snorted, then winced. “It was Cor. And Max.” He stared into the distance, eyelids beginning to droop again. “For the last year, Cor and I have only thought about surviving day to day. It seems unreal to be able to think about a future.”

  I wish that future could have included me, Shay th
ought.

  32

  “LASS?”

  Shay blinked awake at her uncle’s voice. Feeling every hour she had spent in the chair next to Bann’s bed, she straightened with a groan and glanced around.

  Hugh squatted next to her. In the dawn’s light, she could just make out the tender expression on his face. The smell of wet earth clung to him. “’Tis time.” As she rose, he added. “Now, are you sure this is where you want him buried?”

  “I am.” The same numbness that had invaded her when she found out Bann was leaving was back. Good thing. Because saying good-bye to—She shied away from the rest of the thought. “It’s where he fell in battle. And, like I told Cor, Max was as much a Knight of the Tuatha Dé Danaan as any of us.”

  “Aye, that he was. We’re all assembled. When you’re ready, come join us.”

  “What about Cor?”

  “He’s downstairs already.”

  As Hugh headed down the hall, Shay did a quick check on Bann, then swung by her room and grabbed a winter jacket. Steeling herself for the coming ordeal, she squared her shoulders as she walked downstairs and joined her family in the kitchen.

  They were waiting by the back door, bundled against the cold. Ann carried Max’s empty food and water bowls. Off to one side, Cor stood with his hands jammed in the pockets of the jacket Ann had given him. The misery on his face peeled off another piece of Shay’s heart. Without a word, she held out a hand to him.

  Keeping his hands in his jacket, he shook his head, shoulders hunched. Shay ignored the hurt that simple act caused her. It was healed somewhat when he fell in beside her as they followed the others across the yard, through the back gate, and into the woods. Snow crunched under their feet. An occasional snap, when a boot trod on a fallen branch, broke the silence of the dawn. To the east, the last of the storm clouds were slipping off the rim of the earth, backlit by the rising sun.

  Reaching a mound of fresh earth piled next to a hole, they stopped and arrayed themselves around it. Next to the grave, a form lay under an emerald-green cloth; the symbol of Knighthood, the Celtic knot, was embroidered in gold thread in the center of it. Shay blinked back tears when she saw the burial cloth. Crouching down, she laid a hand on the covered head for a moment, then rose and stepped back. Without a word, James and Rory lifted Max, still wrapped in the shroud, and laid him in the grave.