"But Herne," shrieked Godda. Tears streaked her face. "Surely you will not forsake us for him. Remember the last time? Remember Crea? Only we can save you."
"I need no saving," said Herne.
Godda raised her knife, and her magic lashed into him. Herne grimaced with pure agony and ran her spindly body through with his sword. Blood dribbled from her chest. Her jaw hung slack, dark red gore streaming from her mouth.
Her body twitched, and venom festered in her eye. Herne held his sword firm, pushing deeper.
With a sudden jerk, she sliced her knife through the air once more. Herne staggered back, forced to withdraw as scarlet flares ripped through the smoke and ensnared his body like a net.
The magic faded quickly, but new horror claimed Tam. Was he about to see Herne defeated? Would nothing kill this witch?
Godda muttered and swayed, her blood still gushing. Again she raised her knife. With a groan of effort, Herne took his sword in two hands, swung it back behind his shoulder, and scythed it through her neck.
Tam screwed his eyes shut. He did not wish to see a severed head fly off, not even hers. He could not shield his ears from the sickening crack as the skull struck the stone. Then he looked only to Herne, who raised himself to his full, formidable height.
"Who dares fight me next?" he demanded.
None answered his call. He threw both his sword and hunting horn aside and then gently grasped Tam's jaw, tipping his chin up, baring his throat. His antlers spread high and wide.
Tam needed to know Herne's mind, his heart. Was he safe? He'd prayed for this, but he was too dazed to know. In Herne's eyes, he sought that enduring sorrow, but Herne's intensity proved too much for him to stand. He dipped his gaze to the handle of Herne's knife in his belt and wondered if his heart might stop.
*~*~*
For Herne, words still seemed hard to find. He saw a bleeding wound on Tam's forehead, his pale flesh patterned with the signs of a beating. The lad trembled so hard even Herne's lust for vengeance on the perpetrators waned. He wanted to possess this boy, to adore him. Above all, he must comfort him.
Driven by pure feeling, Herne pressed his mouth to Tam's. His lips were dry and unyielding, and Herne could not blame him. He stroked Tam's face, pulling away to absorb a gaze still rich with fear and hostility. But hope sparked too—and affection?
Tam too struggled to find words. "You…you devil. You varlet! You…you came."
"Your death would undo me." His voice sounded as choked as Tam's sounded dry and breathless.
"You mean to say…you're not already undone?"
"The Goddess called me to lead the Wild Hunt. I had sought her command, and she gave it. But now…" He drew a deep breath, stooping to press their foreheads together, and spoke in a tender tone. "I care not what she wants of me, other than she spare me her wrath long enough to find Calleagh and save you. You will live long, Tam. I swear it."
Tam's laugh sounded brittle. Then his eyes rolled toward the top of his head, baring the whites.
"No." Herne growled, shaking him with care. "Stay awake, lad."
Tam blinked rapidly. "I found her," he murmured. "Or rather, she found me, and then things went awry. Didn't…you wonder how I got here?"
Yes, he had, in the short time afforded to him. He'd not imagined the answer would provoke such a surge of joy. Now Calleagh had been found, the betrothal would be broken, and Tam would survive. With that knowledge alone, he could face an endless, empty future once more.
He cut the ropes about Tam's wrists. Hugging Herne's neck, the lad clung to him. Herne sheathed his knife and slipped his arm under the crook of Tam's knees. Then, lifting Tam, he swung around to face the Hunt.
The two-headed pig stopped gnawing on its master's entrails and squealed as if it'd been stuck. Edric beat his chest, then stuffed his fist in his mouth, surely desperate to enter a frenzy of violence, although Herne recognized the fear in his eyes. Behind them, a couple of thatched roofs still smouldered, letting off more smoke than flame, and he hoped the villagers inside had taken this chance to slip away. He would not allow the Wild Hunt such an easy escape. They were cowards at heart, the lot of them.
Must he take his sword again and fight them all? The thought of letting Tam go made him grind his teeth with frustration. Yet beyond that, all lust for vengeance in his heart had died. The oblivion of the Hunt could never be his again, and neither would he ever desire it. He realized at last what he had to do, a power he never knew he possessed.
"You will retreat to the foulest corners of the forest," he said, "and never ride out again." He crushed his foot down on his hunting horn, splintering it to a dozen pieces. Then he roared so loudly Tam shuddered in his arms. "The Wild Hunt is over."
Chapter Sixteen
"Don't look," whispered Herne, his breath a soothing balm against Tam's aching brow.
Tam obeyed, keeping his eyes closed. Held tight against Herne's chest, he vaguely wondered if Herne would have to put him down to fight. Yes, his every fibre ached, and he'd be best lying flat and comfortable so he could sleep for an age. But damn it, must Herne ever put him down?
Herne did not relinquish him, and Tam clung as tenaciously as he could. A gale spun up around them, filled with fetid flesh, buzzing flies, and the wails of the Hunt rising like wolves, then fading like wretches sucked under an ocean tide. Tam's senses were too burdened to experience any more fear. He knew he was safe now.
An uneasy silence settled.
"They're gone," muttered Herne. "I should have done that long ago. It never occurred until I held you in my arms that their destruction was in my hands all along. I've been blind. A fool."
Opening his eyes, he allowed his hazy gaze to wander across the market square. Dewer gnawed on a bone, her wagging tail sending a rotten apple splashing into the puddle of blood where Godda's head had come to a rest, her neck a gory stump. Tam looked away. It was not an image he wished planted in his memory. The next moment, Herne moved to lift him onto his horse. At the lessening contact, Tam's heart flailed as wildly as the defeated Hunt had.
"Are you badly wounded?" asked Herne.
Tam winced but did not feel like he would be sick or faint again just yet. "No. My head's killing me, and some cur's kicked my ribs in. They might be cracked…but…Agh!" Pain jarred as he swung his leg over the horse, but he found he could support his weight. "I'll live. We must make haste."
Herne wrapped a cloak shed by one of the huntsmen about Tam's bare shoulders. Tam dared not think hard about what unpleasant substance it reeked of, or about the fine lines of concern crinkling the edges of Herne's eyes. He needed to consider so many other things, but heavens, thinking was so hard. He just wanted to melt into Herne and stay there forever.
"Does Calleagh await us in the forest?" asked Herne. "If so, our next move must be to find an honest man who will take her, and get them both to the dell by tomorrow night."
Tam exhaled a long, withering sigh. Just as he began to think of forever, Herne had to remind him that their time together must end soon. "No. We need to fetch Ann, my brother's wife. She's my best chance. It's not like you've saved me yet. But she can do that, along with Calleagh."
Herne's frown betrayed the faintest glimmer of hurt. "What do you mean?"
"Calleagh is in love with Ann. A fairy and a human bound in love. If the Elfaene will bless them, we can break this betrothal." Why had that proved so hard to say, beyond every word causing a stab in his ribs? He gestured wearily. "Come on. My brother's property is just beyond the village, on the Southampton road. I suspect they took her back there. Richard does not much like her wandering."
Herne climbed up behind him, and they trotted on, Tam leaning back against Herne, who wrapped his arms about him. So Herne had chosen not to kill him or to see him slaughtered, but nothing had really changed, had it? He was still a mere mortal, and Herne a spirit who'd spent hundreds of years pining for another lover, and…Heavens, he couldn't stand these troubling thoughts, not now.
"I feel sick," he
murmured.
Herne grunted in sympathy, gently rubbing Tam's chest. "The fair folk will heal you soon enough."
But I want you to always be the one to take care of me, Herne, as I want always to take care of you.
No. This was just too trying. He already espied the red-tiled roof of his brother's house. As they rode into the barnyard, the chickens clucked as if a fox were loosed among them, the hogs grunting and shuffling in their sty. They might have missed him, although he knew the huge stallion and its antlered rider bestirred them.
Herne helped him dismount, but conjuring the remains of his strength, Tam staggered to the door alone. He hammered on the wood with the flat of his palm.
"Ann! Richard, open up."
Ann's shout echoed his, then the scuffle of hurried footsteps. She threw the door open, her eyes reddened, her hair a loose mess about her shoulders. She clutched a square of embroidery. He stretched his eyes wide at the sight, but there was no time to study the riddle now.
"Ann. Hurry, come with us."
"Tam, you're alive. You're…you're hurt. Oh, oh Lord!" Moving to look closer at Tam, she sighted Herne, who'd stepped aside to lean against a wall to the left of the door. She stifled a cry.
"Pray, meet Herne the Hunter," said Tam. Herne nodded at Ann but didn't offer a reassuring word or crack his face into a smile. Tam could well understand her fear. Herne proved the sort of fellow who took some time to get to know. "He will do you no harm. Now come on."
She muttered, "Good morrow, sir," and stepped from the portal without her shawl or cap.
Hurrying up behind, Richard shot an arm out, caught her by the elbow, and spun her around. "You go nowhere, woman," he spat. Then, to Tam, "You have no right to take my wife, boy."
Even in his weakened state, Tam tightened his fists. "You had no right to as good as kill me, brother."
"He did what?" Herne moved swiftly from where he leaned and stuck his head through the door. "Tam, is this the man who beat you and left you for slaughter?"
"Well…not just him."
Tam rubbed his brow. His brother had turned pale, taking a second and then third glance at Herne, who now stepped in front of Tam, oaken arms folding, his knuckles pushing his always impressive muscles out.
"Leave him be." Tam sighed, although his heart swelled with pride. "Richard, just let Ann go."
But as Richard's fearful gaze slid back to Tam, he gripped Ann harder. "She is my wife," he protested, although his voice quailed. "She is my property by the law of God and man. So tell me the truth, boy. Have you been fucking her?"
"No. Let her go."
Ann cursed, trying to pull free but in vain. Herne started toward them—then swiftly fell back as a white arrow whistled through the air, piercing straight through Richard's sleeve and into the flesh of his outstretched forearm. Tam spun around and would have stumbled if Herne had not grabbed him.
Calleagh had found them, armed as a fairy would be to face the Hunt with a quiver of arrows and a longbow. Her blonde hair caught the gleam of the pale light, but her eyes glittered as fiercely as the midwinter sun.
She hissed like a wildcat. "Foulest of fiends, curse thee to Niogaerst! Herne, I beg thee, tear into his guts and kick his liver about the yard while his heart still beats! Feed his testicles to the hogs, and make him watch them chew!"
On his knees, clutching his arrow-pierced arm, Richard tilted his head to one side like a fuddled ass. He clearly could not understand where this creature had come from, let alone make sense of her words in defence of his wife. Tam laughed out loud.
Wrap your narrow mind about that one, brother.
Ann ran to Calleagh, but Tam turned away to give them a moment of privacy. He looked again to Richard, blood trickling over the white stone arrowhead, down Richard's arm, and into the mud. Richard gaped as his wife willingly parted her lips, inviting some strange maid to kiss her deeply, in the yard for any passing gossip to see.
Herne clenched and flexed his fists. Although his knees threatened to buckle, Tam shifted between Richard and Herne, placing his hand on Herne's chest.
"Leave him be," he murmured to Herne. "He's not worth the time. And no, Richard, I have not been fucking her." Ah, but he half wished to tell his brother the truth of him and Herne. How Richard's eyes would bulge like a rabid bull's if he did. "But she's made her choice, so live with it, brother. Enjoy your forty acres and your empty house. Oh, yes. And curse thee to hell."
*~*~*
They left the villagers and farms to lick their wounds in peace. Mounted on Cernunnos, Tam rested sideways in front of Herne. The lad lolled his head against Herne's shoulder, and Herne folded an arm around him.
But while Tam seemingly slept, Herne's thoughts brooded as darkly as the dirty stream of fog that slithered across the heather toward the forest—the residue of the Wild Hunt. And so he must return to the depths of the forests.
Must he really return alone?
The question startled him. Looking down, he swept his gaze over Tam's long lashes, the downy hair on his chin, the cut on his forehead, and the purple bruises marring his right cheek. Even as he abhorred Tam's injuries, he almost felt glad for them. If the lad had been his usual lively self, it would take great effort not to lick, kiss, and worship every last part of him. And then fuck him roughly into the heather, right here, right then.
No. He must not yet, and mayhap never. At least he'd put his heartbreak to rest. Through uncounted ages, he would now smile in affection over his brief encounter with Tam, rather than tearing his guts for Crea. He set his countenance stony, and they rode on.
Calleagh and Ann walked hand in hand beside Cernunnos until they'd passed deep into the Greenwood, and Calleagh called their party to a stop. "I need to bind and blindfold the three of you so you can pass up the paths to our heortland." She flapped her hand toward Tam. "Can he make it?"
"Yes, he can," muttered Tam, flickering his eyes open.
"Good." Herne climbed down, then helped Tam after him, seeing his feet safely on the ground before grasping his hands. "Calleagh, if you waive your rule about wrist binding in light of Tam's injuries, he and Ann can ride to your heortland. I must leave you all for now."
"What?" Tam snatched his hands away, steadying himself on Cernunnos's muscled flank.
"You're leaving us?"
Herne regarded him as evenly as he could. "Fret not, lad. I will return on the morrow for the ceremony, but tonight you must rest and heal and think on your prospects."
"My prospects?" Tam spat the word with a mirthless laugh. "I have no family, no home in the world of men. Believe me, there were plenty of kind people in that village who didn't turn out see me murdered, but none loved me so well they leaped to my defence, save Ann. I never belonged. And…and I've learned something these past few days. Why should I care for their respect, whatever I achieve? They're nobodies, at least to me." His breaths grew harsh and shallow.
Herne started to fear for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You should calm yourself."
"Fie thee!" said Tam. "Don't you understand? I've not just been asleep; I've been thinking. I've been lying with your arms around me and feeling as if I've come home for the very first time in my life. True, this betrothal must be broken to save me, but after it's gone, why cannot I stay with you? I wish to be at your side, betrothal or no."
Herne recalled the chill of thousands of nights alone. "Nothing has changed. Even if I am not your death, I can offer you no kind of life."
"Is your heart still so bound to Crea?"
"No." That Tam believed he could mean less than that snake set Herne's insides withering. He at last looked to his adored boy, bolstered by the power of his feelings and the truth. "I am not the same man who loved that traitor. Any remnants of my love for him had been dead centuries before I met you, if 'love' is what that was called."
Tam stretched his eyes wide, and the glitter of his anger waned. Moving close, Herne traced the soft curve of Tam's uninjured left cheek, and the lad stared up,
motionless.
"What I share with you," said Herne, gathering his words with care, "eclipses him as surely as no mere glowworm can be seen in the glory of the sunlight."
Tam pressed his hand to Herne's. "So why cannot we—"
"Listen to me." Herne stepped back, a twig cracking beneath his tread. "I don't know what my future brings. My days, even as spirit, might be short. In turning back the Wild Hunt, I disobeyed the Goddess."
"How do you know?"
Herne bowed his head. Even the thin whistle of a bullfinch seemed to accuse him of picking the wrong path, but he could see no other way ahead. "I learned the answer to a riddle and the reason I was summoned to the Greenwood. The signs were before me all along, but I was too blind to see."
"What riddle? Tell me."
Herne drew Tam away from the increasingly restless horse and settled him on a moss-covered tree stump. "When we were first parted, I dreamed of the oak and holly. I thought the dreams spoke of us, but then the Goddess sent her messenger to make things plain. She told me a riddle, and the answer was war. She must have wished me to lead the Wild Hunt."
The delight sparking in Tam's eyes shocked Herne. "No. You're wrong," said Tam. "Ann, might I have the sampler?"
Ann, who had been looking on, transfixed, now pulled a square of fabric from her waistband and offered it. Calleagh shuddered at the sight, as if groped by a ghost.
"I thank you." Tam seized the piece. Then his shoulders sagged. "Agh! There's no answer sewed on it." Herne took the sampler as Tam sank his head forward. "I could have sworn the answer was embroidered there, that the oak and holly entwined for love. I know it's just a silly riddle, but the answer seemed plain to me. It still does."
Herne examined the piece. Yes, it bore the same riddle Sulis had uttered, woven between plump red berries and bright, frilled leaves. "My people would have argued otherwise," he told Tam, his voice flat. "The spirits of the oak and the holly were often at war, as they fought for supremacy through each passing year."
Impatient, Calleagh patted Tam's shoulder. "I must blindfold you now if we are to get to the heortland before dusk."
Bound to the Beast Page 18