him?” Brighid asked, but her instincts, whether she wanted to acknowledge them or not, were already mirroring Ciara’s answer before the winged Shaman spoke.
Ciara sighed. “Perhaps. A shattered soul is difficult enough to heal when the patient openly accepts aid. Without Cuchulainn’s cooperation there is little anyone can do except to try to contact that part of him he has lost and to coax his damaged soul into choosing life and healing instead of despair and death.”
Brighid nodded, thinking back to her early childhood and the times her mother had been able to salve the sadness of another centaur’s life. Her mother had been healing shattered souls, the Huntress realized, ashamed that she had never thought about it before. There had been a time when Brighid had seen her mother as a shining example of all that was good. But that was before Mairearad had become obsessed with the power her position granted her. Brighid had stopped seeing her mother as a spiritual healer long ago, and that thought unexpectedly washed Brighid in sadness. Cuchulainn, she reminded herself. This is about Cu, not about me and not about the Dhianna herd. She was part of the Clan MacCallan now and Cu was more of a brother to her than her own had been for years.
Swallowing past a sudden thickness in her throat, the Huntress spoke. “Cu was a rogue. Elphame often called him incorrigible, and she was right. He was a terrible flirt. You wouldn’t know it now, but a smile looked natural on his face, and he laughed with an openness that I used to think was blatantly boyish and ridiculously endearing—which I will deny ever saying if you repeat that to him.”
Ciara’s own smile widened. “Go on, I wouldn’t think of repeating any of this. What else do you remember? Just speak the first thing that comes to your mind.”
“Women loved him, and he loved them,” Brighid blurted, and then she snorted, remembering how confused the warrior had been when he had first tried to woo Brenna. “Except Brenna. She openly rejected him when he attempted to court her.” Brighid chuckled. “I remember how he blundered about, trying to win the Healer’s affection. He was remarkably inept. Actually I once compared him to a bull in rut, marking his territory around her with all the finesse of a roaring beast.”
Ciara’s burst of laughter caused the warrior’s head to turn briefly in their direction. Both women were innocently silent until he resumed his statuelike pose. Even then, Brighid was careful to keep her voice low when she continued.
“He didn’t understand how to woo a woman who told him no and no and no again. Cuchulainn was a man few women refused.”
Ciara blinked in surprise. “Brenna rejected him?”
“She didn’t trust men. She was only used to being rejected and ostracized.”
“Why?”
“Brenna had been terribly scarred from an accident in her youth. I assumed you knew. Haven’t Curran and Nevin told stories about her?”
“No, not directly. It is too obviously painful for the warrior to hear or to speak of his lost love. I had no idea she was anything but a beautiful, gifted Healer.”
“She was—but she was also much more.”
“Apparently there is much more to Cuchulainn, too, if the rogue he used to be had the ability to look beyond the physical and find the love that hid beneath.”
Ciara’s words sounded like high praise, but her expression had become strained and serious.
“Is that a bad thing, Shaman?”
“It complicates things.”
“Explain,” Brighid said.
Ciara brushed a long strand of dark hair from her face and took her time in answering. “Love comes in many forms. For instance, the love we feel for our family—even within that dynamic, love differs. Do you have siblings?” she asked suddenly.
Caught off guard by the question Brighid’s voice was strained as she ground out a clipped, “I do” between her narrowed lips.
“Then you understand the difference between the love you feel for a brother or a sister, and the love you have for your parents.”
The Huntress nodded quickly, hoping Ciara would not follow that line of questioning. She needn’t have worried, the Shaman’s voice had taken on an almost singsong quality as she settled into explaining the nuances of love.
“As within our family, the love between a man and a woman can take many forms, too. Some love passionately but rashly, and like a fire that burns too hot their love is consumed quickly, often leaving cold ashes in its wake. Others do not feel the intense passion, their love is like embers smoldering year after year, keeping their lives warm and fulfilled. There is love that is almost exclusively of the mind or of the heart or of the body. It is rare, but sometimes all three mix.”
“All three mixed with Cuchulainn and Brenna.”
“And that is the most difficult from which to recover.”
“Will you still try to help him?” Brighid asked.
“Of course, but—”
“But what?” Brighid prompted.
“But I am not what he needs. Cuchulainn has drawn within himself. He needs the aid of a Shaman who cares for him on a much more personal level.” She sighed softly. “I respect the warrior, and perhaps in time I would be able to become close enough to reach his innermost emotions, but I’m afraid that Cuchulainn’s need is more immediate.”
“His father is High Shaman of all Partholon. Couldn’t he help Cu?”
Ciara pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Why not? Midhir is a great Shaman.”
“Remember the different types of love?”
Brighid nodded impatiently.
“To heal from the wound of Brenna’s loss, Cuchulainn will need intimacy with a Shaman that is different from that of a parent’s bond to a child. He will need someone who can reach more of the lover and less of the child,” Ciara said.
Brighid frowned. “That makes no damned sense at all. The only Shaman Cu would come close to trusting is his father. There is no one else—except for you.”
“Is there not?” Ciara smiled cryptically. “I can feel our Goddess’s hand upon the warrior. I do not believe Epona will leave him bereft of aid, but the ways of Epona are often mysterious and difficult for us to fully understand. Until another Shaman comes forth, I will attempt to ease the warrior’s suffering.”
Ciara’s words made the hair on the nape of Brighid’s neck prickle, and when she spoke her voice sounded more clipped than she intended. “Waiting for maybes or what-ifs is ridiculous. Do what you can to help Cu. But I wouldn’t say anything to him about it.”
Ciara bowed her head in gentle acknowledgment.
Chapter 9
That first night’s campsite came to order with amazing efficiency as children worked quickly and skillfully in little groups supervised by the adults and the eldest of the youngsters. The poles from the litters were easily transformed into the skeletons of tents and then covered securely with stretched goatskins. The makeshift shelters grew in a tight circle around a flat, rocky area Ciara had chosen carefully. The front flap of each tent was left open.
“I understand the circle formation,” Brighid had murmured to Cuchulainn as he joined her where she was skinning the half dozen hares she had snared while the tents were being erected. “But why leave the front of them open? Seems like it’s just inviting this Goddess-damned cold to freeze them while they sleep.”
“Watch,” Cu grunted, taking a rabbit and unsheathing his knife.
Before the Huntress could tell Cu just how irritating his uncommunicative company had become, Ciara’s voice rang clearly through the fading day.
“It