by Laura DeLuca
“Tiarn, are you all right?”
“Fine,” he replied, but there was no twinkle in his eye. No hint of his normal sarcasm. Nevertheless, he did smile a little as he looked her over from head to toe. He clearly appreciated how every sinew and curve was displayed to full advantage by her new gown. “You are the picture of radiance, Morrigan. For the first time, you truly resemble the princess you are.”
Morrigan blushed, dropped her bag, and sat beside him. She had forgotten to snap the backpack, and when it fell over, the little black raven Alden had given her rolled to the ground at Tiarn’s feet. He picked it up and studied it for a moment before handing it back to her.
“The raven,” he said. “Symbol of the Morrigan. She was always one of my favorite aspects of the Goddess.”
“Tell me about Her,” Morrigan said. “She is my namesake, after all.”
Tiarn nodded. “Yes, all the royal witches are named for the goddesses. It has been a tradition for generations. It is believed they are direct descendants of the deities, and that is why their power is so great.”
He paused for a minute, again rubbing his eyes and then his neck. Morrigan put the token raven away and adjusted so she was kneeling behind him. She brushed his long dreadlocks to one side, surprised by how soft they were. She had expected them to be coarse. Despite the chilly air, he had not put his tunic back on. She wasn’t sure how she worked up the nerve, but she gingerly placed her hands on his bare shoulders and started to gently massage his neck. He froze for just a moment, and she felt his body tense, so she knew she had shocked him too.
“Go on,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, but didn’t push her away. “Morrigan is the Goddess of war and death. During battle She appears as a raven and shrieks a war cry above Her soldiers. She is filled with strength and passion, but there is also a softer side to the dark Goddess. Some say She weeps over the fallen soldiers, mourning for the deaths on both sides of the battle, because in the end, we are all Her children.”
“The unconditional love of a mother,” Morrigan said. For a moment, she wondered if the death card she had drawn in her tarot reading was the Morrigan reaching out to her namesake and lending her strength, instead of a warning of impending doom. “She sounds amazing. I am proud to share Her name.”
“It is also believed She leads the fallen men into the next world, forever taking them away from the pain of this life. It is not with fear, but with longing that I await Her touch, for She will bring a peace that is not often found in life.”
Again she heard that horrible sadness in his voice and wondered what horrors he had seen to make him so eternally forlorn.
“Life doesn’t have to be so terrible, you know.” She continued to knead the tight muscles in his shoulders and worked her way down to his back, gently soothing and caressing his long neglected body. “Maybe this Morrigan could help to bring you some peace, if only you would let her.”
“You have already lent me your healing touch, which is far more than I am worthy of. Goddess, woman,” he whispered. “Your hands are like magic. It is like being caressed by the Morrigan herself.”
Morrigan felt her cheeks begin to burn again and was glad he couldn’t see it. She worked her way back to his neck, savoring this small moment of intimacy they shared. She breathed in his masculine, earthy scent, which stirred feelings within her she had never experienced before. She longed to touch him in places far less appropriate and wished he could return that touch and quench the burning desire swelling within her breast. She noticed he felt much warmer than he should have, especially considering the cool autumn air. Even beside the fire, it was quite chilly, and Morrigan was wearing a heavy dress. He was still bare chested, yet his body was hot to the touch. She frowned and moved her fingers to his forehead.
“Tiarn,” she said, “you feel really warm. I think you might have a fever.”
“Nonsense,” he whispered. He reached out to touch her chin and tilted her face so he could look in her eyes. “What man’s flesh would not burn at the touch of so lovely a creature?”
Morrigan felt like she was sinking, drowning in the pools of his emerald eyes. Eyes that were filled with so much strength, yet so much sadness and longing. She was so overwhelmed with sincere emotion, she couldn’t help it. She leaned over and kissed him.
He resisted for only a second. Then he pulled her toward him and pressed his lips to hers with a passion that burned much hotter than his skin. Her desire was equally matched by his. She relished in it, even though the scruff on his chin was like sandpaper. They clung to each other, both hungry for a closeness that had been denied them too long. She could feel his heart beating rapidly in time with her own. She could feel his fingers sliding along her waist, exploring every curve. She longed to remove the now cumbersome dress so she could press her bare skin against his already naked chest. But suddenly, just as her desire was reaching a crescendo, Tiarn pushed her roughly away. Hurt and stunned, Morrigan fell backward and lay half sprawled in the dirt. Tiarn jumped up from the ground with his fists balled and glared at her. His face was twisted in a terrible mask of anger and anguish.
“Damn you, witch!” he spat. “Why must you tempt me with you wicked wiles? Why must you torture me so? What tricks, what games are you playing with me?”
Morrigan felt tears sting her eyes. The moment, so perfect just seconds earlier, had been tarnished by his abrupt rebuttal. She had no idea what she had done to make him so angry. “Tiarn, why are you so upset? This isn’t a game to me. Don’t you see how much I . . . how much I lo—”
“No!” Before she could finish the sentence, he was on top of her, snapping her head back in his haste to cover her mouth with his hand. “Do not say it, Morrigan! Lycan and witch—it is forbidden! Forbidden!” His hands shook. His eyes burned with feverish fury, and for one moment she was actually afraid he might strike her. When she flinched and put up a hand to shield her face, his voice became gentle and almost pleading. He stroked her hair as he helped her to her feet. “Do you not understand, Morrigan? This thing between you and I . . . it can never be.”
Morrigan stared at him for a moment, too stunned and too hurt to speak. She wanted to be mad, but her anger dissipated when she saw the anguish in his eyes. He seemed so tormented; she didn’t want to make things worse for him, even if he had just shattered her heart to pieces. Instead, she brushed the dirt from her new dress and tried to act as though nothing had happened.
“You should get some rest before we leave,” she told him. “Why don’t you sleep for a while? I’ll keep watch and I’ll wake you up if there’s any sign of trouble.”
Normally, she knew he would have argued. He would have insisted they keep moving. He was too exhausted to argue. He picked up his tunic and tried his best not to flinch as he covered his bad arm. Then he unrolled his sleeping furs and laid down beside the fire, making sure his back was turned to her. Only when she was certain she heard the deep, even breathing of sleep, did Morrigan finally allow the tears she had been holding back to flow free.
Chapter Fifteen
Morrigan wasn’t sure how long she cried. Eventually, the fire had gone out, leaving behind only a few burning embers. While it was still light out, the sun was close to setting. Threatening clouds began to roll in, and she could hear the clap of thunder in the distance. Morrigan knew they would have to get moving shortly before they lost the last of the daylight and got caught up in the storm. She tried to clean herself up a little. She wiped her swollen eyes dry with the sleeve of her gown. She glanced over at Tiarn and saw he was still sleeping. To give him as much down time as possible, she gathered their supplies and cleaned up the campsite. She threw a little dirt into the fire pit to make sure the flames were out. As the dirt smothered the last of the glowing embers, Morrigan wondered if Arianrhod, who controlled the element of earth, would extinguish her power over fire just as easily.
Morrigan took her time preparing to leave, perhaps because the inevitable meetin
g with her aunt suddenly seemed so terrifying. Or maybe she dreaded facing Tiarn after he had rejected and humiliated her. She couldn’t put if off forever. Once everything was in place, she inched her way over to wake up her werewolf guide.
She had made it a point not to look directly at him while he slept. She was afraid his eyes would suddenly pop open and he would give her that horrible, accusing stare. Now she had no choice but to peer down at him. Even in his sleep, he seemed almost unnaturally beautiful. His face was a mask of chiseled perfection. His dark dreadlocks were draped along his broad shoulders, and his muscled chest rose and fell with the steady, rhythmic breathing of sleep. Yet, despite his rugged good looks, he still managed to look tormented and despondent, even as he dreamed. He grimaced occasionally and tossed around like he was in some distress. His face was flushed and covered with sweat despite the cool air. Morrigan wondered what nightmares haunted him, even in his sleep.
She had hoped his animal instincts would alert him to her approach, so she wouldn’t have to lay her hands on him, but it didn’t appear Tiarn was going to wake on his own. He didn’t stir, and she had to brace herself for the rush of emotions she knew would sweep through her as soon as she put a tentative hand on his shoulder. Despite the passion he ignited in her, Tiarn didn’t respond to her touch. Nevertheless, she gasped and jerked her hand back in surprise. Even through the thick animal coverings, his skin was burning hot.
Morrigan swallowed the last of her pride and leaned in closer to touch his sweaty brow. He was on fire. There was no doubt in her mind he was feverish. She had been silly and vain to believe she had made his blood boil with passion, even if he had implied it earlier. Morrigan was instantly overcome with fear and worry. How could her dark knight be sick? It just didn’t seem to fit right into the fairytale she had always imagined. Of course, wasn’t it Tiarn himself who kept reminding her life in Tír na NÓg was no fairytale?
“Filtiarn,” she whispered and shook him a little harder. “Tiarn, can you hear me?”
Still he didn’t respond, and Morrigan started to panic. She should have realized she had no idea what she was doing when she tried to take care of his injured arm. She should have insisted they find a doctor, or healer, or whatever passed for one in Tír na NÓg, instead of taking matters into her own hands. What would she do if he didn’t wake up? How would she protect him if the soldiers returned? How would she ever reach her mother and free her from her captivity without his help? Without him to lead them, they would both die in the woods.
“Tiarn.” She shook him again, more forcefully this time as the panic began to overwhelm her. “Wake up! Please, wake up! Wake aghhh—”
He jumped up so suddenly that she cried out in surprise and almost fell backward. It was only his hand on her arm keeping her from landing in the dirt. At first, she was relieved to see he was awake, but that relief was quickly replaced with fear when she saw his defensive posture. His eyes changed from their normal jewel-like green to an animalistic yellow, and they darted around like the eyes of a caged animal. He gripped her arm so tightly, she was sure it was going to leave a bruise. A low growl rumbled from his throat, which sounded far from human. He pulled his teeth back in a snarl, revealing the long pointed fangs of a canine.
“You will never take me back there!” he cried.
“Tiarn,” she said slowly, warily. “You must have been dreaming. It’s just me. Morrigan. I’m not going to hurt you. And you don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. Just try to calm . . . humph.”
She had gingerly reached out her hand to comfort him, but he must have seen the simple gesture as a threat. With a single leap, he sent her sprawling to the ground for the second time that evening. She was too shocked to think about defending herself, not that she would ever be able to use her powers against him anyway. He obviously had no idea what he was doing. Though he snarled and snapped in her direction, his glazed and feverish eyes looked beyond her and into some horrible memory in his past.
“Put that whip away or I’ll tear your head from your shoulders!”
He was starting to sound less and less human with every word. He leapt forward, very nearly landing on top of her. He peered down, breathing heavily, a low rumble still emanating from his throat. His face continued to morph, becoming a strange combination of man and animal. The stubble on his chin grew longer, and his fingernails were lengthening to pointed claws. Morrigan didn’t dare speak again. She was sure she was about to discover exactly what a lycan looked like after the transformation, only to die at its hands. Tiarn leaned in closer to her, his mouth lingering dangerously close to her neck. She closed her eyes, waiting for the end, when out of nowhere, Danu and Dagda came to her rescue.
The cats leapt from the trees and were already transformed before their paws hit the ground. In seconds they had Tiarn cornered against a patch of trees. He snapped and snarled in their direction, and they hissed and roared in reply. Feline and canine were about to have the inevitable face off, and Morrigan knew Tiarn would stand no chance against her faithful companions in his weakened condition. She jumped up from the ground, terrified they would tear him to pieces before she could stop them.
“Danu! Dagda! No!” she ordered them down just as they were about to pounce. “Don’t touch him. He’s sick. He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
Judging by the annoyed look they gave her, the cats didn’t consider that much of an excuse. Nevertheless, they obeyed their mistress and stood in front of her protectively. Tiarn had crouched down against a tree, eyeing them all warily. As his gaze flicked back and forth between her and the cats, a little rationality started to return. Gradually, the pointed fangs and claws receded, and his eyes, though still glazed from fever, lost their animalistic hue.
“Morrigan?” At first he still seemed confused, but the confusion quickly turned to anguish and shame. He covered his face so she couldn’t see the small traces of the wolf that remained. “Oh, Goddess, what have I done? This cannot be happening . . . not again!”
Morrigan tried to comfort him. “It’s okay,” she said. “Nothing happened. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Nothing happened? Are you a damn fool, woman? Do you not know when you should be afraid?” He pounded the ground with his fist. “You should have stopped me! You should have set me aflame. Or let your wretched felines have their way with me! Or anything . . . anything to stop . . . this . . . .” He gestured to his own body as though it disgusted him. “Oh, Morrigan, do you not see? I could have . . . I could have killed you!”
He shuddered and covered his eyes, filled with regret and despair. Before she could say anything else to reassure him, he suddenly clutched his abdomen. He leapt from the ground and ran to a patch of bushes where he quickly deposited the contents of his stomach into the foliage. Long after his belly was empty, he continued to gag and heave. Even though she expected to be rebuked, Morrigan tiptoed to his side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. She rubbed his back as he retched. He didn’t push her away, but he didn’t acknowledge her either. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he fell to the ground, sweaty and exhausted.
“Tiarn,” she whispered when she thought he was somewhat recovered. “You’re sick. We need to get you some help.”
“Nonsense,” he said as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It was only that poison you call food that did not settle right in my stomach. I am fine now.”
Morrigan shook her head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. Your arm must be infected.” He refused to meet her gaze and started making designs in the dirt with a stick he picked up. “You have a fever. That’s why you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“Do not make excuses for me!” He hurled the stick into the forest. “Do you have any idea what I could have done to you? There is a reason why the wolves are eternally cast as the villain in the fables of your world!”
Despite the harshness of his tone and the bouts of anger she had witnessed, she believed underneath it all,
Tiarn had a gentle, loving soul. She had seen it in her dreams long before she met him in the flesh. She had watched him fight, never casting a fatal blow. The fact he was so filled with remorse proved it beyond a doubt in her mind. She just didn’t know how to make him believe it.
“You would never hurt me,” she insisted.
“Are you sure of that, little princes?” he whispered. “Are you sure I won’t eat you up?” He laughed humorlessly at his own bad joke, then moaned and retched again.
“We can’t keep going until you’re better,” Morrigan fretted. “You can’t travel like this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tiarn said. He was all business again and acting as though nothing had happened. “I will be fine. It is not safe to stay here any longer. The soldiers will come back this way eventually, and we are low on supplies. We will have to stop in the next village. Normally, I would hunt.”
“But you’re too sick?” Morrigan pressed.
“No, Princess.” He raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say it will take too long, especially with the storm coming.”
As if on cue, the dark sky suddenly opened up, releasing a gentle splattering of small drops that eventually settled into a light mist. A flash of lightning lit the sky above them, and thunder rumbled, sounding much louder than it had earlier. Morrigan pulled out her cloak and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. Tiarn did the same, though his covering looked the same as his animal skin sleeping roll, with the exception of the hood. He gestured for her to follow him through the dense forest, and she didn’t know how she could argue with him anymore. They had to find shelter from the rain. It couldn’t be good for him to be out in the damp when he was already so ill.