Divine by Mistake

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by P. C. Cast

My soul responded to the insistent call and I felt my spirit body lift with a sickening wave of vertigo from my crumpled body. At first I was unable to focus clearly. The battle below me was just a mass of unrecognizable red-tinged characters.

  Concentrate, the Goddess whispered. I breathed slowly and tried to blink away the blurring of my vision. And abruptly the scene beneath me swam into focus.

  Several members of my personal guard had joined Epi, and they were successfully battling the group of Fomorians. Relieved, my attention shifted to a scene being played out several yards away from any of the other warriors or creatures. ClanFintan and Nuada were circling each other warily. My spirit body floated over to where they fought. Both males were covered in blood and sweat. New blood was pouring from the arrow wound on the side of Nuada’s head, and several angry-looking slashes made his wings look frayed and raw. I floated closer and noticed that what I assumed at first to be blood was really a scarlet rash that covered his torso. But as he lashed out at ClanFintan, and his deadly talons raked across the centaur’s left shoulder, I realized that the disease had not yet affected his strength.

  ClanFintan had lost his claymore, and he was fighting off Nuada’s increasingly wild advances with only a dagger and his hooves.

  “Get out of my way, mutant horse, I wish to claim the body of your bride,” Nuada hissed.

  “Never.” Instead of angering him, Nuada’s words seemed to have a strangely calming effect on ClanFintan. He fought on methodically, not giving ground but also not finding any new openings in the creature’s defenses.

  “You know, horse man, she will welcome me.” Nuada’s voice lashed out with his claws. Neither found their mark.

  “Never,” ClanFintan’s deep voice repeated.

  “If she still lives,” Nuada continued.

  The new words did have an effect on the centaur. He lunged forward suddenly, and Nuada leaped to meet him. The two males locked together, Nuada’s razor-edged teeth inches from ClanFintan’s neck, while the centaur’s dagger hovered just above the Fomorian’s prominent jugular vein.

  My body sank lower until it was floating just above and to the side of my husband. I wasn’t going to watch another man I loved be killed by those things.

  In the middle of my thought I felt the tremor that passed through my body as it became semivisible. I mentally crossed my fingers that I was doing the right thing.

  “Hey, Nuada. Am I what you’re looking for, big boy?” I called seductively to the Fomorian.

  At the sound of my voice Nuada’s head snapped up, his concentration wavering from ClanFintan for an instant. I watched as my husband’s hand broke from the creature’s grasp and the dagger sliced neatly through the pulsing vein on the side of Nuada’s neck. I could clearly see the look of disbelief pass over Nuada’s twisted features as he slipped on his own blood and fell to the ground. ClanFintan reared up, his wet hooves glistening above the creature’s body.

  “Never,” my husband’s voice rasped harshly as he came down again and again, smashing Nuada’s evil into nothingness.

  A shout below me caused me to look from the gory scene in time to see the armies of Woulff and McNamara joining our warriors. The centaurs and humans merged into a single force, and with a shared mind they began decimating the weakened Fomorian army.

  A wave of dizziness passed over me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  “Rhea!” ClanFintan’s voice sounded a long way off.

  “I can’t…” I felt myself inexorably pulled back to my fallen body. As I was sucked down, my eyes fluttered open long enough to see ClanFintan rushing to me and gathering me in his arms.

  “Hold on,” he said as my vision darkened. “I am taking you home.”

  And then I knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER 24

  As evening fell the wind shifted, and I gave thanks to my Goddess. For three days the stench of burning bodies had permeated the temple, which hadn’t helped to soothe the enormous pain in my head. Carolan had assured me the lump on my left temple was only the size of a cockerel’s stone (translation: a rooster’s testicle—who knew?), but I was pretty sure it was the size of a mutated grapefruit, and it sported a veritable rainbow of bruised colors. Anyway, the consensus was that I would recover with all of my wits. Well, thank God(dess).

  The Fomorians had been killed by the thousands. Our combined armies had rallied and the creatures, already weakened by smallpox, could not stand before their power.

  Carolan hypothesized that because the Fomorians were humanoid, but not actually human, their bodies were exceptionally susceptible to the disease. Their incubation time was less than ours, and the disease progressed more rapidly with them. By the evening of the battle the scene outside the temple was something straight out of the old horror flick Night of the Living Dead. At least, that’s how Victoria described it to me (not that she’d actually seen the movie). I had still been drifting in and out of the Concussion Land of Puke and See Double, so I only got a secondhand description. Vic said the creatures literally began rending the flesh from their bones with their own claws. They quit fighting. Each appeared to be in a world of his own, locked in some kind of agony with his own skin as his claws raked across already battle-bloodied flesh to gouge and tear mercilessly. She explained that the battle had been reduced to our warriors raining arrows down upon the agonized Fomorians as the Huntresses ended their misery.

  “If we had allowed them to suffer,” Victoria had said afterward, “we would be no better than them.” So the battle had ended with the sounds of mercy.

  There was still the question of what could be done to help the women who were carrying Fomorian fetuses, but Carolan was working diligently on that problem. By the time the women from Guardian Castle arrived, he assured us he would be ready for them.

  “Jeesh, I’m tired of staying in bed,” I muttered to myself. And it wasn’t even a good kind of romantic interlude in bed with my handsome husband. It was a rest-my-big-head-and-take-lots-of-boring-naps kind of interlude.

  Gingerly, I sat up, hoping the puking and spinning had stopped. Other than the ever-present splitting headache, I seemed fine.

  So I stood up.

  Well, maybe semi-fine would be a better description. I don’t normally feel each beat of my heart in my head. Carefully, I walked to my floor-to-ceiling windows and opened one of the doorlike glass panes. The evening was beautiful and warm. Still being careful, I stepped out into my private garden and took a deep breath of the fresh scent of the honeysuckle bushes that were blooming all around its perimeter. (Note to self: ask one of my nymphs to cut a bouquet of these for my bedroom.)

  “Lady Rhiannon!” a little voice chirped.

  Thinking of nymphs had obviously conjured one, and I watched as the girl walked shyly across the garden to curtsy deeply before me.

  “Tarah!” I reached out and gave her a hug that made her lovely face flush with pleasure.

  “My Lady!” She returned my embrace enthusiastically before continuing, “The stable maidens sent me to inquire if you were well enough to come to the stable.” Her smile widened. “The child, Kristianna, is ready for her ride on Epona.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Tell them I’m on my way.”

  “I’m pleased to see you have recovered, my Lady,” she said, seeming reluctant to leave my side.

  “And I’m glad to see you’re better, too.” Most of the scabs had already dropped off her face and arms, and I could see that she had been lucky. Except for a few marks that would fade over time, she would recover fully from her illness.

  “Thank you, my Lady. I am anxious to return to my duties.” She shyly turned her head to the side, and I was entranced by the unexpected view of her profile. The girl suddenly reminded me so strongly of Terpsichore that I felt my eyes fill with tears.

  “Honey, have you ever considered a future in dance?”

  Color flooded her face as she answered, barely holding in check her youthful enthusiasm, “Oh, my Lady, dance is all that
I dream about!”

  With an intuitive feeling I knew the martyred Muse would approve of this young replica.

  “Don’t rush it—but when you’re feeling strong again, come see me. And we will talk more about your dreams.”

  I let her chatter gaily as we walked across the garden to the exit that would lead her in the direction of the stables.

  “Remember,” I called after her as she scampered ahead of me to announce that “Epona’s Chosen comes,” “see me when you are strong again.”

  “Oh, I will, my Lady!”

  “Thinking of helping Thalia rebuild the Muses?” ClanFintan’s velvet voice came from the shadows.

  “Actually, I was thinking more about Terpsichore and what she would want,” I said thoughtfully.

  I tilted my head and watched him walk out of the shadows toward me. The gentle light of evening was kind to a face and form that had no need of the favor. His powerful muscles rippled smoothly, and his recent wounds gave him a decidedly bad-boy appearance.

  He brushed an errant curl back from my face.

  “Please don’t ask me how I’m feeling, or order me back to bed.” I realized I might have been sounding a little grumpy.

  “You seem to be standing and walking straight.” He leaned a little closer and sniffed at my face. “And it does not appear you have been throwing up.”

  “No, damnit, I haven’t puked for an entire day.” Now I knew I sounded grumpy.

  But my mood didn’t seem to put ClanFintan off.

  “So, what have you been doing?” He sounded mischievous.

  “I’ve been thinking about sending for Mariad so that Alanna can start training an assistant.”

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “So she’s not so dang busy. Then she and Carolan can have more time together.” I held up my hands like I was framing a picture. “I see…three little girls in their future.”

  He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting my feet off the ground and pulling me firmly against him.

  “And what do you see for our future?” His voice had deepened to the erotic tone I knew so well, and had been missing the past several nights.

  “I see—” I nibbled on his earlobe, thinking that maybe a romp with my husband would be the cure for my headache “—a Change coming on tonight.”

  He chuckled and kissed me quickly, slipping his arm under my butt and shifting my position in his arms so that I wasn’t dangling haphazardly. “I meant about our future children.”

  “Children!” I squeaked through the pounding in my head.

  “Of course,” his chest rumbled. “We certainly have not been celibate.”

  “But—” I sputtered.

  “In that old world of yours did they not teach how babies are made?” He peered in mock seriousness into my face.

  “But—” I repeated. “What will it be?”

  “Boy or girl?” he asked, suddenly all innocence.

  I thumped him soundly on his hard chest. “Horse or human?”

  “Well…” He smiled down at me and kissed me on the forehead. “Whatever it is, it will certainly have the makings of an excellent equestrian.”

  I let my hand slide between us so that it rested on my (relatively) flat stomach. I thought I felt a fluttering beneath my palm, and my hand jerked away like I’d received an electrical charge.

  “A baby?” My voice was more than a little shaky.

  “Perhaps you are feeling the promise of what is to come.” He hugged me against him; I loved the way his warmth engulfed me.

  “The promise of the future,” I said.

  “Our future,” he corrected me.

  “Our future,” I repeated. “I like that.”

  “As do I, Shannon,” he whispered against my lips. “As do I.”

  * * *

  But Rhiannon isn’t going to let Shannon rest in ClanFinton’s arms for long! Don’t miss their showdown in Divine by Choice, available December 2006 from LUNA Books.

  * * * * *

  Two Realms. One Choice. No Second Chance.

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  ISBN: 9781488027529

  DIVINE BY MISTAKE

  Copyright © 2006 by P.C. Cast

  Originally published as GODDESS BY MISTAKE © 2001 by P.C. Cast

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

 

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