EITHNI FASTENED THE last bag behind Reothadh’s saddle and glanced back at the place she had called home for the past two moons.
The morning sun had just touched the top of the turf roof, casting its soft light over the glade. This lonely hut, encircled by pines, had been their haven, their shelter. It was a wrench to her gut to leave it.
Eithni looked over at where Donnel was saddling his stallion. “What about the rest of the food we’ve stored?” she asked. “It’ll surely spoil.”
He shook his head. “We’re leaving it for the hunters who will pass this way soon. This place was a mess when we found it—the warriors of The Wolf will appreciate us repairing it and filling the stores.”
Eithni sighed, her gaze returning to the store hut and the smoking embers of the fire she had just doused with water. “Spoken like a man,” she replied, unable to keep the edge of bitterness out of her voice. “Women don’t find it so easy to leave a home they have made.”
Donnel ducked under the pony’s neck and faced her. Two days had passed since he had made the decision to ride south to An Teanga, and in that time they had been so busy preparing for their departure that they had barely spoken of anything save practicalities.
His gaze was hooded this morning, his face hard to read. “I’ve been happy here too,” he said, stepping so close she had to crane her neck to meet his eye. “But the weather has been fair and we’ve barely managed to fill our bellies. You know things were about to get much harder for us.”
Eithni sucked in a deep breath. “Aye … so you say.”
He stepped back from her. “Are you ready?”
“Almost. I just need to check inside once more.”
“Go on then—we’ve got a long day’s ride ahead of us.”
Eithni stepped around him and went back into the hut. She had tidied it up this morning, leaving the two piles of ferns covered in deerskin for the next occupants. She had also laid the fire with sticks so that whoever came next would not have to search for kindling.
Sadness settled over her as her gaze swept the dim interior. It had been a humble abode, but she had been happy here. Her belly clenched when her thoughts shifted to what lay ahead. The future was suddenly uncertain. Donnel would face Urcal, and then what? If Urcal pardoned him, would they then return home to Dun Ringill, to their old lives? She the healer, he the warrior?
Circumstance had pushed them together, but would he want anything to do with her when they returned to Dun Ringill?
Goose. Eithni pushed this thought aside and pulled her fur mantle tight about her shoulders. What a thing to worry over. She had no control over the future. The situation between her and Donnel was tense enough without her working herself up over what might happen between them later. Let’s just get this visit to An Teanga over with.
She turned, ducked under the low lintel, and emerged into the dawn. Donnel had mounted his pony and was waiting for her. Reothadh, an impatient beast at the best of times, pawed at the ground, his nostrils flaring.
Eithni crossed to Donnel, and he reached down, grasped her hand, and pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him. Eithni tried to get comfortable, adjusting her skirt to cover her legs. She was acutely aware of Donnel sitting behind her, the warm solid strength of his body seeping into her back.
Eithni pushed down the desire that fluttered like a caged moth under her ribcage. Donnel had not touched her—had not kissed her—since their one night together. They had been busy over the past two days, but she had not failed to note that he kept his distance physically from her. At night he retired to his side of the hearth.
Disappointment had flared in Eithni’s breast both nights, yet she had fought it. She wanted to curl up on her deerskin and weep, for she knew that there would be no other man besides Donnel for her. However, instead she had rolled onto her side so that she faced the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the sadness that rolled over her in waves.
Sitting pressed up against him now was a reminder of the effect this man had on her. Her breathing quickened, and heat flowered across her chest. She was grateful he could not see her face.
Without a word Donnel urged his stallion forward. They forded the creek and rode up the bank. Eithni forced herself not to look back at the deer hunter’s hut. Instead she kept her gaze forward—focused on the dark line of pines before her.
They rode west for a spell, following the valley in the cleft between the two mountains. After a while the vale opened out, the trees drew back, and they rode into the Glen of the Stags—wild open grassland under a pale blue sky.
At noon they stopped and ate some dried meat and crab apples upon a sun warmed stone at the rise of a hill. Eithni was surprised to find that she was hungry. The fresh air and early start had done much to restore her appetite.
Neither of them said much, for each had retreated into their own thoughts. Leaving the hut and the simple life they had built there had affected them both it seemed. Eithni felt cast adrift, and not even Donnel’s presence could reassure her.
After a brief rest they continued on, turning south now over an open landscape bordered by soaring peaks. And as they rode, the dark outline of the Black Cuillins inched ever closer. By dusk they reached the foothills and made camp by a stream near the path leading up to the Lochans of the Fair Folk—the Fairy Pools where Tea and Galan had wed just under two years earlier.
Eithni sat on the grass near the small fire pit as Donnel coaxed a lump of peat into flame, and craned her neck to take in the majesty of those black crags. This close the mountains had a forbidding quality, for they appeared carved out of coal, all smoky hard edges against the blushing dusk sky.
The Lochans of the Fair Folk were nestled above them in the foothills of the mountains—a mystical place for their people. Gazing up at the last of the sun bathing the tips of the Cuillins, Eithni found herself remembering Tea and Galan’s handfasting ceremony. It had taken place before a great storm. Her brow furrowed when she recalled the potion she had made for her sister; one that stripped her of her inhibitions and allowed Tea and Galan to consummate their marriage. Their brother, Loc, had put her up to it. He had been desperate for peace between The Eagle and The Wolf, even if it meant drugging Tea to do it.
I shouldn’t have done that, she thought. It had nearly ruined her relationship with Tea forever.
Still, Tea had looked beautiful and fierce as she stood there at the edge of The Wishing Pool and made her vows. Galan—bare-chested, his naked skin painted in swirls and circles—had made Eithni’s girlish heart flutter.
She had envied Tea. She had wanted a handsome noble-hearted warrior like that for herself.
“It all began that day,” Eithni murmured, voicing her thoughts aloud without even realizing it. “The story of our people uniting.”
Donnel looked up from where he had just managed to light the peat. Pungent smoke drifted up into the still night air. His gaze narrowed as he too looked up at the Black Cuillins. Watching him Eithni wondered if this place brought back memories.
“Luana insisted on coming to the handfasting,” he said after a moment. “She was heavy with child and had not carried Talor easily. We argued before leaving Dun Ringill … but in the end I relented.” A shadow passed over his face. “I shouldn’t have.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Eithni replied gently. “If the birthing sickness took her, the trip here wouldn’t have caused it.” She paused, remembering the laughing dark-haired beauty she had seen with Donnel at the handfasting. She felt mousy in comparison. How could she possibly live up to the memory?
“What did you love the most about Luana?” The question surprised her. She did not want to cause him pain or remind herself of his lost love—yet at the same time she was curious about the woman he had loved so deeply.
She was worried the question might anger Donnel, but instead he smiled. “Her kindness,” he replied without hesitation. “She was big-hearted and cared deeply for others.” He paused here, his gaze shifting from the mountains to Eithni. “Not that different to you really.”
Eithni warmed under the unexpected compliment.
He turned from the Black Cuillins and glanced back at the smoking peat. The tender gold flames were growing now. “You are different to her in many ways though. Luana was earthy, straight-forward, and practical, but you …” He paused here, as if searching for the right words. “… you are elemental. Like the first blush of warmth in spring, the sparkle of frost on a winter’s dawn, or the breeze that rushes in from the loch and steals your breath from you. Sometimes I wonder if you are really of this world.”
Eithni stopped breathing. “That’s beautiful, Donnel,” she murmured. “I’m not sure I do your words justice.”
His mouth quirked. “Aye, you do. Don’t let the likes of me steal your light, Eithni.” He paused here, pain shadowing his eyes. “These days I cast a shadow over all who come near me.”
Eithni watched him a moment. She was starting to feel lightheaded, and then realized she had been holding her breath. Sucking in a lungful of air, she noted the atmosphere between them had changed. A tension had grown while they were talking; one that made her acutely aware of him.
They stared at each other, and the sensation grew. Eithni’s pulse quickened as she saw his pupils dilate. He felt it as strongly as she did she realized—this quickening, this desire—he was just bent on denying it.
“You won’t steal my light, Donnel,” she said after a long silence. “You lifted a shadow from my heart.”