Morrigan (15 page)

“There,” she said. “No more maiden. Not that
I think my virginity is anyone’s business . . . but anyway, what do
you think?”

Tiarn’s mouth had fallen open. “I think the
Mother Goddess herself could be no lovelier.” Then he coughed and
grimaced like it pained him to do so. Morrigan knew she had to
hurry and get him someplace dry and warm before he caught pneumonia
on top of the infection. Otherwise, all the brilliant plans in the
world would make no difference.

“Do you have any money?” she asked.

He looked confused and tired. “Money?”

“Ummm . . . coins? Something to trade?” He
just stared at her, and she was getting frustrated. “What do you
give the inn keeper in exchange for a room and food?”

“Ah!” Finally he understood. “Bronze
rings.”

Tiarn reached into his bag and produced a
velvet satchel. When he opened the tie a handful of small circlets
in a variety of sizes fell into her hand. Some were small enough to
fit on her finger while others were much larger. They were made
from shiny bronze with intricate designs engraved around the edges.
They appeared Celtic in origin, but she didn’t recognize the
symbols. She could only assume the larger, fancier ones would be
worth more. She grabbed up the whole bag and asked Tiarn a few more
basic questions about what to expect before she readied herself to
leave.

“Once I pay for the room, I will come back
and get you,” she promised him.

Tiarn shook his head. “This is ludicrous. You
will certainly be captured. I cannot allow this tomfoolery to
continue.”

He made a valiant effort to stand, but he was
still too unsteady. Morrigan forced him back to the ground, gently,
and laid a cool hand against his burning flesh. Their eyes met for
just a moment and lingered, before he turned away. She sighed, but
she was getting used to the constant mixed signals and ultimate
rejections.

“I don’t recall asking for your permission,
and you’re hardly in any condition to stop me anyway,” she told
him. She pulled out both his sleeping rolls and covered him up in
an attempt to stop his shivers and offer him some protection
against the elements until she returned. “And don’t be so
pessimistic all the time. I’m not going to get caught.”

She stood, pulled the hood of her cape over
her head, and walked to the edge of the forest. She saw the lights
of the village flickering in the distance. She looked back one last
time at Tiarn, who seemed to be sleeping already, and then she made
her way toward the town. It was starting to get dark, so she had
taken Tiarn’s only lantern with her along with the bag of bronze
rings. The rest of their supplies, she left with Tiarn and the
cats, assuming her old friends would guard them well. She hated the
thought of leaving him there, cold and alone, but a fire would have
attracted just as much attention as her dragging a sick man through
the inn. She hoped once she had spoken to the inn keeper, it would
be easier to sneak Tiarn in, as opposed to having him
half-conscious beside her while she tried to negotiate.

In only a few minutes, she stepped into a
village that looked like it was right out of a renaissance fair.
Cobblestone roads and straw-covered houses dotted the busy street.
Horse-drawn wagons were clip-clopping down the roads or tied to
wooden posts. Each little house had shuttered windows, some open
and aglow by the light of oil lamps. Through one of those windows
she could see a smiling family sitting down to their evening meal.
The mother placed a dish on the table in front of her husband, who
stopped her to kiss her cheek before she moved on to the children.
One of the older brothers tickled his little sister, and she looked
up at him adoringly. She realized it was the first normal family
she had seen in Tír na NÓg. Until then, it had only been lycans,
Gatekeepers, and soldiers. It helped to give her strength to
continue, because she was going to help to ensure the smiling faces
of that family would never fade due to a war between two feuding
witches. She would help put an end to all that. And when it was
over, maybe she would have a family just as lovely—maybe even with
Tiarn.

Morrigan shook the romantic fancies away,
knowing she was just torturing herself. As she moved on, she
noticed that mixed in among the modest dwellings was an elaborate
temple with marble posts and a life-size statue of a lovely woman
in a long gown, her face turned toward the heavens. Though carved
from rough stone, it was amazingly lifelike. Offering bowls of
fruits and flowers lay on the steps by her feet. She wondered if
the temple might be dedicated to her patron Goddess, the Morrigan.
The statue reached out a beckoning arm, and Morrigan swore she felt
the power of divinity was within reach. It was a loving, gentle
sensation, like the embrace of a mother. Under other circumstances,
she would have stopped to pay her respects, but she knew the
Goddess would understand her haste.

Even in the light drizzle, merchants still
lined the busy streets, trying to sell the last of their wares for
the evening. They had everything from freshly picked vegetables to
mangy animal livestock. No one paid any heed to Morrigan as she
slithered by, her face concealed by the thick velvet cloak. They
were all too intent on bartering, making it easy for her to blend
into the crowd. Just down the road from the marketplace, she found
the inn. It was in the center of town and marked by a small,
hand-carved sign that read Brigid’s Inn. There were two floors, the
bottom being the tavern where food and drink could be purchased.
The second story housed maybe five or six rooms at most.

She worried they might be filled up already,
but when she opened the door, she saw only a few patrons, mostly
farmers sitting along wooden benches and gnawing the meat from the
bones of some unfortunate animal. A pair of soiled-looking
farmhands looked her over appraisingly, but when their gazes fell
on her extended belly, they went back to their meals. Thankfully,
there were no soldiers loitering nearby. Morrigan tried to act
casually as she approached the plump matron who could only be
Brigid. She manned the bar and wore a thick chain of keys around
her waist.

No conjunctions. No slang, she reminded
herself as she approached the innkeeper. And don’t try to fake an
accent. You’ll just sound stupid.

“Hello there, darlin’,” her host said. “May I
help you with something?”

“I would like a room for the night, please,”
Morrigan said.

The woman smiled, pleasant and jolly. “Well,
of course, my dear. I dare say we have several rooms empty. There
have not been many travelers in these parts, what with the battle
between the sister witches. I am sure we can find you something
that will be to your liking. Will you be staying alone then?”

“Oh, no. My husband is tending to the horses.
He will be along shortly.”

“A young couple,” she gushed. “Then you will
need a room with a larger bed. It will cost you an extra bronze
ring, but two will never fit in the smaller rooms comfortably.
Judging by the size of your belly, you will need all the space you
can get.” She laughed at her own joke, and Morrigan gave her the
shy half-smile of a modest mother-to-be. “You must have been
married for at least a few moons. When do you expect the wee
bairn?”

Morrigan smiled, trying to seem pleasant,
though all she wanted to do was get back to Tiarn. “Oh, it will be
quite a while yet.”

“Such a strange accent ye have. You must not
be from around these parts.”

“I am from the Highlands,” she said. Tiarn
had told her that was on the other side of the country and few, if
any, of the villagers would have crossed paths with the
mountaineers of the Highlands. A strange accent would be more
easily accepted. “My husband travelled there and is now bringing me
back to his homeland to settle down and raise a family.”

Brigid stopped asking questions after that
and just rattled on about how much she was going to love the county
over the mountains. She mentioned better farming and healthier
animals. The innkeeper was definitely proud of her country. It
seemed like forever before she pointed Morrigan to her room and
gave her the key. Morrigan thanked her and handed her five various
bronze rings, hoping it would be enough. She asked if it was
possible to have some food sent up in a few hours. She explained
she was too weary from travel to eat in the tavern due to her
delicate condition. The woman greedily grabbed up the coins, making
Morrigan think maybe she had given her too much, but agreed to
bring her some “vittles” as soon as they were settled in. Morrigan
excused herself so she could go find her “husband.”

Once she was out of eyesight, she rushed back
to the trees where Tiarn was waiting. When she got there, she found
him sleeping fitfully beside the tree. He mumbled, groaned, and
shivered uncontrollably despite the two sleeping rolls that covered
him. Morrigan knelt down and moved the damp strands of hair from
his eyes. Once again she checked his temperature. He didn’t feel
any cooler, but at least he seemed aware and lucid when he opened
his eyes.

“Princess, you have returned and none the
worse for wear.”

Morrigan couldn’t help but feel a little
annoyed by how stunned he was. “I told you I could do it.”

“I will never doubt you again,” he whispered
and then started to shake so hard it was almost a convulsion. “So
cold, Morrigan . . . it is . . . so cold.

“Come on, Tiarn,” she whispered. “I’ll get
you warmed up in no time.”

He had obviously gotten much worse since she
left him. He was coughing more, and his hands shook to the point he
couldn’t even pick up his bag. She silently cursed Brigid for
babbling so much. Tiarn couldn’t stand on his own, so Morrigan
draped her arm around his waist and did her best to guide him along
the road. She hoped he would be able to make it at least as far as
the tavern before he collapsed completely. She normally would have
used her powers to help manage the extra weight, but the last thing
she wanted was to alert the hounds of magic to her presence again.
Once she had gathered everything they needed, she bent down to
scratch each of the cats behind the ears.

“I hate to do this,” she told them. “But you
two will have to stay out here for the night.” They cocked their
heads and meowed as though they understood. “At least I know now
you can take care of yourselves.”

She smiled as they bounded off into the
forest. They seemed happy to have found a freedom that had long
been denied them back in the suburbs of Maryland where they had
lived for so long. Morrigan was left alone to half drag Tiarn
through the streets. It didn’t help that she was trying to juggle
all their supplies on her own. Twice she almost lost her grip on
the bags, and once they came close to falling in a tangled heap to
the muddy ground. Luckily, there weren’t as many people out and
about in the marketplace, and the few they passed barely glanced in
their direction. When she finally reached the door of the inn, the
innkeeper saw them right away and came to hold open the door.
Morrigan was ready for a barrage of questions, but Brigid only
laughed.

“Find the pub down the street, did he?”

“I’m afraid so.” Morrigan almost cried with
relief because she’d had no idea how she was going to explain his
condition without giving them away.

“Don’t be too hard on him, lassie,” the
innkeeper said. “I am sure he will pay for it tomorrow. And I would
not be surprised if my own husband was not sitting on the bench
beside him.”

She chuckled again and shuffled off to deal
with other patrons. Morrigan thanked the Gods and struggled to
guide Tiarn up the steps to their room. As soon as she had the door
open, she plopped him down on the straw bed. If she didn’t know
better, she would have thought he was drunk because he watched her
with the strangest smile as she struggled to remove his soggy
boots, cloak, and tunic. His pants probably should have come off
too, but she didn’t have the nerve to go that far. She was relieved
to see there was already a fire going, because she had no idea how
to start one the old-fashioned way, and she couldn’t use her fire
starting abilities for the same reason she couldn’t use her
telekinesis.

“You are beautiful,” Tiarn told her. She
blushed as she placed the thick wool blankets all the way up around
his neck. “And so very kind. I cannot believe you are . . . .” He
let the sentence trail off.

She smiled and sat on the corner of the bed.
“That I’m what?”

“It is so cold in here.”

She wasn’t sure if he was changing the
subject or just rambling from the fever. He was still shaking,
almost violently, despite the warmth of the room, so she didn’t
press him. She found a few extra blankets on a nearby chair and
brought them over. She was surprised to discover Tiarn
needed—demanded more. He pulled Morrigan, soggy dress and all, down
onto the bed beside him. She was stunned he had the strength to do
it, but she didn’t struggle to pull away. Nothing had ever felt as
right as being in his arms.

“Only your flame can warm me, fire witch,” he
whispered.

She felt her heart hammer with fear—fear of
another rejection, fear it was only the sickness talking. Yet,
still, she couldn’t deny him. She pulled him close, trying to quell
his tremors. Her hands stroked his hair and glided along his
shoulders in an effort to provide some comfort.

“No one has ever shown me such tenderness,”
he whispered. His eyes were heavy, almost closed. “If I believed I
was worthy of love, then certainly I would give that love to you,
my sweet Princess Morrigan.”

Then he was asleep, and Morrigan was left to
wonder if their budding love would ever have the chance to grow to
fruition.

That was only the beginning of what had to be
the longest night of her life. Tiarn’s fever got progressively
worse, even after she managed to force a second dose of antibiotics
and aspirin down his throat. He flitted in and out of consciousness
and drifted back and forth between rationality and complete
delirium. One minute he would be sound asleep, and the next he
would be screaming and ranting. She knew there couldn’t be any
other patrons renting the adjacent rooms or certainly they would
have complained about the noise.