Morrigan (8 page)

“What is it you are scribbling?” he
asked.

“Just drawing a few pictures,” Morrigan
explained. “It helps to tire me out when I can’t sleep.”

He leaned in closer to critique her work. She
had divided the page into two diagonal sections. One half of the
page was reserved for Dunham, and the other bore the likeness of
the Condon. Their tattooed hands were frozen in the air as they
prepared to open the magical portal. Even Morrigan was surprised at
how well it was turning out. The resemblance between the twins was
undeniable, but she had also managed to capture their diverse
personalities. Condon’s eyes were filled with gentle wisdom, and
Dunham’s lips were twisted into a greedy smile.

“That is quite good,” Tiarn admitted, a
little reluctantly.

Morrigan blushed and shrugged her shoulders.
“It’s not a big deal. I just like to draw. Don’t you have any
hobbies?”

He cocked his head, confused. “What would I
do with a hobbit? They are really quite obnoxious.”

Morrigan giggled. “Not a hobbit. A hobby.
It’s something you enjoy doing in your free time.”

“Ahh! I enjoy hunting.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Is there anything
you can do that’s a little more artistic? You know, like singing,
painting, writing poetry . . . .”

“Lycans are not often characterized as
artistic,” he told her. “Though I have been known to carry a decent
tune on the pan flute.” He cleared his throat as if he were
embarrassed to admit it. “If you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“I’d love to hear you play. Do you carry it
with you?”

“Well, yes, but I do not think it would be
wise. The noise might attract the soldiers.”

“Pleeeassse,” Morrigan begged. “Just for a
few minutes? I’m sure there aren’t any soldiers nearby or the cats
wouldn’t be sleeping so soundly.”

Tiarn glanced down cats, who hadn’t stirred
since they stopped moving. “I suppose it would be all right,” he
relented. “But just for a few moments.”

Tiarn reached into his bag and pulled out a
wooden instrument with twelve hallowed out tubes of bamboo, each
stopped off at one end, and held together by worn twine. The pipes
gradually increased in length and girth so the notes climbed the
scale as his lips moved from side to side. It looked like little
more than a bunch of sticks strung together, but as soon as Tiarn
began to play, it was magically transformed. He somehow made the
simple instrument sound as lovely as a full classical orchestra.
Though there were no words to his song, the notes he played weaved
a sad tune of love lost or unrequited. Morrigan closed her eyes and
allowed the beauty of the music to embrace her soul as it resonated
through the quiet forest. She would have listened to him play
forever and was more than a little disappointed when the sonata
came to an end and Tiarn packed his pan flute away.

“You can do a lot better than just carry a
tune.” Morrigan was so deeply moved by the beauty of the music, she
had to clear her throat to speak clearly. “That was amazing. Thank
you for playing for me.”

The werewolf definitely blushed. “Yes, well,
I think that is enough art for one evening. We should both try to
get some rest, as we have a hard road to travel on the morrow.”

Morrigan nodded her head. Her eyelids were
already heavy, and she knew she would have no trouble falling
asleep anymore, despite all that had happened that day.

“Good night, Tiarn.”

He didn’t respond, and she figured he wasn’t
even paying attention. She hated to admit it, but it kind of hurt
her feelings he didn’t acknowledge her after they had shared such a
pleasant evening. She was too exhausted to let it bother her for
long. In fact, she was just on the verge of sleep when she felt him
stir. Tiarn must have thought she had drifted off because he rose
beside her, and with fingers that were softer and gentler than she
could have imagined, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her
ears.

“Goodnight and sweet dreams, my Morrigan. May
the Goddess grant us both her protection on this night.”

With the ghost of his touch still lingering
against her skin, Morrigan drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When Morrigan opened her eyes, she couldn’t
help but admire the beauty of her surroundings. She breathed in the
fresh, clean air and could smell the dew that still clung to the
grass. The early morning light filtered lazily through the giant
trees. Some were familiar, like the red oaks and pines, many of
which stood at least a few hundred feet high. Nearby, one of the
largest trees had a thick trunk that had been hollowed out through
time, with a hiding place big enough for full grown man to squeeze
into. She watched as a small squirrel climbed inside with a
mouthful of some unknown treasure and disappeared from view. Yet,
its roots still thrived, and its canopy towered above her,
providing shade that blocked the bright sun.

There were many other species of trees she
didn’t recognize at all and some she had seen only in photos of
faraway lands, all mingled in with hundreds of varieties of late
blooming wild flowers. It was strange how such a vast array of
greenery were able to live in harmony in this one enchanted forest.
The branches of the trees swayed in the crisp morning air, as if
welcoming her home. All of the trees, the grass, the flowers, and
even the blue sky and puffy white clouds seemed much more vibrant
in the light of day. She sensed their presence around her,
thrumming with life and even awareness. The earthy scents whirling
around her were rich and intoxicating. It was the most glorious
morning Morrigan had ever awoken to, despite the fact her muscles
were stiff from spending the night on the hard ground.

As she stretched out on her sleeping roll,
Morrigan never felt more alive. She rolled on her back, happy to
drink in the beauty of the new land that felt so much more like a
home than any of the dozens of foster homes she had stayed in. She
hated to get up, but nature was calling, and some calls had to be
answered. The cats apparently felt just as at home, because they
didn’t even stir as she pulled herself lazily to her feet.

It wasn’t until she was up and about that
Morrigan realized someone was missing. She looked about the
campsite for Filtiarn. She had been so overwhelmed with the beauty
of her surroundings; she hadn’t even noticed he was no longer lying
beside her. She knew he couldn’t have gone far. The smell of fresh
cooked meat was still lingering the air, and his sleeping roll was
packed up and perched against a tree not far from a small crackling
fire. She must have been even more exhausted than she thought to
have slept through so much activity. She briefly wondered where he
had gone, but figured he had to take care of business the same way
that she did. With that thought in mind, she went in search of a
secluded bush.

Morrigan was just finishing up when she heard
Tiarn’s voice shouting in the distance. It sounded like he was
calling someone’s name. She assumed he had gone back to the
campsite only to find her missing and had been out searching for
her. She followed the sound of his voice, wanting to assure him she
was okay and she could take care of herself. Although, if she was
going to be honest with herself, she had to admit she really just
wanted to see him. Her heart fluttered at just the thought of his
sarcastic smile. Somehow his constant leering only made him that
much more endearing to her. If he hadn’t already won her heart, he
certainly had her swooning with his amazing performance on the pan
flute. She had never realized the simple instrument could produce
such a sweet, soulful sound.

Lost in her own fantasies, Morrigan had
travelled further into the forest than she realized. As she
stumbled over a fallen tree limb, she started to worry that she
might be heading too deep into unfamiliar territory and wouldn’t be
able to find her way back to camp. When Tiarn’s voice was louder,
she knew she was heading in the right direction. She quickened her
pace, wanting to find him before she got too lost.

As she drew closer and closer, she started to
realize something wasn’t quite right. Tiarn wasn’t looking for her.
It wasn’t her name she had heard him calling. In fact, he was
talking to someone else altogether. And he was getting louder and
more agitated with every word he spoke.

“I got her safely through the gateway and we
are on our way to the castle. What more do you want from me,
witch?”

While Morrigan was glad to see his disdain
wasn’t reserved for conversations with her, she had to wonder who
he was talking to. Especially since it was obvious they were
talking about her. She inched a little closer to get a better view;
cursing under her breath as she snagged her hair on some stray
branches. She could see the back of Tiarn’s head bobbing as he
talked. His dark dreadlocks were unmistakable, but she still
couldn’t make out who he was talking to. He appeared to be alone in
the small clearing, though almost instantly a harsh voice lashed
back at him, its accent raspy with age.

“Her maidenhead must be intact in order for
the ritual to be a success.” It was a woman’s voice—a very old and
sour woman by the sounds of it. “If you deflower her, if you
tarnish her purity in any way, we shall have your manhood, you flea
invested mongrel!”

Tiarn snorted. “Do not worry, Hecate. I can
find much sweeter dishes to fill my bed. A witch does not suite my
palate.”

“Indeed! Your palate is not worthy to lick
the plate of my hound!”

Morrigan knew she couldn’t hide in the
shadows any longer. Pride and hurt moved her feet forward even
though common sense told her she should probably stay hidden and
listen. The warnings of deception from the Moon card in her Tarot
reading were still fresh in her mind as she stumbled into the
clearing and glared at Tiarn, while still searching for the
mysterious woman who was overly concerned with her virginity.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on,” she
demanded. “I don’t like when people talk about me behind my
back!”

Tiarn looked up at her, startled at the
interruption. Morrigan! What are you doing here? I thought
you—”

“No,” Morrigan interrupted. “You answer my
question first! Where is she? Who were you just talking . . .
?”

The words died on Morrigan’s lips when she
saw the image of an old woman reflected in the waters of a tiny
pond. She was dressed in black robes, with wispy gray hair hanging
like frayed yarn around her silhouette. Morrigan strained to see
her face, but her features were covered by a long black veil. As
old as she seemed, she still had a regal countenance and a somewhat
threatening one. She didn’t speak, but through the thin veil of
lace, Morrigan could almost make out a pair of sunken eyes hidden
deep within her haggard face. The old woman seemed to glare at her
and appraise her all at once as Morrigan reached her hand toward
the image.

“No!” The woman cried. “Stay away from the
water!”

Morrigan couldn’t help herself. The image
looked so real she just had to reach out her hand and touch it,
just to convince herself the woman was really there. Yet, as soon
as she made contact with the water, the visage shuddered once and
then faded from her view. All that was left was the sparkling blue
spring that rippled in protest from having been disturbed.

“What . . . who was that?” Morrigan couldn’t
hide the tremble in her voice.

“That delightful creature was your
grandmother.”

Before she could question him further, Tiarn
stomped grudgingly back to the campsite.

Tiarn was pouting, right down to the lower
lip jutting out and the crestfallen frown. He resembled a spoiled
toddler, instead of an incredibly sexy and somewhat dangerous
werewolf who played a mean pan flute. Morrigan wasn’t quite sure
what he was so upset about. Was he angry at her for interrupting
what was obviously meant to be a private conversation? Or had her
grandmother offended him?

“Was that woman really my grandmother?” she
asked, trying to break the strained silence.

Morrigan nibbled at the edges of the stale
bread that surrounded the strange tasting, overcooked meat Tiarn
had tossed at her when they got back to the campsite. She had
already pulled out most of the meat from the sandwich and given it
to Danu and Dagda. They didn’t seem to mind the chewy, dry meal.
They tore into it greedily as Morrigan waited for Tiarn’s
response.

“Of course it was your grandmother,” he
finally huffed and strummed his fingers along a hollow log.
Morrigan noticed even his knuckles had a thin layer of hair. “Why
would I tell you she was if it were not true? Why were you spying
on me anyway? Do they not teach manners in that barbaric place from
which I rescued you?”

Morrigan was indigent and a little hurt by
his belligerent tone. She was the only one who had the right to be
upset. After all, they were having a casual conversation about her
virginity. “I wasn’t spying. I was just looking for you.”

“You should have stayed here!” he told
her.

“What’s the big deal? Are you afraid I heard
you saying something you didn’t want me to know?”

Tiarn snorted. “I fear nothing! Except the
wrath of your mother when I try to explain to her how a wild animal
was able to tear you to pieces. Which is bound to happen if you
insist on tramping off into the woods alone!”

That shut Morrigan up for a while. She had
never even considered what creatures might be lurking in the
forest. It seemed so quiet and peaceful with its rustling leaves
and gentle breezes. She had to remember she wasn’t in a state park
or on a nature trail. Anything could happen here.

Of course, she wasn’t completely defenseless.
She could start fires at will and move objects with her mind. She
had always relied on those powers to keep her safe back in
Maryland. In this world, though, the wild animals might be immune
to her magic abilities. Besides, her powers were often
unpredictable. Sometimes they burst forth against her will when she
didn’t want them to. And sometimes, like when the soldiers had
attacked, she was frozen with fear and couldn’t call up her magic
any more than she could will her legs to move so she could run
away.