Chapter 16 #2
With great effort, Scáthach paused the killing strike. She kept the knife pressed against Aife’s neck, but turned her head to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Explain.”
“My vision makes sense now. Aife is pregnant. She will bear Cuchulainn a son—the only child he will father in this lifetime. Mama, if you kill her, you also kill Cu’s son.”
Scáthach drew several deep breaths as she brought her rage under control.
She looked from Uathach to Cuchulainn, naked and shivering and vulnerable on the bed.
And then her gaze returned to Aife. Gone was the smug temptress.
Aife’s face was colorless, and under Scáthach’s dagger she trembled with fear so violently that she caused the blade to make little cuts in the smooth skin of her neck.
Scarlet tears leaked from the cuts, ran down her neck, and soaked the white of her diaphanous chemise.
“Mama.” Uathach said her name softly. “It is your choice. I did not see what this child will become. All I saw was a golden-haired boy with Cu’s eyes.”
“You cannot blame the babe for my offenses,” Aife whined.
“Yes. I absolutely can,” Scáthach snapped. “You’ll be a terrible mother and you’ll raise his son to be the monster his father is not.”
Aife opened her mouth to reply, but Uathach’s words silenced her.
“Perhaps. And perhaps he will be so much like his father that she will not be able to taint him.” Scáthach’s gaze found her daughter’s again.
Uathach continued. “I did see one other thing in the vision and I know if you kill her and Cu’s unborn son, you will hate yourself for it. ”
Scáthach studied her beloved daughter’s face. “I cannot do it.”
Uathach squeezed her mother’s shoulder before she released a long, relieved breath. “No, you cannot. Show her mercy, Mama. For the child’s sake—for your sake—and because it is the right thing to do.”
Scáthach took the dagger from Aife’s throat and dragged her to the one window in the chamber.
On this side of the keep each second-floor window opened to a small balcony that looked out over the fort.
Scáthach ripped the thick wool drapes that covered the window from the wall, kicked open the wooden shutters, and pulled Aife with her out onto the balcony.
Sounds of the battle below lifted to them, but because of the shrouding fog it seemed spirits fought, as it was impossible to see through the mist.
“Cliodna!” Scáthach’s voice cut through the fog. “Beloved aunt! Béfionn’s daughter thanks you for the concealment you provided, but now I humbly ask that you allow us to see!”
The wind began to build. It swept over the loch, howling through Dùn Dòbhrain and dissipating the fog like dew burned away by the sun to reveal the Shadow Guard destroying the last of Aife’s army.
Scáthach shoved Aife forward so that she stood at the edge of the balcony with a clear view of the slaughter.
“No!” Aife gasped and turned her head away.
Scáthach fisted her hand in her sister’s hair and forced her to look, to watch, to witness. “You caused this. Each death is a tally on your spirit.”
“No!” Aife repeated. “The fort is ours. We should have been able to hold it indefinitely.”
“Tonight you have proven you are as foolish as you are unfit to rule,” said Scáthach.
“No . . .” Aife sobbed and tried to collapse to her knees, but Scáthach held her there, watching until the sun lifted from the horizon to reveal the blood-soaked fort and the Queen of Shadow’s somber victory.
* * *
“Take her out of here and lock her somewhere.” Scáthach handed Aife to Uathach. “Then please find Cuchulainn some clothes and return.”
Uathach nodded and clamped a hand around Aife’s arm, taking her from the room.
Scáthach waited until the door closed behind her daughter before she lit the half dozen candles in the standing iron candelabrum near the bed, stoked the fire, and then found a pitcher of clean water on a dressing table.
She lifted it to pour into the wooden mug beside it but hesitated and sniffed the mug first. The scent was terrible, so acrid that it stung her eyes. She tossed the cup into the hearthfire.
In a large wooden chest, she found clean nightdresses and tore a strip from one of them. Then she took the pitcher and the strip of fabric to the bed.
Cuchulainn lay on his side, his back to her. His legs were drawn up to his chest. Shivers still shook him periodically, but not as violently as before. He’d stopped retching. Scáthach sat on the bed pallet beside him.
“Sentanta, it’s me.”
His body jerked at the sound of her voice. “No. That’s a lie.”
“Look at me, Sentanta.”
He shook his head. “No. I saw you. Before.”
“You did not see me.” She spoke calmly, in a matter-of-fact way as if they discussed nothing more stressful than the weather.
“Aife drugged you. I suspect you also have a serious head wound. Those two things together made you believe you saw me, but I only just arrived.” She touched his back.
He trembled under her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. ”
Slowly, he turned his head, looking at her over his shoulder. She was shocked at how pale and sweaty he was, and how wide and wounded his eyes were.
“It’s really you?”
“Does anyone else call you Sentanta?”
“Only the Queen of Shadow,” he said.
She smiled. “You can call me just Scáthach.”
He started to smile and then his face crumbled.
Tears leaked silently from the corners of his eyes to mix with the sweat that slicked his face.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak.
“You are not just anything.” He rolled over to face her, grimacing as he sat.
He quickly swiped a hand across his face. “Amage and Tabiti, did they get away?”
“They did. A local healer is tending Amage. Tabiti led the charge into the fort to rescue you.”
His eyes darted around the room and his breathing increased. “Tabiti? Is she here?”
“No, Sentanta. It is only me.” She lifted the pitcher. “You should drink this. I’d pour it into a cup, but the only one in the room is tainted.”
His hands shook so much, she had to help hold the pitcher to his lips. He drank greedily until she gently took it from him.
“It might make you sick again if you drink too much at one time.” Scáthach dipped the strip of cloth into the pitcher, wrung it out, and then asked, “May I touch you? May I clean your wounds?”
He nodded once.
“I’m going to check your head first. I can see one wound there, just above your right temple.
” She pointed to it and the trail of crusty blood that had mixed with sweat and tears and stained the side of his face rust. Gently, she felt his head.
He sucked in a sharp breath when she found a blood-scabbed cut on the back of his head.
There was another egg-sized swollen spot above that wound but it hadn’t bled.
“Not too bad,” she told him as she began to clean the blood from his face.
“It’s a good thing your head is so hard. ”
Cuchulainn closed his eyes as she washed his face. “Will Amage recover?” he asked.
“Yes. She had a single arrow wound in the back of her leg. Unlike your spear wound, the tip of the arrow was not covered in shit.”
He almost smiled. “Fortunate for her.”
“Exactly.” She glanced at the furrowed wound atop his shoulder, surprised to see it had been cleaned and coated with salve. “Were you wounded anywhere else except your shoulder?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. Then almost inaudibly he added, “My wrists. They were bleeding.”
His wrists were lacerated, still seeping blood. She dunked the cloth into the pinkened water. She cleaned the nasty rope wounds as she talked to him. “Leannan was distraught when Tabiti returned to camp without you. She will be glad to see you.”
He opened his eyes then. “Is she here? At the fort?”
Scáthach smiled and reached for his other wrist. “No. She’s back at our camp in the woods. I don’t allow her to go into battle. I don’t want to risk her.”
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. “I agree. She’s something special.”
“She is.” Scáthach moved to his ankles, which were also bloody. “When she was a pup she chewed stones.”
Cuchulainn chuckled. “You’re making that up.”
“Ask Tabiti. She’ll tell you. She used to pull stones from Leannan’s mouth.”
“No wonder Tabiti calls her a terror and—” A knock at the door broke off Cuchulainn’s words and he flinched as if he’d been struck. His wide, panicked gaze found Scáthach. “Don’t let them see me like this.”
“No one will enter this room without your permission,” she said before she went to the door and spoke through it. “Uathach?”
“I have clothes for Cu, as well as a bucket of spring water.”
Scáthach told Cuchulainn. “I’ll step out and get the clothes and the water, speak with Uathach, and be right back in.”
Before she could open the door, he said, “Scáthach, would you bring the clothes and the bucket of water to me first and then speak with Uathach? I’d like to dress.”
“Of course.” Scáthach opened the door only enough for Uathach to pass her the clothes and water. “I’ll be right out,” she told her daughter. Then she brought the things to Cuchulainn. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
His eyes met hers, and she was glad to see they’d almost returned to normal. “I’m sure.”
She understood his pride and his need for time alone. She nodded. “Will you join me in the hall just outside the room when you’re ready? I have an idea I think you’ll appreciate.”
“I will.”
Scáthach left the clothes and the bucket of water and headed to the door. His voice stopped her before she left the room.
“Thank you.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “You are most welcome.”
“How is he?” Uathach asked as soon as the door closed behind her mother.
“Better. The head wounds are nasty. They almost cracked his skull. But he’s thinking clearly now. Whatever she drugged him with is wearing off. What did you do with Aife?”
Uathach jerked her chin toward a room down the hall. “Put her in the chamber she’d locked Kintail’s daughters in.”
“Are they alive?”