A shudder passed through his body. “I just wanted to make her happy.”
“That was an impossible task for anyone, Bregon,” she said. Then the pitying look in her eyes hardened. “Have you done it? Have you freed Fallon?”
Bregon closed his eyes and nodded.
“Open your eyes and look at the man who is going to kill you!” Cuchulainn ordered.
Again, Brighid’s hand lightly touched her husband’s arm, and with obvious effort he stopped himself before plunging the blade the rest of the way into Bregon’s chest.
“Where did Fallon go?” Brighid asked.
“Into the mountains. That’s all I know,” Bregon shuddered again. “She was horrific.” His expression of shock was receding and an arrogance that reminded her of her mother was creeping into his tone. “How can you defend those creatures? They are evil. Even pregnant she ripped and tore the guards with her hands and teeth to get free. Taking their form, even temporarily, was a ghastly experience.”
“They’re not like Fallon! The New Fomorians are gentle and kind. Epona has even gifted them with the ability to nurture life.” Brighid shook her head in disgust, feeling thoroughly sick and so weary it seemed every word was a struggle for her to form. “You’ve always been like this, Bregon, unable to see beyond your immediate needs and desires.”
“I don’t believe those winged creatures should be allowed to live,” he said.
“It’s not your choice! And what of the Guardian Warriors? How many of them did you kill? And how many more did Fallon kill?”
“And what of the Clan MacCallan?” Cuchulainn said between clenched teeth.
“They killed my mother!” Bregon cried.
“You young fool, the men who were on the Centaur Plains had broken with the clan,” Cuchulainn told him. “Why else would they have been there trying to forge a new life?”
“And no one killed our mother, Bregon. It was an accident-an accident which would have been avoided if she had given the little group of people permission to settle in one small part of our land.”
“They had no right to be there! They cannot trespass upon the herd’s land!”
“No!” Brighid made a violent cutting motion with her hand, and the sudden, violent motion made her feel light-headed. “The plague of hatred our mother spread ends now. You will come with us to Epona’s Temple. There you will tell Etain what you have done and let her decide your punishment.”
“I won’t go!” His breath started to come in hard, shallow pants and his eyes darted around, as if searching for aid in the smoky darkness that surrounded them.
“If I have to hamstring you and drag you behind my horse I will,” Cuchulainn said.
Brighid’s skin began to tingle just before the sound reached them. Then the roar built. It was thunderlike, but more living-more intense. The earth beneath them began to vibrate.
“Bison,” Brighid said, staring at her brother incredulously. “You have an affinity with animals, too.”
Her brother returned her gaze steadily. “We do have some things in common, sister.”
“What’s happening?” Cuchulainn said.
“He’s stampeded the bison. Get mounted,” she said quickly, carefully keeping the panic from her voice. “We’ll deal with him later.”
Cuchulainn didn’t move, but kept his blade pressed against the centaur’s bleeding chest.
“Cuchulainn! If we don’t move and move fast we will be killed.”
“We’ll lose him.”
“We may, but he cannot hide from Epona.”
With a frustrated snarl, Cuchulainn stepped back. The instant the sword was no longer against his chest, Bregon surged up. He turned to his sister.
“Forgive me,” he cried, stumbling toward her.
Automatically her arms went out to catch him, but instead of embracing her, his hand snaked out, grabbing the rolled up bison skin from her back. Before Cuchulainn could react, he spun away, and melted like a blond spirit into the smoke.
Cuchulainn swung aboard his gelding, who was restlessly skittering to the side, ears cocked at the rumbling darkness, and made to go after him.
“Let him go,” Brighid said heavily. “He’s not worth your life.” With a mighty effort, Brighid scooped Fand up and tossed her over the saddle in front of Cu. “Keep her with you or she’ll be trampled!” She had to shout over the growing noise. “Keep a firm hold on the gelding. He’ll want to panic, but you’ll be safe as long as you’re mounted on him.”
An enormous dark shape thundered past them.
Brighid met her husband’s turquoise eyes and smiled. She was near the end. The shapeshifting, and then her abduction and fleeing from the grassfire had depleted even her deep reserves of Huntress strength. She would not be able to keep up with the stampeding bison, but she would not have his last living memory of her be of tears and regrets. “I love you, Cuchulainn,” she said, and saw his face soften in response.
“And I you, my beautiful Huntress.”
Another beast rushed past them and Brighid drew a deep breath before slapping the gelding on the rear and shouting, “Now ride!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Gelding and centaur leaped forward together and then they were consumed in the mass of stampeding creatures. Their scent hit Cuchulainn-musk mixed with smoke and panic. He could hear nothing except the pounding of their hooves. Frantically he tried to guide his gelding so that they remained beside Brighid, but it was impossible. The ocean of bison separated them until all he could see was her silver-blond hair as it streamed behind her. And then he was pulling too far ahead of her and he lost her completely.
Fear exploded within him. He couldn’t lose her! Slowly he managed to angle his gelding so that they were very gradually cutting through the running creatures. The horse was more agile than the lumbering bison and they finally made it to the edge of the herd. He slowed the horse to a steady trot and scanned the dark beasts for any sign of Brighid’s silver coat.
The herd thinned and as stragglers staggered past him a new sound reached his ears. It was a distinctive crackle and popping that was followed by an ominous whoosh of air. He turned his head as a sudden updraft cleared the smoke and the gelding squealed and fought to lunge away as the wall of flames materialized. From within the orange fire, Cuchulainn could see a young bison calf and its mother being consumed.
He spun the gelding around and began crisscrossing the flattened grass path left by the herd.
“Brighid!” he yelled, eyes searching for a spot of silver in the empty plain.
He would have passed her if Fand hadn’t begun to whine and wriggle frantically to be free. Brighid had fallen to her knees and was bent forward at the waist, resting her hands against the ground and gasping for air.
He raced to her and dropped from the gelding to her side.
She raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes large and glassy.
“No,” she whispered. “You were supposed to be safe.”
“I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” he said. Turning quickly to the gelding he grabbed the water and held the skin to her lips. She gulped and then turned away to cough.
The whoosh and crackle of the fire had her head snapping around. “Get out of here!” she yelled at him.
“Only if you come with me,” he said.
“There’s no point.” She gestured to her right foreleg, which was bent at the wrong angle along the ground. “It’s broken. Quickly, Cuchulainn. Leave me!”
“I will not! Where you go I go-if you die I die! I will not lose you, Brighid. I could not survive it.”
“Please don’t do this,” she said brokenly.
Then his eyes widened. “Shapeshift!”
“Cu, I-”
“You can! You must. Shapeshift and the gelding can carry us out of here. If you don’t, we die here.”