Chapter 12 #3
Though Cuchulainn had to ride hard and fast, he was still moved by the rough beauty of Scáthach’s island.
He was familiar with the ferry at Kylerhea; it was how he’d arrived on Skye, though this time he did not follow the road from there to Dunscáith.
Instead, he did what an army the size of the Shadow Guard could not—he wove around rocky hillocks through narrow passages and urged his horse up and then down the craggy terrain, taking every shortcut he and his horse could manage.
The land called to him. Cuchulainn was drawn to its wildness and to its unique beauty.
Skye was a roughly hewn jewel that needed no craftsman’s polish; it shined with a magick of its own.
His horse’s neck and flanks were white with frothy sweat and the sun had almost disappeared behind him when he finally arrived at Kylerhea.
He barely slowed when he reached the ferry dock.
His horse’s hooves drummed fast and hard against the wood as he gazed at the Kylerhea Narrows, the stretch of turbulent water that separated the Isle of Skye from the Alba mainland.
At the end of the dock his horse slid to a stop.
“Lugh’s balls!” he cursed as he watched the ferry, fully loaded with the Shadow Guard, sail toward the halfway mark.
“Good sir!” A ferryman jogged down the dock to Cuchulainn. “How may I help you?”
“I need to cross. I am meant to be with Scáthach’s Shadow Guard.”
The older man rubbed his graying beard. “Aye, well, you’ll have to wait until morning. This was the last trip of the day. Ferry doesn’t cross at night. If you come with me to the local pub, you can find lodging.”
Cuchulainn smiled. “Like I said, I’m meant to be with Scáthach.
” He turned his horse and trotted to the rear of the dock.
Once there, Cuchulainn whirled the stallion around, and then with a war cry, dug his heels into the horse and leaned forward.
The stallion thundered down the dock, causing the old ferryman to jump out of the way with a surprised yelp, before the stallion leaped from the platform and into the chilly water.
Cuchulainn kept urging the stallion forward and as they gained on the lumbering, heavily loaded ferry, a warrior caught sight of them. Cuchulainn saw first one, and then several warriors point at him. They crowded the side of the ferry, watching him.
“Cuchulainn!” Tabiti’s voice carried across the water.
He bared his teeth in a grin and waved, and a cheer went up from the ferry.
“Come on, Cu!”
“Cu! You can do it!”
As Cuchulainn caught up with the ferry, he saw Scáthach standing with Tabiti on one side of her and Uathach on the other.
Leannan’s head popped up next to Tabiti , and the big deerhound barked enthusiastically, joining the cheers of the guard, though the Queen of Shadow’s arms were crossed over her chest and her face was set in a frown.
Cuchulainn knew he could relieve her of that frown as soon as she saw that his wound had been healed.
As he passed the slowly moving ferry, he grinned and waved again, and then focused on guiding the horse toward the gentlest section of the quickly approaching bank.
Once on land, he trotted to the ferry landing site where most of the guard waited for Scáthach and the last boatload of horses and weapons to reach them.
He was welcomed warmly with awe, as they’d seen him wish them success—seated, with his gravely wounded leg elevated—when they’d marched from the castle earlier that same day.
He dismounted and strode to meet Scáthach as she left the ferry. Leannan bounded ahead of her, greeting him with licks and barks. He petted the big dog, but his gaze never left Scáthach.
He saw her eyes widen as she took in his steady stride and his obvious lack of injury.
She stopped in front of him. Tabiti and Uathach watched from a distance. Scáthach fisted her hands on her hips. “Your wound?”
He slapped his thigh and smiled. “Healed.”
“How?”
“My father.”
Around them, all conversations ceased.
“You called him to you and asked him to heal your wound?” Scáthach asked.
“I did.”
Scáthach’s gaze met his and he saw her surprise. “But why? Your wound was healing just fine on its own. Your fever had even broken.”
He lowered his voice so that his words were for her alone. “I wanted to continue our dance.”
When her cheeks flushed, Cuchulainn thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
“Well,” Scáthach spoke equally as soft. “We do dance rather well together.” Then she turned and called to the Shadow Guard. “Mount! We ride hard and fast until we lose all light. Only then will we slow. Not stop. Slow. By dawn we will be hidden in the forest overlooking Dùn Dòbhrain!”
“Aye!” her guard responded.
Scáthach strode back to the horses being unloaded from the ferry to find her mount.
Tabiti clapped Cuchulainn on his wet shoulder. “Needed a wash, did you, Cu?”
“Seemed a good day for it.” He grinned at her.
Looking very much like her mother, Uathach raised one brow at him. “I thought you might not make it.”
“There was no chance of that,” said Cuchulainn.
She nodded. “Good.”
They mounted, and with Cuchulainn riding at the Queen of Shadow’s side, the army raced to the dusky road and began their trek around Loch Duich to Dùn Dòbhrain and Aife.