she was following those instincts, and it felt a little like following a cold trail through a darkened wood during a thunderstorm.
“Well, it seems you already know the story of how Cuchulainn discovered the body of the dead mother wolf while we were hunting, and how Cu challenged me to track the wolf’s trail back to her den to see if any of the cubs could be saved.” Brighid paused and her attentive audience nodded enthusiastically, making little sounds of agreement. “But what you don’t know is why Cu wanted to find the cub, or who really saved Fand.” Brighid ignored the warrior at her side, even though she could feel his slouching body suddenly tense. “It was all about” Cu trying to get a young woman’s attention—a woman who acted like she wasn’t interested in him at all.” Brighid grinned and a few of the children giggled.
“Brenna was Clan MacCallan’s Healer. She was also my friend,” Brighid added in a voice she carefully kept free of sadness or regret. She would tell the story, but she would not tell it as a lamentation, mourning Brenna. She would tell it as a joyful tribute to the Healer.
The Huntress squared her shoulders and tossed back her hair. “Did I mention that Brenna was smart?”
Little heads bobbed up and down.
“Well, she was smart enough to say no to a certain arrogant warrior who thought he could snap his fingers and have whatever woman he desired.” Brighid jerked her head at Cuchulainn, careful not to look at him. “So when Cu pulled Fand from the den—and let me tell you, that wolf was in a sorry state—he thought the perfect way to get the Healer to spend time with him would be to bring her a sweet young animal that needed healing.” The Huntress snorted and shook her head in exaggerated disgust. “Not that Fand was very sweet. You should have seen her then. She was pathetic. Tiny, dried-out, and covered with wolf dung.”
Brighid did not react to the waves of tension radiating from Cuchulainn. Instead she caught the bright gaze of the children sitting closest to Fand. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose, causing the children to laugh.
“So instead of making the very smart Brenna swoon with desire, the appearance of the dirty, half-dead wolf cub only annoyed her, and I think, it also made her question Cuchulainn’s common sense.” More laughter drifted with the fog-colored smoke from the campfire. “But Brenna was as kind as she was smart and beautiful, and she took pity on the little wolf. She showed Cu how to feed Fand, and she kept a careful watch on the two of them, coaxing the warrior into being the perfect wolf parent. I remember how she described what the two of them looked like that first morning after Cu had spent all night trying to keep the cub alive. Brenna had laughed and laughed, saying she’d almost had to hold her nose because of the smell.” Brighid paused again, letting the children’s soft, sleepy laughter fade. “But I supposed Cu’s plan worked, because it wasn’t long after that Brenna accepted his suit, and they were formally betrothed. And that is the real story of how Fand was saved. It was not me, but Cu’s love for Brenna, and the Healer’s kindness, that saved the cub.”
The children broke into spontaneous applause. Brighid drew a deep breath and turned to face Cuchulainn. The warrior had gone so pale that the dark smudges under his eyes looked like wounds. He was staring at her and it seemed his face had frozen into a harsh, painful grimace.
“That was cruel.” He ground out the words from between his teeth. In one fluid movement, he stood and stalked away into the darkness.
“To bed now!” Ciara’s voice hushed the applause and the children obediently started disappearing into the warmth of the tents, calling good-nights to each other and to the Huntress.
Brighid jumped in surprise when Liam’s little arms wrapped around her and he squeezed her with unexpected strength.
“That was a wonderful story, Brighid! Good night!” He rushed off in a flutter of wings, barely giving the Huntress time to call good-night to his back.
“You did the right thing.”
Brighid looked up at the Shaman who seemed to materialize from the fringes of the fire.
“I don’t think Cu would agree with you,” Brighid said.
Ciara went on as if Brighid hadn’t spoken. “Follow him. Don’t let him be alone right now.”
“But he’s—”
The Shaman’s eyes flashed with a flame-colored light. “He is not whole. If you care for the warrior’s soul, follow him.”
Flexing her powerful equine muscles, Brighid rose and left the campfire. Heading in the direction she thought Cu had taken she considered Ciara’s words. Of course she cared about Cuchulainn’s soul. He had been betrothed to her friend, and he was her Chieftain’s brother. She should care about him, just as she should want to help his shattered soul to heal. The centaur stopped short with a sudden realization—that had been it! What she had sensed that first night when she and Cu had discussed the New Fomorians—the tickle at the edge of her mind. She’d known then that something beyond Cu’s grief was affecting him. It had been his shattered soul, and something within her—that elusive, indefinable something she had inherited from her Shaman mother—had recognized the warrior’s loss.
By the Goddess, she didn’t want this! She had no experience with it. She had turned from The Way of the Shaman when she’d left the Dhianna herd. But the choices she’d been forced to make weren’t Cuchulainn’s fault, and if there was something, anything, she could do to help him, her problems shouldn’t compromise that help. But beyond all of that, Cuchulainn was in pain, and Brighid had never been able to stand by and watch anything suffer. She wished she hadn’t been made that way. It had caused her more than a little trouble. The centaur snorted in self-mockery. That was the ultimate in understatements. Her sympathy had caused her to leave her beloved Centaur Plains and her family and to break with tradition.
It had been the right choice. She was following the right path for her life. Now she would find Cuchulainn, let him know he wasn’t alone, and then do the only thing her Huntress training had prepared her to do. She’d tell him she’d take first watch so he could get some much needed sleep. Simple. Clear. Just as she preferred her life to be.
But where was Cu? By the Goddess, it was dark beyond the circle of tents and the campfire’s friendly light. Dark and cold. Brighid shivered as the insatiable wind licked against her skin. She would be damned glad to return to Partholon and the warmth of MacCallan Castle.
A muffled sound to her left brought her to an instant halt as she listened with the acute senses of a centaur Huntress. The sound came again, and she angled to her right, almost stumbling over Fand, who growled low in her throat.
“Don’t tempt me to kick you,” Brighid told the half-grown cub. Fand slunk off, casting a look at the Huntress that was partially contrite and partially a warning.
At least Brighid knew Cuchulainn was near. That cub was never far from him. Of course Fand’s semi-aggressive reaction also told her that Cu must be upset enough to have shaken the wolf into growling at a friend.
She almost didn’t see him. If the moon hadn’t cast its wan light through the veil of high clouds at the same moment Cu lifted his tear-streaked face, she would have walked right past him. But his tears had given him away. Damn it! She hadn’t expected him to be crying! She’d expected anger—let him rail at her and get it over with. She understood that. She could handle that. But as he turned toward her something totally unexpected happened. She felt a mirroring of his pain that was caused by more than their shared Clan ties or even their friendship. She was reacting with a Shaman’s empathy and the knowledge almost undid her. Brighid wanted to walk away, to deny the inherited purpose that flowed through her veins, but she could not. That would be cowardly, and Brighid Dhianna, MacCallan’s Huntress, was not a coward.
“Cu,” she said softly, reaching to touch his shoulder.
He jerked away as if her touch scalded him. “Does it make you happy to cause me pain?”
“No.”
“Then why?” The warrior didn’t sound angry. He sounded defeated.