Page 62 of Queen of the Shadow

Tabiti hooked an arm around Amage’s waist. She looked up at him as she dragged her bleeding partner to the water. “Come on, Cu!”

“Go! Get into and under the water! I’ll follow you!”

“Now! Come now!” Tabiti shouted as she helped Amage enter the loch.

“I will! As soon as you get under the water!” Cuchulainn stood on the bank. He turned so that he faced the warriors shooting arrows from the fort wall who were obviously trying to avoid hitting him. He spread his arms and legs, making his body as wide as possible, shielding Tabiti and Amage from the onslaught.

“Now, Cu! Now!” Tabiti said before she dove after Amage, who was already swimming underwater, leaving a trail of scarlet.

Cuchulainn whirled around so that he faced the loch and jogged closer to the water, raising his hands as Tabiti had taught him, bunching his muscles to dive far out into the loch and disappear.

Tabiti hadn’t gone under the water. She was on her back, swimming after Amage as she encouraged Cuchulainn. “Move, Cu!” She shouted again, and then her eyes suddenly went wide. “Dive now! They’re—”

There was a whirring sound like a swarm of bees and, before Cuchulainn could take the leap into the loch, a net settled thick and heavy over him, pulling him to the ground. He fought against it, but the weights sewn into the ends of the net trapped him.

“Cu!” Tabiti shouted.

Another volley of arrows whizzed past him, striking the water all around Tabiti.

“Go!” he told Tabiti as he railed against the net, managing to rise to his knees. Then he roared in pain as an arrow meant for Tabiti plowed a furrow through the top of his right shoulder as it zipped past him and into the water. When his gaze went to Tabiti, she was veiled in red. The berserker began to rise within him. “Goooo!” he snarled, already sounding inhuman.

“They’re coming for you! Fight, Cu! Then dive into the loch and catch up with us!” she shouted just before she dove under the water and swam after Amage.

Cuchulainn tried to turn to face his foes as the berserker heated his blood and reddened his vision, but the net made moving awkward, and before he could fully embrace the berserker, who would tear through the net as easily as he tore through human flesh, they were on him.

He expected knives and swords, but they came at him with neither. Instead they ran at him with wooden bats. One warrior rushed him. With a flying kick, Cuchulainn was knocked from his knees to the ground again. Several men—he couldn’t tell how many—pinned his body down as he roared and snarled, embracing the berserker’s rage. Someone rushed in and clubbed him over the head. Light burst in Cuchulainn’s vision, burning through the red rage. A second blow to the head turned everything black and silent as the Hero of Ulster’s eyes rolled to show white and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly. The first thing Cuchulainn knew was that he must be alive because he refused to believe the dead had headaches, and his head pounded in painful time with his rapid heartbeat. He felt wrong. His thoughts were muddled. He tried to touch his head to find the injury, but his arms were trapped. The movement sent a spear of pain lancing through his body from his right shoulder, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Good, you’re waking.” Her voice was sweet. High and soft like a songbird. He opened his eyes, but the room was dark and his vision was blurred. Gentle hands lifted his head and pressed a cup to his lips, tilting it so the liquid poured into his mouth. “Here, drink this. It’ll help with the pain in your head,” she cooed.

Cuchulainn didn’t want to drink—tried to turn away—but the gentle hands that held his head hardened. She trapped his head, tilted it up and back, and pinched his nose closed. If he wanted to breathe, he had to swallow the strangely sweet, yet bitter mixture. He gulped and gulped and then again shook his head, attempting to move his nose from her hand and his mouth away from the cup.

“No, Cuchulainn, you must finish the draft. Trust me. It will make everything else so much easier.” Her grip on him was strong, but her voice sweet as she cajoled. He had no choice but to swallow the entire cup of vile liquid.

Then she plumped a pillow and put it under his head before she began cleaning his shoulder. Cuchulainn’s mind cleared enough that it caught up with his body. He remembered the wall. Amage had been wounded. She and Tabiti had gotten away—or he hoped they had—and then there had been the net, the arrow that had sliced the top of his shoulder, and the men who had held him down and clubbed him unconscious. Cuchulainn’s stomach churned, and he had to close his eyes, grit his teeth, and swallowing the saliva that flooded his mouth over and over to keep from puking. When the wave of nausea eased, he opened his eyes and blinked several times. His vision wouldn’t clear. He still saw two or three of everything and what he saw was blurred, but he could tell he was in a room within a stone building. The fort’s keep. It had to be. It was the only stone building at Dùn Dòbhrain. A wan light came from a hearthfire across the room. He was lying on a bed pallet, uncovered and completely naked. He tried to sit, to move, but his arms and legs were spread wide and tied so tightly to the frame of the pallet that the thick ropes dug into the flesh of his wrists and ankles.

“Easy, easy, don’t fight and you’ll be much more comfortable,” said the honeyed voice.

He turned his head to the right, gritting his teeth against the pain it caused to move, and looked up at the woman tending his wound. She was tiny, delicate, with blue eyes so striking they appeared jewel-like. Her skin was smooth and the white of fresh milk. She wore a low-cut gown that displayed plump breasts just above embroidered black dragons.

“Aife.” It was like speaking through sand, but he ground out her name.

She smiled. “Hello, Cuchulainn. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

He pulled on the ropes holding his wrists. “Release me!”

She took a small wooden pot from beside the bed and smeared a thick glob of salve into the arrow wound before she answered him. “I cannot do that. At least not at this moment, I cannot. I need something from you first. Something very important.”

“Then release me. I do not cooperate with my captors.”

She stood and laughed, flipping back the silken length of her hair. Aife smiled at him. “Really? How often have you been taken captive?”

He said nothing. His answer wasnever until now, which she obviously knew.

When he didn’t respond, she shrugged and changed the subject. “It’s so interesting to me that the mighty Hero of Ulster came all the way to Dunscáith to train with my sister. You’re already a great warrior. Why would you demean yourself like that?”