Morrigan (13 page)

He nodded. “Do not stray too far.”

Morrigan grabbed her backpack and disappeared
into the foliage. Once she was sure she was safely hidden behind
the heavy brush, she pulled out the dress Alden had given her. It
was a very feminine dress, with its simple white embroidery along
the hemlines of the sleeves and low cut bodice. It seemed even
lovelier in the bright glow of the afternoon sunlight than it had
in the cottage. The blue material was the same shade as the midday
sky, a color that was very complimentary to her dark hair and fair
skin. It seemed almost sacrilegious to wear it for travelling, but
it was far warmer and much less conspicuous than the clothing she
had brought with her.

Morrigan hung the dress from the nearest tree
branch while she peeled her filthy clothes from her body. Her gypsy
skirt was torn to shreds and covered in mud and grime, and her
sweater was peppered with holes. She used the little bit of water
that was left in Tiarn’s canteen to splash herself and get off at
least a little of the caked on dirt clinging to her skin. She found
herself wishing she had packed her toothbrush and a stick of
deodorant. But at least she found a hair brush in the bottom of the
bag, which she used to untangle her long black curls. The dress was
a little more complicated than she had expected since it had no
buttons or zippers, but she somehow managed to get the bodice laced
up without assistance. She finished off the ensemble by tying the
white cord around her waist. Even without being able to see her
reflection, she had never felt so elegant.

When she returned to the campsite, she
noticed Tiarn had his eyes closed with his fingers pressed against
the lids. He was still pale, and she realized he must have been
exhausted after a night without sleep on top of dealing with his
injuries. It was the first time she had seen him look so
vulnerable, and she felt her heart swell with feelings for him once
again. She inched her way closer and gently laid a hand on his
shoulder.

“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.

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 meeting 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.