Pagan Fire, page 12
His presence was strong, this man’s was. But there was much pain shadowed in his visage. She could read it in the lines around his mouth, in the faint circles under his eyes. And strangest of all, Maere could feel it herself, in the pit of her stomach. It was if she had experienced the same pain he had. Felt the same anger. Dylan must have felt it too, for in that moment of Maere’s realization, a single tear fell from the corner of his eye. Without thinking, she reached up and traced its path down his cheek, as it followed the light scar he bore, along the strong line of his chin, to where it rested in the hollow of his neck. He sucked in his breath as she touched him, as if the simple act pained him even more.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as lightning illuminated the sky again. Large drops of rain began to fall. They washed over his face, cleansing away the line of the tear. When Dylan opened his eyes again, Maere saw the sense of purpose in his soul. And she now knew his struggle with that purpose.
“What is it? What pains you so?”
Dylan blinked away the new moisture forming in his eyes. “It’ll do me no good to try to explain it to you. You need to remember for yourself.”
Maere touched his arm. “What is it that I need to remember?” He didn’t need to explain, though, for as she finished speaking, a shiver came over her. It started in the center of her gut, like the rush of a hundred birds flapping their wings. Blackbirds. Crows. Ravens. Evil birds with silver eyes, unleashed and rampant. More images crashed into the scene. A man in a white robe. A cup of poison offered in false friendship. Maere pulled her hand away from Dylan. Sweet Jesus, what had happened to this man? What had tainted him so? And how was it she could see it all as if it had only just happened?
She searched his eyes, struggling to explore the images further, but they vanished as surely as if an iron door had dropped over them. Maere knew Dylan had seen the same images. She knew it by the expression on his face. The pain was still there, but it was softened, now that it was shared between them.
Dylan leaned forward, tilting his head slightly, and Maere knew he meant to claim her mouth with his own. The thought of kissing him wasn’t nearly as disturbing as before. Truth be told, she suddenly realized she welcomed it and would be disappointed if he didn’t kiss her right now. There would be solace in his touch.
She reached on tiptoes toward him as their lips met. The kiss was slow and sweet. As their forms mingled, Maere inhaled deeply of his scent. He smelled of wild pine groves, of the moon at night, of morning dew. Maere’s senses filled and she pushed her mouth against his, savoring the taste of him as their tongues met.
Dylan’s arms encircled her in a warm embrace, one around her waist, the other cradling her head. His hand played with the back of her neck, sending delicious tingles down her spine, as they continued to explore each other’s mouths. So, this is what Seelie had found so appealing.
The rain began to fall harder and Maere was dimly aware of the pine boughs on either side of the clearing where they stood, as the branches seemed to bend and shelter the two of them from the coming storm. Lightning bolted across the sky and then struck the ground not twenty feet away. Dylan jerked his head away from Maere, and pushed her behind him. The forest floor, still dry under the heavy foliage, burst into flames. Aided by the burgeoning wind, it began to travel in their direction.
“Come,” Dylan urged as he turned around to face her. “The fire will consume us if we tarry any longer.”
But Maere found she couldn’t move. She was rooted dead to the spot as she stared in awe at the flames. She wanted to move, really she did. But there was something so familiar about a fire in the forest. The cup of poison passed before her mind’s eye again. The rest of the memory hung at the dark edges of her mind but refused to become visible. She shook her head, trying to clear it.
Maere looked at Dylan, pain shadowed in her own eyes now as well. She touched a finger to her lips. “Yes. It will consume us.”
Dylan grabbed her arm. “I know of some caves near here, where we can wait out the storm.”
They left the trail and moved deeper into the forest. Again, it seemed to Maere that the trees were either moving intentionally out of their way or covering them as they hurried through the rain. How could that be?
“Are the trees – are they – helping us?” she shouted over the wind. Another branch shifted before her, moving away, and Maere realized she needed no reply. It was obvious they were, as the trees intervened to offer some measure of shelter. Given everything she’d seen and lived the past few days, why did she even bother to wonder over it?
Dylan called out an answer, but it was lost to the storm. The water was coming down harder now. The sharp drops stung as they hit the tender flesh of Maere’s face. She ran along behind Dylan, shielding her head with her arms.
There was something else odd happening, even odder than recent turns of events. Maere couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but the shiver in her stomach was growing again. Then she realized that every time Dylan changed direction – and Maere did as well, following him – the wind changed. It forced them to turn away, to seek another direction, as if the storm were pushing them toward a specific place.
“There.” Dylan stopped and pointed ahead. “It’s not the cave I had in mind, but it’ll do for now.”
Maere stopped beside him, training her eyes on the black opening he had indicated. Bushes covered with white linen knots all but concealed it. She couldn’t go in there. This was a holy shrine, each tied rag symbolizing a petition offered to the patron saint of the region.
“We can’t use this cave. It belongs to a saint. It’s sacred ground.”
Dylan looked at her curiously as he gave her a little shove forward. “We haven’t time to discuss this. It’s the only dry place around.” He laughed as she made the sign of the cross once again. Dylan leaned forward and spoke in her ear. “Besides, this was a pagan shrine long before the Christians took it over.”
Maere glanced over her shoulder at him, a reply on her lips, when lightning split the night sky. The wind lashed out, its empty howl mixing with a raven’s caw, and she turned back and hurried through the opening.
Chapter Seventeen
Flashes of lightning lit the cave just enough to illuminate the interior. The back wall wasn’t quite ten feet away, creating more of a grotto than an actual cave. This was a place where pilgrims to the shrine could seek protection from the elements, just as they were this stormy night.
The wind howled as another bolt ripped the sky. Dylan looked around. No nests or piles of bones, sure signs of wild animals. Good. And there, off to the left, was a hoard of wood and tinder.
“Here, Maere. A place to rest.” He indicated a large stone, near the opening, but out of the path of rain misting in through the brush around the entry.
Dylan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused inward. When he opened his eyes again, he didn’t need the lightning to show him the woodpile. It glowed for him with the tree life still left within it. As Dylan gathered an armload and placed it in the center of the grotto, where the floor was already charred from many fires, he softly offered up a prayer to the woodland god Hu Gadarn, thanking him for the shelter and the abundance of wood.
“Did you say something?” Maere asked as she twisted her hair to squeeze the moisture from it.
Dylan glanced up, his concentration broken. He looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “Only a simple prayer of thanks.”
Maere stood and went to his side, sitting easily on the dirt floor. She watched his profile as he returned to the task of assembling the wood for a fire. “To which god do you pray?” she asked quietly.
He laughed. “Do you truly wish to know?”
She drew herself up. “I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t wanted an answer.”
“Hu Gadarn, the god of the woodlands and forests.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and added, “The horned one.”
Maere’s hand flew to her mouth and she quickly made a sign of the cross with the other. “You pray to the devil!”
“Not the devil, girl.” He turned to fully face her. “This Christian faith running over our land has turned him into such. He is naught but the keeper of nature, consort to the great lady, our mother goddess.” Dylan reached for the tinder and tucked it around the base of the wood. “He is not evil, but nor is he good. He is what he is.”
A loud crash of thunder shook the walls of the grotto. Maere jumped, her eyes wide, and she shifted closer to Dylan, their shoulders nearly touching. “He is what he is,” she repeated, realizing she could say the same of this man beside her. She should probably feel some outrage over talk that this pagan god wasn’t evil, but the fight within her was waning. She rubbed her eyes, suddenly tired.
With the flash of lightning that followed, she saw Dylan passing his hand over the pile, his mouth moving but the words were silent. Suddenly, blue flames burst from the tinder and ignited the wood.
“Sweet Mother!” Maere scrambled to her feet and bolted for the entry, ready to run out into the storm. In an instant, Dylan was at her side, holding her upper arm tightly.
“Where would you be going on such a night?” he gently teased. Gesturing toward the fire, he added, “I’ve created this for you. Come. Warm your bones.”
“I won’t!” Maere shook her head wildly, sending curls tumbling over her face. “All this talk about how the devil isn’t the devil. I’m not believing it, Dylan mac Connall.” She pointed a shaky finger at the fire. “Those are the very flames of hell, they are!”
Dylan laughed and the deep sound filled the cave, echoing off the walls. Maere fought the urge to cover her ears as it vibrated in her head. “Nay. ‘Tis but a trick of magic.” He extended his hand. “Come. Please.”
Taking tiny steps, Maere allowed herself to be guided to the warmth. As she sat, she peered into the dancing brightness and discovered the small fire stirred memories of larger fires. She stared, mesmerized by the play of colors, entranced by the dance of the red, yellow, blue, and orange flames.
Leaning against the stone wall, half-hidden in the shadows, Maere could feel Dylan watching closely, even as her forehead was wrinkled in deep thought. She absently dried her hair before the fire, fanning it out over her hands. Finally, he spoke. “What are you thinking?”
Maere tugged her eyes away from the flames and raised them to meet Dylan’s. His eyes glowed with the light of the fire. Her stomach quivered. Why did he have to look at her like that? Like he was ready to devour her very soul, given the chance? Even his shadow jumped and floated above him, it, too, ready to pounce on her. She hugged her knees and looked away. How could his presence be so frightening yet so reassuring at the same time?
“What makes you believe I’m thinking anything at all?” she murmured. She glanced up at him again. “Perhaps I’m just sitting here enjoying the heat.”
Dylan smiled and those blasted eyes went right through her. Sweet Jesus! She sucked in her breath.
“Aye, it is hot in here now.” He slid down against the wall and crouched, looking at her pointedly. She was a beautiful, wild creature of the night sitting there, her hair in disarray from the storm, her face flushed, and her eyes shining. “And growing hotter still.”
Maere considered his words for a moment. Her cheeks burned as the double meaning came to her. She hugged her knees even tighter and leaned away a bit.
Dylan laughed. Laughed at her, for heaven’s sake. This man possessed more nerve than any she had ever met. Oh, but she would like to knock him right to the ground. Then she would be the one to laugh. Why, he must have been raised in a forest by animals, blind to the world around him, to behave so! She glared at him.
“I’ve known you a long time, Maere cu Llwyr. I know your mind is constantly searching. I know you’re always exploring the nature of things.”
He smiled and this time she found the gesture not to be condescending. She found it warmed her like no fire could. She rubbed her eyes. What was the matter with her? “You know nothing of me.”
A tinge of sadness played at the corners of his mouth. “That’s where you are truly wrong. I know much of you, which is why I know you must have thoughts running through your head.”
She raised her hand to him, as if to block his scrutiny. Or perhaps to block the mix of emotions she was afraid she might be showing. “You can’t know anything about me.”
Dylan moved next to her and sat down. He touched her cheek and she stiffened. “Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I remember the night you were born and your father held you high for the gods and goddesses to see, the triple signs appearing, marking you as one destined for greatness.” He gently turned her face to his and their eyes met. “I remember the magic of your girlish laugh and your healing touch.” He took her hand in his and turned it over, caressing the open palm with his thumb. “How can you say I know nothing of you?”
Maere hesitantly raised her free hand, suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to erase his sadness. His face was so beautiful when he smiled, if a man could be called beautiful. She wished him to smile again. Smile for her. Mother of God, why was she having such thoughts about this devil? She shook off the emotion and yanked back her hands. She looked away and rubbed her palms together.
Undaunted, Dylan continued, “I once knew a brave girl who stood up for herself when she was wronged. Where has she gone?” He touched her chin again and gently guided her eyes back to his. “I beg you, Maere. Set her free that I might enjoy her company once again.”
Maere stared at him for a moment, then stood and walked to the opening of the cave, crossing her arms about her. Dylan’s words spun around in her head, threatening to wipe the earth out from beneath her feet. What if they were true? What if he did truly know her? But how could he? Her family was killed by the Vikings – that’s what she had always been told by Abbess Magrethe. They weren’t murdered by her uncle, as this man claimed. And she was no healer even if she did help Seelie. She was just a young woman content to join the order of sisters at St. Columba’s. Why wouldn’t he just let her be? Dear Lord, her head hurt. Thunder rumbled and lightning surged again. She took a step back and turned to face Dylan.
“I repeat: You know nothing of me. I am not who you described. If my father – pagan in his beliefs – ever held me for these gods and goddesses of yours to see, how would I know? If it happened as you described, I was just a newborn babe. It means nothing to me.” She sighed, every last bit of energy leaving her body. “My soul belongs to Jesus Christ and His church. That’s all that matters now, not the past. It’s to His service I wish to return.” She was so tired. “Why did you come, Dylan mac Connall? Why did you make me leave my home?”
“I would see a promise fulfilled,” he whispered.
Maere snapped her head up, her eyes wary. “What promise would that be?”
“Ah, Maere,” he said, sighing. “The promise I made to your father on that same night you were born. I swore to Manfred I would always care for you.”
Maere stepped closer to the fire and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest again. She stared hard at Dylan, measuring his words. Light flashed in her mind, brighter than the lightning still burning the sky, and in that moment she saw into his thoughts. But the visit was so brief she couldn’t make sense of what she saw, though the image remained with her. “There’s a darker reason for your coming. I would know what it is.”
“You think you saw something just now, don’t you?” Guilt tugged at Dylan’s heart and he turned his face away. “‘Tis as I said.” He clenched his jaw and the muscle ticked ever so slightly. “There’s nothing more.”
“You lie, Dylan mac Connall.”
“You truly wish to know?” He grasped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him, and their eyes locked. “See it all, then.” Through his gaze he unleashed the years of hatred and sorrow and pain. He watched intently as his feelings entered Maere. He knew the moment she saw everything, the raw emotion striking out with the intensity of the storm raging outside. Maere gasped as if she had been struck. Dylan released his hold and turned his face away once more.
“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Is it evil you see in my heart? Or just the longing for retribution for so many years lost?”
“Sweet Mary, I don’t know how, but I see the pain of old wounds—not of the flesh, but of the soul.” Her heart broke for him and she reached out in his direction, her hand tingling with power as it had that night Seelie came to her. “I can help you. Let me help you.” For once, the offering to heal didn’t frighten her. It seemed so natural, as if she were born to it. A wave of familiarity swept over her like she had offered this service many times before.
“I seek no healing of this wound, Maere.” He pulled away from her. “At least not from you.”
She dropped her hand to her lap. His words stung her like no slap could. At least not from you. She took a deep breath and pushed away the hurt, allowing anger to replace it. “Would you refuse healing to give your life for vengeance, then?” she demanded. “Is that all that exists for you?”
“Aye..”
Maere searched his eyes, seeing that he would have none of her charity, that he regretted letting her inside his mind. An uncomfortable mixture of sadness and dread welled inside her. “Then tell me true, sir. Do you mean to give my life as well?”
Chapter Eighteen
The wildness of the storm subsided, the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning died away. The night was quiet now, except for the subtle pinging of leftover raindrops against the outside walls of the grotto.
Maere rested near the fire, in that delicate place between wakefulness and slumber, considering Dylan’s words. Yes. He would sacrifice her, so great was his need for vengeance. But vengeance against whom? She had seen and felt his pain and anger, but could find no focus for it.
Perhaps it was her refusal to believe his words about her past that angered him. But the notion of pagans and blessings and gods and goddesses was just too foreign to her mind for easy acceptance. Dear Lord, but her life had taken so many twists and turns in the last few days she doubted it would ever be right again. And how could it be? She had been wrenched from the only home she knew by this man who, if not the devil himself, had to be close kin.
