“You flatter me,” she purred seductively, and when he responded with an amused chuckle, she flattened herself against the wall and finally succeeded in slipping past him.
Oriana raised her gown above her ankles and flew down the stairs with a light step, but the echo of Garrick’s discordant laughter pursued her through the steep stairwell. The eerie sound fed her desperation to escape the chill fortress, and even after bursting out into the sunlight, she kept running.
Egan returned to his chamber in the early afternoon. Rather than focus on his own misery, he had prowled the fortress and contemplated the chaos his father’s sudden death had created in their clan. His father had schooled him well and there was no aspect of the duties he had suddenly been forced to assume that he could not manage at least passably well, but he was not eager to shoulder such a heavy burden of responsibility.
He was confident he could keep their enemies at bay, but he would also be expected to handle all manner of arguments within the clans, some serious and others merely tedious. His father had been praised for the fair manner in which he had settled disputes, but Egan knew he lacked Cadell’s patience and keen ear for the details that revealed the truth. Cadell had been wise even in his youth, but Egan feared he was more warrior than sage and would be sorely tempted to settle even trivial arguments with his sword.
“At least I’m wise enough to recognize my limitations,” he muttered as he approached his chamber. He was also clever enough to realize just how useful a maiden who could divine the future would surely be. Because her counsel would prove so enormously valuable, he forced a pleasant smile before rapping lightly at his door.
When Oriana failed to offer a polite summons, he regarded the effort to feign a good mood as wasted and shoved the door open. “This is my own chamber,” he announced proudly. “If I can remember to knock, you should deign to respond.”
He turned in a slow circle to confront the continually perplexing young woman, then felt exceedingly foolish when he discovered he was alone. A swift glance revealed no trace of his guest, but lacking a change of clothes, he could not imagine where she might have strayed, unless— “No!” he shouted, and suddenly certain Oriana had made good on her threat to borrow his clothing and again lose herself in the forest, he ran from his chamber and down the circular staircase at a pace even swifter than hers had been.
After the terrible encounter in the fortress, Oriana had sought a comforting view of the sea and had lingered for hours perched upon a moss-cushioned bluff below the castle. Manannan was the god of the sea, and she wondered if perhaps he had led her there. The Otherworld could be entered not merely through lakes, but also though mists, although she had felt no magic in yesterday’s forbidding fog.
“Did you call me here, Manannan?” she cried into the salty breeze. Are the Druids merely a necessary risk as I near the sea and my destiny? she pondered. She had always expected her husband to appear in an emerald forest as her father had, but perhaps Lugh had other plans for her.
“I do wish you’d hurry,” she said aloud, not voicing her true fears.
She and her mother had not mixed with the common folk, so there had been scant need for frequent admonitions to guard her virtue, woman’s greatest treasure. Indeed, she had understood the demand for purity in a bride without her mother having to belabor the issue, for no god would claim a wife who had known earthly passion.
For that reason, Egan posed a damning threat—not merely to her virtue, but to the future she had been raised to claim. She hugged her knees tightly and tried to imagine the magnificent god who would surely soon come for her. She had seen nineteen summers rather than the seventeen Egan had guessed, and was already past the age when most young women were safely wed. Time mattered little to the gods, but she hoped her future husband would not tarry much longer and then refuse her in favor of a younger lass.
“I lack your faith, Mother,” she admitted softly. Instead of the god she had been raised to expect, it was a handsome mortal who fired her longings. Her tears blurred the soothing view of the sea. When she first heard Egan calling her name, she blamed the sound on her imagination until he drew alarmingly near.
She rose then and wiped the moisture from her lashes to hide her sorrow. Turning shy,
she smoothed the soft folds of her borrowed tunic over her gown. She wished she could confide how badly Garrick had frightened her, but fearing Egan would use that very fear against her, she posed an innocent greeting. “You have some need of me, my lord?”
Egan had torn into the stable ready to ride Raven bareback to overtake her, but when he had found Brute still in his stall, he had taken the time to inquire if any of the guardsmen has seen his lady. Calling her such had nearly choked him, but he had swiftly learned that she was nearby.
“How dare you leave the fortress without my permission? Indeed, how dare you even leave my chamber?”
He was furiously angry and gesturing so wildly that Oriana feared he might strike her purely by accident. She took a prudent step backward before issuing a hushed reply, “How foolish of me; I failed to realize I was your prisoner.”
The cheeky wench was mocking him, which Egan was positive he had warned her not to do. He had expected her to stay put, but it was clear to him now that she would never do the expected, unless, of course, it suited her. He raked her with an accusing glance, and, finally noting her beautiful garments, felt a sudden jolt of recognition.
He turned toward the sea to shut out the image but it stubbornly lingered on the edge of his memory and gradually cleared. Years ago he had been there, on that same exact spot with the beautiful woman who had owned the lovely blue-violet gown. Her golden-red hair had also been tousled by the breeze coming off the sea, but her gaze had been loving rather than coldly defiant.
“That’s my mother’s gown,” he spit out between clenched teeth.
Oriana was badly disappointed that he had not hotly denied that she was his prisoner and hoped it was not merely a ploy to distract her. Because he had already been angry before he had noticed her clothing, she graciously accepted his change of subject rather than push him into a blind fury.
“I warned Myrna that you’d be offended, but she swore you’d not recognize your mother’s things. Obviously she was mistaken. I will change at once.” She raised the softly flowing gown above the toes of her own scuffed slippers to make her way up to the fortress, but Egan reached out to stop her.
“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
The anger had left his expression, but in Oriana’s view, narrow-eyed suspicion was no improvement. His fingers tightened on her arm, but she remained relaxed. “You know more than anyone else. I am Oriana, daughter of Lugh.”
“But your mother’s people, you truly know nothing of them?” he persisted.
“My mother had many suitors, so her family must have been powerful and wealthy. She was also good and kind, so her people must have set a fine example. Knowing that, what does their name or clan matter?”
It mattered greatly to Egan, but he knew he was a fool without hearing the whispered condemnation, and he hurriedly released her to yank his tunic off over his head. He bent to unlace his boots and flung the first one aside.
Refusing to fear the absolute worst, Oriana stood her ground. “What are you doing?” she asked, and quickly ducked the second flying boot.
“There’s time for a swim before the mists descend. Would you care to join me?” He stood and loosened his leather belt, but his harsh expression wasn’t inviting.