Still groggy, she untangled herself from the thick pelts and escaped the small tent. She shook herself as if ridding her coat of water before glancing up at the sky. “You should have awakened me sooner. The moon is more than midway.”
Cuchulainn gave her one last look of scrutiny before he shrugged. “I was just coming to wake you.” He brushed past her and sat within the tent, pulling off his travel-dirtied boots. “The fire needs to be fed. All else is quiet and tended to.”
“Did you talk to Ciara? Are the adults prepared for tomorrow?”
“Ciara and I spoke briefly. All is well.”
Brighid strained to see Cuchulainn’s expression within the dark tent. His voice gave away no hint of emotion. He sounded tired, but no more interested in Ciara than he had been in fueling the fire.
But part of his soul had clearly told her that for him love of women and love of life were bound together. Knowing that, it didn’t take the instincts of a Shaman to tell her that it would be a positive healing step for Cu to show interest in a woman-winged or not.
“So you talked with Ciara?”
Cuchulainn grunted an affirmative and then was silent.
Brighid rolled her eyes. “And she feels the camp is ready to enter Partholon?”
Another yes grunt.
The Huntress stood outside the tent listening to the sounds of Cuchulainn settling himself within the pelts. She should say something to him. Encourage him to talk with Ciara more often. Let him know-
“Brighid, why are you lurking out there?”
His gruff voice made her jump guiltily.
“I’m not lurking!”
“Then what is it?” He enunciated each word carefully as if she were one of the winged children.
“Ciara’s dance was quite beautiful,” she said, feeling awkward and obvious.
“She has many gifts from the Goddess,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dance performed so well,” Brighid continued.
Cuchulainn grunted.
“Have you?”
“It was a fitting tribute to Epona and Terpsichore.” The words ended on a yawn.
“It was beautiful,” Brighid said.
“As you already said.” Cu yawned again. “Brighid, is this more of your attempt at soul-healing?”
“I’m not sure,” she said miserably.
“Could I sleep while you decide?”
“Yes,” she said. “Rest well, Cuchulainn.”
Brighid retreated to the fire. As she fed the low-burning blaze she called herself several creative variations of a senseless, bumbling, muddle-headed fool.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“It’s weird how quiet they are,” Brighid said to Cuchulainn.
The warrior glanced back over his shoulder at the subdued group of miniature travelers.
“I’ve never seen them like this,” he said.
“They didn’t sing once all morning.”
“And hardly spoke a word during the midday meal.”
“Do you think they’re scared?” Brighid asked. It gave her a hollow feeling in her gut to think about the children being so afraid that their natural exuberance had been silenced.
“They don’t need to be afraid. We won’t let anything bad happen to them,” Cu said shortly.
“You know that and I know that-but perhaps we should tell them,” Brighid said.
Cu grunted and frowned. “I don’t want to worry them.”
She snorted and jerked her head back at the silent multitude. “They’re quiet. They’re never quiet. I think we can safely assume they’re already worried.”
“You’re probably right,” he said.
When he didn’t say anything more she prompted, “We should talk to them. Before they’re face-to-face with the warriors of Guardian Castle.”
“Agreed. We’ll gather them at the mouth of Guardian Pass. You can speak to them there,” he said.
“Me?” Her brows arched up. “I’m not going to speak to them!”
“But you just said-” he began, but Brighid cut him off with a sharp motion of her hand.
“No! Not me. They’ve only known me for a handful of days. You’ve lived with them. The children idolize and trust you. If you tell them something, they will believe you. I’m just The Centaur Huntress-you’re their warrior, their Cuchulainn.”
Cuchulainn scowled.
“If you don’t believe it’s the truth, ask Ciara,” she said.
His scowl deepened, but he stayed silent. Like a big, grumpy bear, Brighid thought. Being with the joyful part of his soul in her dreams had made her realize just how much she missed the old Cuchulainn. This warrior was so damned grim and silent and…
“…Uptight,” she said aloud, meeting Cu’s questioning look. “That’s right, you’re too damned uptight. And you said I never relax.” The Huntress snorted. “You certainly got that all wrong.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say you never relax.”
“Yes, you did. Last night.”
“Last night we barely talked.”
“Actually we talked quite a bit. And the night before.” Brighid drew in a deep breath, hoping her instincts were leading her tongue because she certainly had no idea why she’d suddenly decided to tell Cu about the dreams. “You visited me. Twice. In my dreams.”
Cuchulainn stiffened, his face a carefully maintained mask of indifference. “It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, it was definitely you. Or, more accurately, it was the you that existed before Brenna’s death.”
The warrior’s expressionless face paled. “Then you found it-the shattered part of my soul.” He glanced at her, barely meeting her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to bring it here? Tell it to return? Something?”
“First of all, Cu, it’s not an it.” She shook her head at him. “And it feels wrong for you to call him that. It’s you.”
“I’m me.”
“No,” she said quietly. “No, Cu, you’re not. What you are right now is only a piece of you.”
The warrior grunted, keeping his eyes focused on the rocky trail ahead of them.
Brighid sighed. “And the man who has visited my dreams is only a piece of you, too.” She paused, not sure how much to tell him, then she puffed out a frustrated breath. She didn’t know what was right or wrong. Help me, Epona, she prayed silently. Just don’t let me cause him any more pain. “The Cuchulainn from my dreams thinks we’re still at MacCallan Castle. He believes that it’s the night after we first began readying Elphame’s chamber.”
At that, Cuchulainn’s blank expression faltered, and his voice became rough with suppressed feeling. “He thinks Brenna is still alive?”
Brighid smiled sadly. “Not really. Some part of him knows she isn’t-he’s just denying it. Without the strength you have within you now, he is just an exuberant, fun-loving young man-completely unable to cope with disappointment or sadness or hurt. He’s not whole-he’s just a fragmented piece of you.”
“And without him I can’t seem to bear to live life.”
“You have to want that part of you back, Cu. I can’t reach him on my own. Every time I try, he fades away,” she said.
“Maybe that part of me doesn’t want to come back to reality. I can’t blame him. If I could deny Brenna’s death, I would, too.”
“Would you?” Brighid said. “I don’t think you would. That full-of-life part of you hasn’t just denied Brenna’s death, he’s also chosen to forget the love you found with her. Is that what you want, Cu? To completely forget Brenna?”
“Of course not!” he snapped. “You know me better than that.”
“Then you need to try harder!”
“I’m doing everything I can!” he roared.
The flutter of wings announced Ciara’s arrival, and Brighid clamped her jaw closed. The Shaman looked from the Huntress to Cuchulainn.
“You two argue as if you had been mated for years,” she said.
“Goddess forbid!” Brighid said.
Cuchulainn’s grunt had considerably more animation than usual. The winged woman laughed.