Page 106 of Queen of the Shadow

“You still?” he said, prompting her when she didn’t continue.

“I still feel sorrow for them and hate that they are unredeemable. It has weighed on my spirit since I was a child,” she finished softly in a sad whisper.

Cuchulainn slid his arm around her and pulled her into his lap, wrapping her tightly in his arms until the tension their conversation had evoked loosened and she relaxed against him.

“I’m sorry I’m making you enter the Winterlands. I didn’t know—didn’t understand before now how difficult this would be for you,” he said.

She rested her head against his chest. “You didn’tmakeme do anything. I wanted to come with you and I’m glad I did. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than here with you.”

“Here where we have all the time in the world,” he murmured.

“Yes, love. Here where time works for us.”

Scáthach swiveled in his arms and kissed him hungrily. Then she lay back and opened herself to him. Cuchulainn wrapped her in his arms as their bodies joined again, fitting perfectly while they explored and discovered each other. And the realm responded to the daughter of their beloved goddess, granting them the one thing they never had enough of in the mortal realm—time.

The night stretched on and on, filled with passion and the satiation of desire as well as a love so pure and beautiful that it healed that which obsession and selfishness had tried to break beyond repair. And then, when their bodies were exhausted, together Scáthach and Sentanta slept deeply, dreaming of a future where they were just two people in love, not a queen and a hero who owed allegiance to others more than to themselves.

Chapter 24

Will you allow the berserker to sleep now?” Scáthach had asked Sentanta.

“That is my intention,” Cuchulainn said.

She’d said nothing more, though he saw understanding in her eyes. He’d been grateful she’d not pressed him for a more definitive answer, but she knew. The sadness reflected in her understanding gave her away.

It gave him away, too.

* * *

They harnessed Chance and loaded the chariot as the cocooning fog dissipated. Before Cuchulainn guided the stallion to the road, he pulled the chariot to a halt and gazed silently back at their empty campsite.

Scáthach slid her arm around his waist. “It was a good place to camp.”

He draped his arm around her shoulder. “It was better than good.” Cuchulainn kissed her before reluctantly releasing her and calling to Chance, “Hup, boy! Let’s get back to the road.” When they reached the road, Cuchulainn turned the stallion toward the wall of stormy gray that blighted the horizon.

“So it’ll just continue to get colder?” Cuchulainn asked as he wrapped his cloak more tightly around him.

“Yes, but when I call the shadows to us, they’ll help with some of the chill. A little like the fog has done for us every night,” Scáthach said.

“Do you have any idea how long it’ll take us to get to wherever it is we’ll find Curruid?”

Scáthach grinned wryly. “All I know is that Curruid will be found within the Winterlands, but shadows know everything. They’ll guide us. I don’t expect it will take them long to lead us to the monster, especially as they will be able to sense my desire to pass through the realm quickly.”

As they drew ever closer to the wall of gray that marked the boundary of the Winterlands, they talked less and less, both lost in thoughts of what the realm would hold. Scáthach wasn’t afraid, though she knew the things they would see would be terrible. She was sad.

The Queen of Shadow tried to shake off her melancholy. But the cause of it drew closer and closer. She’d told Cuchulainn nothing but the truth. The shadows would lead them quickly to Curruid, and once they found the monster, she and Cuchulainn would make short work of harvesting its rib. Their quest would be over and they would be returned to Dunscáith. She glanced at Cuchulainn. He would leave then. She was too old and too wise to fool herself into believing he would defy his father and change his destiny. She knew him well enough by then to understand him. Sentanta might have been content with a fisherman’s life; Cuchulainn never would be. Cuchulainn was a warrior, the Hero of Ulster, a man to whom others looked for protection and for the acts of glory that made their lives richer.

When their quest ended, so too would their time together.

“What is that?” Cuchulainn’s question interrupted her thoughts.

Scáthach blinked and then followed his pointing finger. They were close to the wall of gray. Between them and the roiling wall of clouds and fog and eerily shrieking winds was a large creature—a beast that walked on all fours. Its coloring was wolf-like, but it was considerably larger than wolf-size.

“Is it one of your mother’s bears?” Cuchulainn asked when she didn’t respond.

“It can’t be. None are allowed here in life, and in death their spirits are joyously welcomed to the Summerlands.” They trotted closer. A rolling growl came from the beast as its thick muzzle lifted and it scented the air. It turned to face them, and Scáthach grimaced in disgust. The beast was all wrong. Its body was misshapen with too many cords of thick muscles. Enormous claws caused its gait to be strange, and it gouged the ground with every step, leaving a path of torn earth in its wake. Its red eyes bulged. Its head was half crushed—blood and gore dripped from the terrible wound. The creature curled back its lips to expose overly long, sharp fangs as its scarlet gaze focused on them. “It looks like a monstrous dog,” said Scáthach.

Cuchulainn’s body stiffened. “Lugh’s balls! It’s him.”