by Jules Watson
But the druid was shaking his head. ‘No, there is more.’ He leaned forward, almost hungrily. ‘When the island woman took the knife to you, she shed your blood. Instead of the symbolic sacrifice, your blood truly ran from the sacred knife, into the earth.’
‘Don’t remind me.’
‘Prince, you must understand. You have given the blood sacrifice – the first Stag to do so for generations. It has bonded you to us; the Goddess has claimed you.’
At those words, something crept coldly into Eremon’s belly, and he remembered the day he first stepped ashore at Crìanan, and how he sensed that something waited for him.
‘Because She demanded your blood, which none of us looked for or planned, you have gone far beyond the Beltaine rite. But you are not yet wholly ours – you walk the path between the worlds. It is too dangerous for any but a druid to come near. We cannot even celebrate the Beltaine feast until the doorway is safely closed once more.’
Eremon shivered at the druid’s tone, and then his mind caught on something. ‘Yet? You said, “You are not yet wholly ours.” What do you mean?’
The druid bowed his head. ‘I come to give you your choice. We can draw you fully back to your body, and release you to return to your world unchanged. But know that if you do this, the kings will not heed your call.’
‘Or?’
‘Or we give you up to Her, and make you truly ours – our war leader, the Consort of our Goddess, the King Stag for as long as your lifeblood flows.’
‘I wish I knew what you were talking about.’
At that, the druid smiled. ‘We must brand you, prince, brand you as one of our own. I speak of tattoos, for the lines of power will bond you to the Mother, and to us. A few steps away, twenty kings and chieftains are poised to bend their knees to you, to offer up their swords. But they will only give you their allegiance, if you give Her yours.’
As the meaning of his words finally penetrated Eremon’s mind, the fear in his belly overflowed. By the Boar! ‘I … I need to speak with my brother.’
‘No one can see you.’
‘I demand it! I have made commitments to my own people, oaths that I must take into account. Would you have me break faith with them?’
The druid hesitated. ‘He can speak with you, if he does not get too close.’
‘Then will you let me rise and walk with him outside? I can hardly breathe in here.’
The druid’s brow darkened. ‘No. It is dangerous for my people. You must make your choice here, alone. To go further, or to pull back. It is a choice you make in your heart.’
Eremon managed to get all the druids to leave, except Brethan’s, who said he must ward the door. But he withdrew far enough away for Conaire and Eremon to speak alone.
Conaire sat on a stool a few paces from the bed, listening to all Eremon had to say. Afterwards, he was silent, his chin resting on his hands, his blue eyes far away.
‘What does this mean for us?’ Eremon asked, hoarsely. ‘I am my father’s heir. My home is in Erin; I gave my people an oath to serve them.’
‘Yet does it break an oath to them, to take another here?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘But you gave your oath to the Epidii.’
‘I know but … that was different. The Epidii said that it was a marriage to the land, to the Goddess, but I did not feel it at the time. This feels real.’
Conaire sighed. ‘Eremon, the only way to regain your throne is to make alliances here. Only then can we return you to your rightful place.’
‘We did not count on the Romans intervening in that plan.’
‘No, but they have. As have … many other things.’
At the wistfulness of the tone, Eremon glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’
It was only when Conaire lifted his eyes that Eremon saw the suppressed excitement; a glow that had not been there before. ‘Caitlin is to have a babe.’
Eremon was speechless.
‘Brother!’ Conaire’s excitement flared. ‘He could be a king! The next King of the Epidii!’
Eremon looked long at him. ‘So,’ he said. ‘You have your own bonds here now; you have taken your own oaths.’
Perhaps Conaire fancied that he heard disappointment in Eremon’s voice, for he raised his chin. ‘Yes. I did not come looking for Caitlin, but I found her anyway. My path led me somewhere I was not expecting.’
‘As has mine.’
‘As has yours.’
They were silent, each turning over their own thoughts.
‘You know,’ Conaire offered, with his disarming grin, ‘Erin is not far away. Perhaps we shall found a clan that spans both sides of the sea! My son may be King here, yours in Erin! Aedan said as much to you when you wed Rhiann.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Eremon.’ Conaire leaned forward, his hands on his knees. ‘We were led here, and I say we take the gifts we are given. If you lead the Albans, it does not mean you stop leading us! You protect those in Erin by what you do here, for we all share a common enemy.’
At his simple words, Eremon’s heart at last lightened. ‘Now I know why I have kept you by my side all these years.’
Conaire grinned again, and looked sidelong at him. ‘Rhiann came to you.’
Eremon tensed. ‘Where is she?’
‘She spoke to Nectan, and then she went away. She must know of the druid’s proposal. But they would not let her in to see you.’
Strangely, though he yearned for her, this knowledge brought Eremon a wave of relief.
Much had passed between them in the stone circle. What if she did not feel the same about it as he did?
Chapter 80
Rhiann could neither eat nor sleep, sew nor grind nor cook. Her fingers would not obey her mind, for her thoughts bubbled and roiled in her head like the surface of one of Fola’s stews.
She knew only that Eremon had agreed to the tattoos. So, he had chosen them.
But her? Had he chosen her?
At last, Caitlin came for her in the grey dawn. ‘He has emerged!’ she cried from the doorway of the dairy, catching Rhiann around the waist. ‘And the kings are making ready to swear their oaths. The Beltaine feast will go ahead!’
Rhiann disentangled herself. ‘Well, what does he look like? Is he well? Did he speak?’
Caitlin shook her head, smiling. ‘You can answer all those questions yourself. He walks on the beach below the broch. And he wishes to speak with you.’
Rhiann’s mouth went dry. ‘Now?’
‘Yes, now! Honestly, Rhiann, anyone would think you two had never met. He’s nervous, you’re nervous – what’s the matter with you both? Hurry!’
From the doorway of the Eldest Sister’s lodge, Nerida and Setana watched Rhiann ride away under a heavy sky, the wind whipping her hair from her hood. They could see that her face glowed, yet her eyes were shadowed with apprehension.
‘So, as we longed for, the rite has brought healing,’ Nerida murmured, folding her aching hands in her robe.
Setana cocked her head as if listening. ‘It is … part … of the healing. The time for her to learn the rest of it is not now.’
‘But when?’
Setana closed her eyes. ‘It came to me in a dream. The time for her true healing is not ours to pick. We can only help her along the path. She will be sorely tried … and then she herself will choose the time and place, for it is she who must come back to the Goddess of her own desire. I see … war … swords and spears, and men crying out. I see … a babe. And … a grave, a strange stone.’ She opened her eyes. ‘That is all.’
Nerida turned back to her fire. ‘Your warnings are grim, Sister. But however she makes her way back, I will be content.’ She sighed. ‘Though I fancy we will not be here to see it.’
‘Not in Thisworld, Sister,’ Setana agreed, spreading her hands to the flames. ‘But we will know. We will see.’
When Rhiann saw the broch rearing from its ridge against cold clouds, and smelled the smoke of the
feasting fires, swept her way by the wind, her heart grew heavy.
It was all very well that she opened up in the circle, and surrendered. But what about Eremon? He had loved her once, she knew that, but did he still, after she pushed him away so well? Was what she saw during the rite just a product of the saor, the drums, the night? Especially since he had now been offered two powerful alliances of his own: Calgacus and the Caereni. Perhaps he did not need her any more.
Around and around it went, and the closer they got, the more sick she began to feel.
After dismounting, she and Caitlin skirted the broch wall and made their way down the glen to the sea-loch.
‘There.’ Caitlin stopped and grasped her arm, pointing. Right at the end of the narrow stretch of beach, Rhiann could just make out a figure watching the waves, which were rolling in on the skirts of a squall. ‘He said that he’d had enough of walls and smoke and chanting to last him a lifetime, and he wanted to get as far away as possible.’
‘Well, he certainly did,’ Rhiann said. ‘I’ll have more than enough time to decide what I want to say, with that walk.’
Caitlin regarded her quizzically. ‘Say? If I were you, I’d just kiss him – he looks as though he needs it!’ And with a flick of the feathers in her braids, she was gone.
Rhiann was left alone where the turf met the sand. She dallied there for some time, despite the chill of the salt-laden wind, the threatening sky. But behind her, up the valley, the noise from the broch was growing. There was music, shouts and drums. Soon, they would want him back. Soon, he must stand in the hall and be a prince again. Everyone would want to speak to him.
There was little time.
She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and set off. There was only one thing to say, after all.
Chapter 81
Eremon watched the swell rushing up the rocks, his eyes unfocused. The spume rose up in a salty cloud, which drifted over him where he stood.
And to this land I am now bound.
Across the inlet, smooth cliffs of turf reared, glowing with sea-pinks, alight with gulls riding the high winds. And he marvelled, as his eyes followed the birds, that when he first saw Alba he had ever thought it barren, and cold, and forbidding.
Just like Rhiann.
He had not thought this for a long time. In all their journeying, he had come to love the broad sweep of the glens guarded by grim mountains, and the moors with their swathes of bronze sedge. It was a harsh land, but it called to something deep in him, something wild that did not wish to be tamed. It was not a soft, yielding place, yet all the more exhilarating for that.
A worthy mistress, for the son of a king.
He stretched a little to one side, and then the other. His bandaged shoulder still ached, and his belly and chest stung from the bone needles of the druid artists. The skin was swollen, and he would not be able to see the design clearly for some days. But Nectan had told him of the stag, and the eagle, and the boar that they carved into his skin; the curving lines that drew the power of the Mother to his body, just as Her power ran in those lines beneath the land.
Rhiann possessed those same curves on her belly, and her breasts, although in the darkness of the stone circle he had not seen them clearly. At the thought, his body groaned.
Rhiann. She would be here soon. And what would he say?
Would she remember what happened in the circle, or was she just swept away by the saor; the power of the Goddess in her? Had she felt anything for him as a man?
He did not think, after opening to her like that, that he could ever go back to the way things were. If she did not want him as a man, then he must leave the Epidii. He had many allies now, and many places of refuge. Yet the thought of being sundered from her sickened him.
There was the softest pad of feet on the shingle behind him.
She was here.
Rhiann knew that he must have heard her steps, although he did not turn. Her courage quailed, and she faltered.
But no.
He had risked his heart many times before, with her. And she knew now that only in trusting had she been able to leap into the void. Her trust of Nerida and Setana opened the door to the Goddess-light. She must find more now.
She was one step away from him, close enough to see the faintest quivering across his shoulders. His hair lifted in the wind, the tendrils damp from sea spray. That was all she could see. And still he did not turn.
The hardest thing, for her, would be to reach out and touch a man. And yet, even as she thought it, she realized that her body told a different story from her mind. It was Eremon. Her arms ached to hold him, and her body sang its deep need to press up against his skin.
She took a breath, and slipped her arms about his waist, burying her face in the wool cloak across his back. It smelled of sweat and salt and woodsmoke, and she closed her eyes, feeling the tension vibrating through his body. The muscles were coiled hard under her hands, and he seemed not to breathe.
‘Eremon,’ she whispered. ‘What is wrong? Speak to me.’
At her words, his chest tensed even more. ‘I am not a god.’ His voice was harsh.
She released her hold and moved around to stand before him. He looked down at her, the tension in his body mirrored in his face. His fine features were set like stone, his mouth a thin line, with none of the softness she loved so well.
What was wrong? Was he angry? And then her eyes met his, and she saw what his body cried out. Beneath the reflected green of the sea, lay fear, naked and raw, and the words that he had spoken at last penetrated her mind.
‘I am not a god,’ he whispered again.
She smiled. ‘I know. It is not the God that I love, and need. It is the man.’
He searched her eyes, disbelief warring with hope, and she willed herself to be as naked as he. Then she reached up and cupped one cheek with her hand. ‘Eremon. Did you think I came here to find the God? Did you think that my kisses in the circle were for Him?’
His breath whistled through gritted teeth. ‘I did not know. I thought … perhaps … that was all that called you forth, that night. All you wanted from me.’
In answer, she cupped his other cheek and drew his mouth down to her own. And the instant their lips touched, the same fire leaped between them; the same overwhelming hunger lit deep in her belly, and in the place where she had welcomed him with joy. And then his hands were buried in her hair, pulling out the pins so that the heavy tresses fell through his fingers.
‘I thought … you were not yourself … that night …’ Between words, he showered her face with kisses, her nose, her eyelids, all along both cheekbones. ‘That … I meant nothing … to you … nothing as a man.’
She pulled back. ‘Eremon, I was more myself than I have ever been! It was I who surrendered to you. It was I who showed you my dream … that you are my soul-love. It was I who joined with you in the light.’ Her eyes devoured his face, roving over the planes of cheek and lip and jaw that she had traced with her mind these last days, but not her mouth. Until now.
She brushed his lips with her thumb, slowly, watching the blood flow to fullness again. ‘And all because I love you as a man – with your sword and your spear and … and your arrogance!’
He laughed shakily, but his eyes were bright.
She stroked his cheek. ‘It was not you I ever looked for,’ she said softly.
‘Or I you.’ He turned his face, and his lips found her palm.
‘And yet you came,’ she whispered. When his tongue touched her skin, the fire leaped in her belly once more, and she closed her eyes.
‘I was led,’ he murmured, and pulled her up against the length of his body, claiming her lips once more. She felt the burning of each touch, as his hands molded her curves to his own. And when the dizziness passed, and he released her again, she suddenly remembered.
‘Your tattoos!’ Her fingers crept under his tunic, edging it up so she could see his belly and chest. He gasped, but his eyes burned with something other tha
n pain.
His skin was red and distorted with swelling, yet still she could discern the artistry, the lines of boar and stag and eagle. ‘They are beautiful.’ She looked up at him. ‘But why do they not reach your face, your neck or arms?’
‘In Erin, a king must be unblemished. I have taken oaths in two lands; I must retain my face for my own. The druids agreed, so that I can lead both peoples.’
At his words, a sliver of fear pricked at her heart. Is that why he agreed to such a commitment? ‘You made your decision without seeing me.’
‘I needed to.’ His eyes were willing her to understand. ‘This oath was sacred, and I wished to treat it so. I did not want to make the decision … because of my existing bonds.’
Her heart leaped. ‘Bonds?’
‘My lady’s mind runs quicker than this!’ He smiled crookedly, but now the tilt of his mouth held no bitterness. ‘My love for you forged a bond to this land long before I even knew it. You play no part in my oaths to these people … because I made mine to you long ago, in my heart.’
Relief swept through her, and she realized her breast was pounding with fear and … something else.
His skin was as smooth as silks from the east, and the muscles of stag and boar flowed as his own moved under her hands. She leaned in and slid her fingers up his back, under his tunic, loving the warmth and the hardness both. In answer, his hands traced the bones in her spine, shaped the indent of her waist, moved around and up her ribs … and then his palm brushed her breast.
And she tensed. The reaction was instinctive, like a jolt of pain in her chest.
But when she saw the dawning of the confusion in his eyes, the hurt … she said to herself … No.
‘Eremon.’ She leaned back to look up at him. ‘There is something you must know about me.’
The fear was back on his face, and with a pang, she knew it was about to deepen into pain.
‘Nothing else matters,’ he said desperately. ‘There is only us—’
‘No.’ She broke from his embrace and turned towards the water, for the words were hard to say. And suddenly, her own fear rose up that he might reject her.