Elphame's Choice (Partholon #4)

Elphame's Choice (Partholon #4) Page 21

Elphame clamped a hand on her side and breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. Brenna had, of course, been right; the steep, winding stairs were probably too much for her to have attempted that night, but she hadn't been able to resist the lure of the famous Chieftain's Tower - her tower. The truth was that except for the shortness of breath and the dull aches of her body, she felt wonderful. Tired, yes, and perhaps overfed, but wonderful. The long soak - during which she had washed and rinsed her hair three times - had been exactly what she needed, as had been the excellent meal of roasted boar. The thought of it still made Elphame smile. They'd sat on the newly made tables, fashioned in length and depth to accommodate both centaurs and humans, and feasted. There was no glass in the windows that lined the Great Hall, and the walls were still blackened from the fire and as yet unadorned by tapestries which were still being woven, but the sense of comradeship was palpable. With Brighid and Brenna on one side of her, Cuchulainn and Danann on the other, and her clan clamoring noisily all around them, the aches in her body had been easy to forget... unlike Lochlan.

If she had stared into the distance occasionally and lost the thread of the conversation tangling around her, no one thought anything of it. The MacCallan was strong and healing, but she had been through a terrible injury. They could never have imaged where her thoughts had drifted.

She would have stayed there all night, surrounded by her clan and immersed in winged thoughts had Brenna not insisted that she retire and get a full night's rest -  threatening to brew a new batch of medicinal tea if Elphame insisted on staying.

She'd retreated amidst warm good-night wishes, and though her chamber was private and wonderfully comfortable, and her body was definitely tired, her mind would not be still long enough for her to rest.

She had her home, and she had her clan, now all she lacked was her lifemate___

Her lifemate. But was he really? As she climbed the winding stairs to the Chieftain's Tower her mind was filled with doubts. In the forest when she had looked into his eyes it had been so clear. She had felt that her future was reflected there, but now - in the light of reality - she had only questions. She wanted to see him again. She needed to be with him, to talk to him and spend time getting to know him. He seemed to know her so well; he could read her moods as if they had spent a lifetime together. But he was a stranger to her - a mysterious, winged stranger. And how could she be with him? Her clan wouldn't understand - she didn't even understand. Could they ever accept him, any of them?

Before the staircase ended the fitful night breeze swirled down around her, dousing her with the scent of newly cut wood from the roof. It smelled of the forest - the forest in which her lover watched and waited. She breathed deeply, automatically savoring the scent that already reminded her of Lochlan.

She climbed up through the floor. The Chieftain's Tower was larger than it looked from below. The room was perfectly round; its windows were floor-to-ceiling slits evenly spaced around the circumference. The walls held torches, and a wide fireplace, none of which were lit. A half-moon cast a shy, pale light into the dark tower, and Elphame turned slowly in a circle, allowing her eyes time to accustom themselves to the night. One window slit was obviously larger than the others and she made her way slowly to it, savoring the happiness of belonging.

When she reached the opening she realized that it was not a window at all, but an exit that led to a small balcony. Smiling, she stepped out into the night sky. Elphame inhaled the view. The tower's balcony faced the front of the castle and looked eastward out on the forest. From her vantage point she gazed across an endless sea of pine. Boughs moved restlessly in the wind. Shadows stirred and flitted across her vision. Elphame strained her eyes. Was that the outline of a wing rustling in time with the darkened limbs?

Impossible.

She sighed and let her gaze slide down to the castle that nestled beneath her. Music and light filtered up through the breaks in the unfinished roof. She could see that some of the clan had begun to disperse.

Sporadically, clumps of people and centaurs, usually in couples, exited the castle and headed to the group of tents that littered the grounds. Cuchulainn had said that within two more passings of the full moon there should be enough renovated quarters that the majority of the clan would be housed within the castle walls. The thought pleased her; she wanted her people within her walls. She rested her arm on the balustrade and felt a faint tingle of warmth against her skin as the spirit of the castle acknowledged her presence. MacCallan Castle mirrored her feelings - it longed to live again.

A movement at the bottom edge of her vision caught her attention, and Elphame saw a slight figure emerge from the castle. Though she couldn't see the woman's face, the torches that hung from either side of the toothless entrance illuminated her figure well enough for Elphame to recognize Brenna. The little Healer stood very still, as if she needed to catch her breath, and then she slumped against the thick wall.

Her back bowed and she put her face in her hands. Even from a distance, Elphame could see that her shoulders were shaking with her sobs.

Worry lines creased Elphame's brow. What was wrong with Brenna?

The thought had hardly formulated in her mind when the side of her arm resting against the balustrade warmed, and suddenly Elphame felt her mind connect with the stone, much as it had connected earlier with the central column. What was wrong with Brenna... slid through the skeleton of the castle in a powerful rush. Elphame gasped. She could see a ghostly sliver of golden thread that stretched from her body, through the conducting rock, and directly to the place where the little Healer slumped against the castle's outer wall.

Despair...loneliness...yearning... Snippets of heart-wrenching emotions burst back along the thread and bombarded Elphame. Instinctively, she started to break contact with the stone - to end the connection with such painful emotions, but almost instantly she was sorry for her cowardice. These were Brenna's emotions. Someone had wounded her, and instead of running from the pain Elphame discovered within her friend, she should want to help her - as Brenna would do for her.

Elphame gritted her teeth and breathed deeply, centering herself. She watched Brenna's shoulders shake with sobs, and felt her friend's heartache. It made her angry. When Elphame had left the Great Hall, Brighid had been chattering gaily to a smiling Brenna. What had happened? Who had hurt Brenna so deeply and in such a short amount of time? By the Goddess! And where had her brother been while someone was causing Brenna pain?

Righteous anger boiled through Elphame's blood, burning down her body and pouring like molten lead into the stone, turning the slender golden thread scarlet.

Brenna's head snapped up. Her shoulders stopped shaking and Elphame watched as she swiped at her face with the back of her hand. Then the Healer's spine slowly straightened, and she stepped resolutely away from the wall. For a moment she turned back toward the interior of the castle and it looked as if she might be considering returning. But instead she backed away, finally fading into the shadows that ringed the tents.

Just as she disappeared from sight, a man rushed from the castle. Elphame didn't need the torchlight to recognize him; his form was as familiar to her as her own. Cuchulainn paused, peering into the thick shadows that surrounded the castle. Even from a distance, Elphame could hear the echo of her brother's curse as the shadows revealed only the empty night. Cuchulainn cursed again, and stalked off in the direction of the tents.

"We canna choose where we will love. 'Twould be easier if we could, but we canna."

The spectral voice came from beside her, rich and gruff with its rolling brogue. Elphame took two skittering steps back, clutching her side against the sharp pain that the sudden movement caused.

"Have a care for your wound, lassie. It isna fully healed yet"

"My wound!" Elphame felt her heart galloping in her chest. "You almost scared me breathless. It's lucky I didn't fall from the tower."

He chuckled. "I dinna mean to startle ye, but yonder boyo caused me to forget myself The spirit jabbed his chin in the direction Cuchulainn had taken. "Wi' that thick head of his the lad is in for a verra hard fall."

He shrugged his broad shoulders in a gesture that reminded Elphame so much of her brother that it made her breath catch in her throat.

"But there's naught to do. Love makes fools of us all. Though I do worry after the wee Healer. If she canna trust, she canna love." Suddenly his sharp gaze shifted from the tents to Elphame. "What do ye think, lass?"

Elphame blinked, disconcerted by the question.

"Ye canna answer? Dinna tell me ye are as thickheaded as yer brother"

"Cuchulainn is not thickheaded," she said, instantly annoyed. "He's stubborn and loyal. And if I remember my history correctly those are two traits he shares with you.

The MacCallan laughed heartily. "Aye, lass, you remember yer history well"

Elphame felt herself relax as his laughter rolled into good-natured chuckles. He leaned against the balustrade.

"But ye dinna answer my question."

"I'm aware of that. Remember, you're talking to a Clan Chieftain, and we do not appreciate being asked patronizing questions." She folded her arms and met his eyes.

The old spirit shook his head appreciatively. "Ye are right to remind me, lass. Yer good, strong backbone is one of the things I like best about ye. Allow me to rephrase the question. As Chieftain of this Clan, do ye approve of the match between yer brother and the wee Healer?"

"Yes, I think that they make a good match."

The MacCallan nodded. "I think so, too. But that wasna all that I wished to ask of ye."

"What else do you want to know?"

"I want to know if ye believe that love can truly live without trust. And before ye get yer fur in a ruff, know that it isna a trite question, lass. It is a question all Chieftains must think on."

Elphame returned his steady gaze. How much could the spirit see? Was his realm limited to the castle, or did he watch the surrounding grounds, too? Could he know about Lochlan? She felt a tremor of worry.

But what could she do if he did know? She was already hiding from her brother and her clan; she couldn'

t hide from the spirit realm, too.

"I have little experience with love, but I do know myself. I don't think I could love someone unless I trusted him."

"Ye sound wise, lass. And ye remind me of yer great grandmother. Hold to that wisdom. Place yer love as carefully as yer trust and ye will make a strong Chieftain, as well as a loyal mate"

"But how do you know for sure?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "How do you know if you're wise to trust when love - and lust - " she could feel her cheeks warm and she rushed on " - get mixed into it? I mean I'm a good judge of character, but my heart's never been involved in the judgment.

Doesn't your heart skew everything?"

"Aye, that it does lassie." He laced his fingers together and cocked his head, contemplating her. "How did ye know that ye must come here to restore MacCallan Castle?"

"It felt like the right thing to do." She hesitated, looking below them at the sleepy castle. "No, it was more than that. The idea wouldn't leave me alone. For as long as I can remember, stories of MacCallan Castle have intrigued me. It was like it called to me until I couldn't find peace anywhere else."

The MacCallan nodded his head. "Love is much like that. When you canna find peace anywhere but by his side, you will know."

"So you're saying to trust my heart?"

"Not yer heart, lass!" He gravely voice ground the words out. "Do not be foolish. Yer heart dinna lead you to be The MacCallan. That was in yer blood -  -yer soul. Listen there, not wi' somethin'

as fickle as yer heart."

Elphame sighed. One might think that talking with the ghost of an ancestor would be an illuminating experience. One would be wrong. She should listen to her blood and her soul? She had no idea what that meant.

"It pleases me that ye wear my gift." With one transparent finger he pointed to the brooch that held in place the fold of pale saffron-colored material that wrapped across her chest.

She touched the brooch lightly. "It is very important to me that you gave it to me." The memory of watching his death crossed her face. "But I would rather not have watched your death. It - it was..."

She cleared her throat. She had only spoken to him once before, but already she felt connected to the old spirit. Through their shared blood... The thought came to her suddenly and she realized it was true.

She felt linked to him through her blood, much like she felt linked to the foundation of the castle. "It was terrible. I know you're dead." She smiled sheepishly at his snort. "But having to watch you die was a very hard thing."

The MacCallan met her eyes. "If it isna hard it isna worth doing."

Elphame felt a jolt at his words. How could words spoken by the spirit of her ancestor so closely resemble those spoken by a creature who was part Fomorian? Creature...her heart rebelled even as her mind labeled him thus.

"Ye look tired, lass. I will leave ye to yer rest. And do not think I'll be spying and peering in at ye.

The castle and the clan belong to you now."

"But you won't go for good, will you?" she said as his form began to waver and fade.

"Nay, lassie. I'll be here when I'm needed..."

Slowly and carefully Elphame made her way back down the winding staircase. The MacCallan had been right; she was exhausted. Thankfully, the effort it had taken to climb to and from the Chieftain's Tower worked on her like one of Brenna's infamous brews. When she dropped into her newly made bed, sleep was easily granted to her and she slid gently into unconsciousness.

She dreamed that she was walking through MacCallan Castle. It was fully restored and glorious. Colorful tapestries covered the walls. Beveled glass reflected back the light of hundreds of chandeliers suspended from the perfectly intact roof. She entered the heart of the castle, the Main Courtyard where the massive columns stood as silent protectors. Smiling, she approached the tinkling fountain, but the unexpected sight before her made her come to a stumbling halt. The statue was no longer the child version of her ancestor, Rhiannon. It had been replaced by a life-sized replica of Elphame.

Her image was standing in the middle of the basin. Scarlet-tinged water poured from the open mouths of wounds that covered her body. Iridescent winged figures crowded around the basin, silently dipping their hands in the bloody water and then drinking of it, but in her dream Elphame hardly noticed the winged creatures or the blood pouring from her marble body. Her attention was locked on the statue's face - her face. In the midst of chaos and blood the statue's face was radiant and serene. Elphame felt the pull of that face and she began walking forward again until a single word shattered the dream.

"No!" Lochlan's voice shrieked.

Her sleep interrupted, Elphame tossed fitfully until exhaustion reclaimed her and she slept dreamlessly on.