The Morrigan: Damaged Deities (30 page)

As soon as they finished lunch, the rain began again.  Danny left to bring in the horses before going home for the day and Morrie retreated upstairs to her room, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment she felt over Kade’s absence and instead hoping to break something or catch it on fire with her mind. 

She even stole a chessboard from a hall closet and set it up on the floor before her.  Sitting cross-legged before it, she hoped she could move the pieces about the board like she had done with people long ago.

Hours passed with no success and Morrie was left with her hair falling in her face and sweat falling down her forehead and neck.  Pawns and their masters lay scattered on the floor before a fading fire.  Shaking with barely contained rage, she just stopped herself from throwing some old vase that quite possibly could have been an heirloom. 

She had left her mad attempts only to join Kamden at dinner. 

To her surprise, she had grown comfortable with the younger MacLeod, despite her nagging suspicions about him.  Of course now she knew her inner radar for all things supernatural was completely off since it was driven by her magic. 

But still, he inexplicably felt like a brother to her and unlike Kade, she could be around him without losing her mind to her carnal needs and loud emotions. 

Between Kade and the horse and now this, Morrie was afraid she’d go mad.

Even at the dinner table, Kamden had his ever-present newspaper.  Neatly folded, it rested beside his dinner plate as he bowed over it, reading.

“What are the headlines in the Highlands?” Morrie asked him before taking a sip of wine.

“Actually, the story I’m reading has been on-going,” he glanced up at her long enough to smile and wipe his mouth before returning to his meal and paper. “An ancient artifact was stolen from the British Museum a couple o’ weeks ago—druid cuffs.  They’ve made a mad dash all over the island and the continent searching for it.  Seems it was pretty important.”

“Druid cuffs?” Morrie couldn’t help the curl of her lip. 

Druids were a nasty lot with their weird mysticism, animal rituals and blood sacrifice.  They had made a deal with the dark side of nature and were forever altered for it.  Most of their creations were forged with the intent of containing the gods.

Kamden shrugged. 

Dinner continued in silence.  Turning to the windows, Morrie realized that silence was everywhere.

The rain had stopped.

Finally.

Tonight she would look for the horse and hopefully gain some control back over her life.

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IX

“There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.”

Albert Camus

Positioned in its last quarter, a half moon hovered above, playing Hide and Seek behind the clouds. 

Now knowing the land well from her daily walks, Morrie covered the expanse from the manor to the loch quickly, taking a different route. 

This time she would approach the horse from behind where she had first encountered him.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to get near him as easily as before and would need to sneak up on him. 

Over the last week she hadn’t sensed him, hadn’t felt that pull and connection that she had her first night in Scotland. 

Not until tonight. 

She didn’t know if it had been the rain driving him away or something else, but at least with him gone, there had also not been any deaths. 

And then the rain had stopped. 

As soon as his cry had rung out in the distant night, Morrie jumped up, dressed and came outside. 

Slipping into the stalls, she grabbed a lead rope from a hook on the wall, knowing there would probably be another fight with the horse.

Now reaching the crest above the loch, the moon at her back, Morrie dropped to her stomach and army crawled to the ridge.  The grass was slick beneath her, making it easier for her to move in stealth. 

As soon as she peered over the rocky edge, the loch lay just twenty feet below her, its calm waters gently lapping at the pebbled shore. 

Across from her in the distance was the tree-lined edge where the mud and grass had made it hard for her to keep her feet beneath her before.  On this side, the small stones offered more grip, but also more noise.  She would have to move slowly.

Once a large blot of clouds had passed, allowing the moon to light the shore below, she saw the horse, lightly kicking at the rocks beneath him.  Pale light gleaned off his shiny coat and his hot breath came out in little clouds of steam. 

Aside from his occasional stamping, the beast appeared calm and undisturbed. 

Morrie wondered if he had grown impatient waiting for prey and emerged in hunt instead.

Without taking her eyes off him, she shrugged the lead from her shoulder and unraveled it, gathering the ends together to form one big loop. 

She would have to make it come to her—which she didn’t think would be hard considering the beast’s bloodlust.  But she knew she wouldn’t be fast enough to outrun him, nor would she likely be able to get him in a position to crawl on top.  So the rope would be her only way of snaring him.

Twisting so she laid parallel to the ridge, Morrie lifted one leg over, followed by the other and rolled until she slid down the incline on her backside, dragging the rope behind her. 

The horse faced away from her, looking toward the tree line. 

She wouldn’t be able to come up directly behind it.  It would sense her and kick her, surely crushing her ribs.  She would heal quickly—
hopefully
, who knows anymore?—but not enough to endure another attack.

As fast as she could move without making any noise, Morrie snuck along until she hid behind a large, mossy boulder near the beach. 

Now the horse was less than ten feet away and the wind had begun to pick up, rustling the leaves in the trees, stirring the water with more vigor.  With the wind as cover, Morrie moved a little closer.

When the wind died down, Morrie remained crouched and waited. 

Readjusting her grip on the rope, she stayed still until once again a cool breeze picked at the hair that had fallen free of her ponytail.  Soon it gathered strength and the leaves rustled louder. 

She knew this was her chance.

Standing up, she began to swing the rope around her head until it grew bigger and bigger. 

Just as the wind died, she let it go, ensnaring the horse around the neck.

He screamed.  And then lunged.

Yanking Morrie with him so hard it would have snapped her neck had she been human, he took off towards the trees. 

Morrie gripped the rope tight in her hands, ripping at the skin of her palms and dug her heels in.  Rocks and sand kicked up as she rutted a trail across the shore.  Bucking and spinning, the horse put up a fight, but quickly overpowered her, jerking right and ripping the rope from her hands.

Stinging and bleeding, Morrie hissed at the pain, but ignored it, angry eyes blazing at the uncooperative steed. 

He took off into the trees, but didn’t go all the way in, instead kicking at the trunks.  They exploded in splinters.

She needed to lure him back.  She needed to get the rope back around him. 

While he jumped and kicked, making a great show, Morrie glanced to her left at the lake water and wondered. 

If he was truly a mystical being, she could draw him back with the water and her blood.

Squeezing her hand in a tight fist, Morrie slowly stepped to her left, her boot just at the water’s reach.  The blood from her cuts wouldn’t be enough, so Morrie dug her nails in, wincing and biting down against the pain.  Her palm grew slick with blood.

“Hey!” she called to the horse. He snorted and stamped about. Though he pretended to ignore her, Morrie knew better. 

Pressing her lips together in a firm line, she reached out; her fist hovered over the lake. 

As she opened her hand, the blood dripped onto the dark surface of the lake and she stepped her foot into the water. 

It was too much for the horse to resist.

His eyes flashed that impossible red light as the steam came out in dual clouds.  He kicked twice at the ground, sending rocks flying before he took off towards her, mud flung in his trail.

Just as he lunged headfirst, surely to once again butt her in the chest, Morrie slipped further into the lake, throwing out the rope at the same time.  She used a well of strength she didn’t know she had to jerk his head towards her, latching onto his mane as she did. 

Once again she threw her leg over his back, harshly yanking him away from the water as she righted herself on top. 

And like the first night, he took off towards the hills. 

As they flew across the land, Morrie tightened the rope around his neck and her forearm.  Her thighs screamed in protest as she held onto his back, but she never let down her guard, never loosened her grip on his mane. 

Soothing words would not work with this beast, she had to take control and maintain it.  Be dominant.

With several jerks and rough pulls, Morrie corrected their course until once again the darkened manor rose before them on the horizon.

“You’re my ticket out of this fucking place,” Morrie growled, the past few week’s worth of feelings surfacing as she thought of Kade’s burning touch and infuriating absence. 

Spurred on by that anger, she kicked hard into the horse’s flanks and set him racing headlong to the stables.

 Once more, Morrie had the horse locked up. 

This time she’d had the forethought to bring a lock that she secured through the stall latch as well as iron shackles she cuffed around the horse’s front leg.  Iron had a wonderful affect on the supernatural, in that it burned the ever-loving hell out of them, rendering its captive immobile.  If the horse was a kelpie, he wasn’t getting free of the shackle and if he wasn’t…well, then he was definitely not getting free. 

The horse kicked and bumped the walls of his confinement.

“Well that’s what you get for killing innocent people,” she grumbled at him. 

Did he actually wince? 

Shaking off her obvious delirium brought on by fatigue, Morrie left him to check on Annabella and Banner. 

Satisfied that one horse was caught and the others not too spooked by it, Morrie shut up the stables and stumbled, tired and cold, back to the house.

 
C
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EVEN

“Then Cuchulainn took his sword in his hand andgave a blow to the three bald-topped hills of Ath Luainover against the three Maela of Meath,so that he struck their three heads off them.”

Táin Bó Cúailnge

Normally Morrie didn’t pout, but gods was she pissed! 

How did this keep happening?

After sleeping like the dead and waking the next morning bruised and sore, Morrie had dressed and headed down to the stables to make sure her catch had stayed caught. 

Already at his daily routine, she passed Danny mending a window frame where the wooden trim had rotted.  He’d made no mention of the horse and rather than face the sinking feeling inside that the inevitable had happened in the stables again, Morrie told herself he had just not tended to that particular responsibility yet.

But her disappointment was confirmed when she entered the stables and found the stall empty. 

The gate was still secure, the lock still locked.  But the shackle had been left.  It was as if the horse had never been there.