The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance Part 23

The Warrior.

Jenna Maclaine.

One.

Castle Tara.

Connemara, Ireland 1260.

They had come to kill him. At his invitation they had come, hundreds of them, across seas and continents, until they filled the courtyard of his great castle. They had come to vanquish the arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d who dared to claim sovereignty over the vampire nation. His summons had appealed to their pride, their vanity, their curiosity: an open challenge that whoever could defeat him in single combat would unite the world's vampires under the authority of one High King.

The warrior braced his hands on the cold grey stone of the parapet wall and listened with satisfaction to the murmuring voices below. When they had embarked on this journey they had been certain that the challenger would be easily dispatched, but now that confidence was beginning to waver, for Castle Tara was unlike anything they had seen before. It was a palace straight out of Faerie, built for beauty and not defence. There was nothing like it this side of the Veil. Indeed, the whole structure often slipped in and out of Faerie in order to keep itself hidden from human eyes.

The vampires below truly had no understanding of what they were walking into. One complained bitterly of the cramped quarters that surely awaited them, for no castle could comfortably house this many people. The warrior smiled. Even now the stewards were showing his guests to their chambers and he had no doubt that they would all find their quarters more than satisfactory. The castle was almost a living thing, expanding and contracting, changing as she saw fit. He watched the vampires below gaze covetously at what was his, each of them imagining what it would be like to live in such a place, each of them imagining they would be the one to defeat him. It was truly a pity they would all go home disappointed.

The warrior tensed at the sound of wings beating against the cool night air. A moment later a black raven swooped down, landing on the wall to his right. And a moment after that the bird seamlessly transformed itself into a beautiful young woman. He nearly growled in frustration at the sight of her . . . and at the reaction his body always had to her presence. How he wished he could look at her and feel nothing, but after a millennium he'd finally given up on that ever happening. For some reason she stirred his blood as no woman ever had, or ever would.

She smiled seductively and lounged on her precarious perch, propped up on one elbow with her long, lean body stretched out before him. Her hair looked as black as sin under the night sky but he knew that by candlelight it shone with the subtle, iridescent purple and green of a raven's wing. Her face was angular and strong, her lips full and sensual. Even though he tried not to, he couldn't help imagining those lips doing things to his body, wicked things that he didn't even have a name for. Her gown (if you could call such a thing a gown) clung to her curves like shadows, the black fabric so sheer that he could see her white skin beneath it. She wore the d.a.m.ned thing just because she knew it drove him mad.

"I told you they would come," she said smugly, nodding to the throng below. "And you said they would not."

He snorted derisively. "I have no doubt that a G.o.ddess' whispered commands in their ears as they slept had something to do with it."

"I can be very persuasive," she purred.

He scowled at her smiling face. "I know that all too well," he said harshly. "You were quite convincing when you struck the deal that d.a.m.ned me for eternity. Tell me, Morrigan, did you feel the slightest bit of guilt when you had me killed?"

Two.

She swiftly sat up from her reclining position, her black eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him take a step back. "Do not pretend that I was some she-wolf taking down an innocent lamb, Cullen. I gave you everything you asked of me and before this week is out I will make you a king!"

"And I will keep my end of the bargain," he a.s.sured her. "I will lead your vampires, Morrigan. But I will never forgive you."

"I do not require your forgiveness, nor do I seek it." She slid off the parapet wall and stalked towards him. "By the G.o.ds, for such a big, strong man you certainly have become adept at whining like a wee girl." Trailing her long, glossy black fingernails across the rise of his chest, she looked into his dark eyes. "One would think that 1,000 years would have cooled your temper, Cullen."

He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from his body. "Then one would be mistaken, for I will always hate you, Morrigan."

The words stung, and she looked away. At least they were the truth. She would rather have that than the pretty lies he'd told her when he was human. He had turned the head of a G.o.ddess with his beautiful body and his honeyed words. He had made her love him and she would never forgive herself for that weakness. Well, she certainly wouldn't allow him see that weakness now.

She let all emotion drain from her face before she once again raised her eyes to his. Even her skin seemed to pale further, until she was every inch the cold, heartless G.o.ddess of legend. And he flinched. A look something akin to guilt crossed his face before he pulled his gaze from hers.

Satisfied, she took a step away from him. "I believe I will retire to my chambers," she informed him coldly.

He released her wrist and gave her a low, mocking bow. "It is your castle," he conceded.

Morrigan arched one black brow at him. "Yes, it is."

Three.

From her window in the north tower Morrigan watched Cullen pace. She imagined she could hear him cursing her name. Turning away, she walked to her bed, the bed she and Cullen had lain in countless times over the centuries. She ran her fingers across the lush fur blankets and the sheets made of Faerie silk. Perhaps he would come to her tonight, despite his anger. Whatever his feelings might be, Morrigan knew he craved her body and her blood. And she had long ago convinced herself that that was enough.

By Danu, she thought, how did something that had started out so well go so horribly wrong?

Morrigan knew that most of the blame rested on her. She was wilful and arrogant and jealous aye, all that and more. But she was also able to see the past in a way he could not. A thousand years was a trifling thing to her, but Cullen was young yet. The years pa.s.sed more slowly for him. He had had centuries to proudly recall his accomplishments and forget his failures, to dwell on his virtues and bury his faults. She could hardly blame him for that it was what humans did but she remembered his mortal life very clearly, as if it had happened a month ago instead of a millennium. Perhaps she had tricked him but, truthfully, all she had done was set the bait. Cullen had sprung the trap himself.

But she did not expect him to remember it that way, for was it not easier to cast her as the villain than to be forced to admit to himself that greed and pride had been the downfall of the great Cuchulainn?

Four.

The castle of King Conchobar of Ulster.

In the twilight of the Old Religion.

It was dark and the castle was quiet, or at least as quiet as castles ever were. Morrigan strode through the halls of Conchobar's stronghold with little regard to stealth. She was the Great Phantom Queen, the shadows themselves bent to her will, and she would not be seen by human eyes unless she wished it so.

When she found his door, she paused. He was the key to all her future plans and she must get this right. She had been waiting so long for him. Smoothing the crimson fabric of her cloak, she scoffed at her nerves. Anxiety was such a human emotion. If she couldn't accomplish this simple task then she deserved to be devoured by the Demon Horde. Human males were so malleable, after all. One could lead them anywhere by their phallus or their sword arm. And Morrigan intended to use whatever means necessary to get what she wanted. Silently, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.

He was sitting with his back to her, waist deep in a hip bath in front of the fire. That surprised her, for humans (and men in particular) seemed to have little concern for cleanliness. She had not made a sound, but he sensed her. In one fluid movement he grabbed the sword from the table next to him and stood, spinning around to face her. The look of surprise on his face almost matched her own.

By the G.o.ddess, he was lovely. He was young, no longer a boy but barely a man. The muscles of his body were lean and firm. She preferred a heavier build on a man, but that would come with age. Already his face was perfection cheekbones that could rival her own; a strong, square jaw; and lips that any woman would long to kiss. His hair, which fell just past his shoulders, fascinated her. Black at the roots, it then changed to brown and again to a coppery blond. It was his eyes that held her though. They were the dark green of a Faerie forest with flecks of golden sunlight. The emotions behind them ranged from shock to suspicion as they frankly a.s.sessed her.

"Lay down your sword, Cullen. I mean you no harm."

His body relaxed (well, parts of it anyway) and he lowered the blade. "You have the wrong room, my lady. There is no one here by that name."

She smiled and strolled further into his chamber, taking note of the spa.r.s.e furnis.h.i.+ngs a bed, a table and chair, and little else. She would have thought King Conchobar's nephew would have more lavish quarters.

"I have not mistaken my destination," she replied. "Your parents call you Setanta. The people call you Cuchulainn. May I not have my own name for you?"

For a moment he was drawn in by her sweet smile, then his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he demanded. "You are not from Ulster."

"Are you so certain?" she asked, c.o.c.king her head to one side.

"I think I would remember crossing paths with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You aren't one of Conchobar's subjects."

"No, I am not," Morrigan agreed, pleased with his compliment.

"Are you one of Queen Medb's spies, then?"

"I am not your enemy," she a.s.sured him. "In fact, I have every reason to believe that you and I will become firm allies."

Impatiently he stepped from the tub and raised his sword. "That is not an answer. I ask you again, lady. Who are you?"

"I am Morrigan, G.o.ddess of war. I hear your prayers before every battle, Cullen, and tonight I am here to answer them."

He stared at her for a moment and then threw back his head and laughed. Irritated, Morrigan raised her arm and Cullen's sword was ripped from his grasp, flying through the air and into her outstretched hand.

"Any sorceress could do that," Cullen scoffed.

Morrigan arched one black brow at him. "Perhaps," she conceded. "But could anyone other than a G.o.ddess do this?"

She moved, faster than his eyes could track her, and before he could react her body was pressed against his. Her hands were suddenly on either side of his face and Cullen grasped her hips to steady them both. She looked into his eyes.

"Hold on," she said, a moment before the room went black and the floor disappeared from under his feet.

The sensation that followed was not a pleasant one. It felt as though his body was being turned inside out and Cullen gritted his teeth at the pain. Blessedly, it only lasted a moment and then his feet were on solid ground again. Morrigan released him and he fell to his knees, unable to get his bearings and stay upright.

"What did you do?" he gasped.

"I have brought you across the Veil," she said proudly. "Welcome to Faerie, Cullen."

Five.

When he opened his eyes Cullen found himself in a world he did not recognize. He knelt before Morrigan in the centre of a small meadow surrounded by lush, green trees. A full moon rode high in the sky, gilding everything with its silver light. Nearby, a doe and her fawn, startled by the intrusion, rushed for the protective cover of the tree line. But none of this convinced him that he truly was in Faerie. What did was the fact that everything, from the stars in the sky to the gra.s.s under his feet, sparkled. He had never seen anything like it and he knew he never would again.

"G.o.ddess," he whispered reverently, bowing his head in supplication, "I beg your forgiveness."

Morrigan placed her hand under his chin and tipped his face up so that she could look into those beautiful green eyes.

"Cullen, we cannot dally here. Time moves differently in Faerie so we must seal our bargain quickly."

"Bargain?" he asked, confused.

Morrigan c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "Tell me, what is the one thing that you want most in the world? If you could shape your future any way it pleased you, what would you wish for?"

Cullen was silent for a moment, but it was not indecision that made him pause, it was the fear of actually putting into words what his heart most longed for. Finally, he said, "I would be the greatest warrior Eire has ever seen."

Morrigan knelt in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. "Men will fear you, women will want you, and no army will be able to stand against you," she promised fiercely. "In 1,000, nay, 2,000 years bards will still tell tales of the epic battles of the great Cuchulainn. I can give you all that and more, and I require only one thing in return."

His eyes lit up at the prospect of attaining such glory. "Anything," he whispered.

"When your mortal life has ended and I come to claim you in death, instead of going to the Summerlands you must pledge your afterlife to my service. In return for that you will be young and strong forever, Cullen. And I will make you the king of an army the likes of which no man has ever led. Will you strike this bargain with me?"

"I will gladly, my G.o.ddess," he answered earnestly.

Morrigan ran her fingers down the sides of his neck, over his shoulders, and across the firm muscles of his chest. She looked up into his eyes and smiled seductively as she slid the cloak from her body, the red cloth pooling like blood on the gra.s.s. He stared down at the pale perfection of her naked body.

"Then let us seal this covenant, my young warrior. By flesh and blood I will bind us," she said, her lips a mere breath away from his. "Come, Cullen. Let me give you everything you have ever desired."

He pulled her against him, claiming her mouth in a scorching kiss that would change them both, irrevocably and eternally.

Six.

Morrigan laid her head on Cullen's chest, surprisingly sated. She rarely took a human to her bed; she found them generally uninspiring, but Cullen was different. What he lacked in experience, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Morrigan smiled, thinking of all the wondrous things she would teach him in the coming years.

"Why me?" he asked softly, pulling her mind back from its wicked imaginings.

"I have seen you fight," she replied. "There is no grace in your skill nor beauty in your movements. You simply overpower your opponents hard and rough and dirty."

Cullen stiffened, believing her comment to be a criticism. "What need have I of grace when I have victory?" he asked arrogantly.

Morrigan laughed and propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him with a smile. "That is exactly why I chose you, Cullen. You intrigue me. Besides," she said as she raked her fingernails back and forth across his skin, "I like it hard and rough and dirty."

In one swift movement he rolled her over, pinning her to the ground beneath him. The look on his face held none of the virtues she had just mentioned though. The expression in his eyes was so tender that she swallowed the naughty comment she was about to make and waited for him to speak.