Page 82 of Queen of the Shadow

“You are not like your father.”

“I tell myself that, but I’m afraid I would be as heartless as Lugh if I tried to raise the child with Aife. It’s why I gifted her my ring to give to him along with my message to join me when he is old enough to come alone.”

“And by knowing that about yourself and protecting your son from it, you’ve already proven you are not Lugh—not at all. I hope your son comes to you when he is of age and you find the joy in him that I have with my Uathach,” said Scáthach.

“I believe that is the nicest hope anyone has ever had for me.” His smile was shy and boyish. “Do you mind me asking about Uathach’s father?”

“Not at all. He’s a good man. An excellent warrior. He was a member of my Shadow Guard for about a year. He was from the Northlands, the younger brother of a Jarl. His brother died and the kingdom sent word that he had been chosen to succeed.” Scáthach lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Rightfully, he returned to his home to rule.”

“Did he know Uathach?”

“No. She was conceived so close to when he left, I didn’t even realize I was with child until he’d been gone for months. Before I thought to send word to him, I heard he’d been crowned and married.” She shrugged again. “He didn’t need the complication of wondering if I’d want him to return.”

“And did you? Want him to return?”

“Oh, when I was heavy with child and uncomfortable and worried about what kind of mother I’d be I did, but as soon as I gave birth the world narrowed to my daughter and me. I realized quickly that she’s entirely mine. That’s how I preferred it then and how I still prefer it.”

“She’s not asked about him?” he asked.

“She has. She knows who he is and that she may go to him if ever she so desires. So far she hasn’t desired,” Scáthach explained.

“You didn’t love him?”

“I liked him. He and I were friends. I respected him as a warrior. But love him? No.” A sensual smile lifted her lips. “There was a good measure of lust rather than love.”

Cuchulainn’s gaze went to and remained on her lips. “You don’t believe there can be both? Lustandlove.”

“Oh, I most certainly do. I’ve just not experienced it.” His gaze lifted from her lips, and she caught it with hers. “Yet.”

“Yet,” he echoed.

* * *

“What is it? Did we catch the island?” Cuchulainn asked as he tried to peer through the thickening mist.

“We did.”

“Do I need to lift the sail again?” he asked.

“No, we’d sail straight into rocks. The sturgeons will get us to the beach safely. It’s not far now. Once we’re past the fog bank that always surrounds the outer part of the island, you’ll see.” Scáthach spoke eagerly, leaning forward with him, even though the fog was too dense to see through. The sturgeons guided the little boat around spiny rock formations. Some had willow trees sprouting from them, their long branches sweeping the water like gowns and some half-hidden under the fog-cloaked water. Skeletons of broken ships still impaled on the sharp black rock seemed sacrifices to the gods. “This part always saddens me.” Scáthach spoke softly, reverently as they floated slowly past the carcasses of vessels.

Cuchulainn kept his voice pitched low, matching the reverence Scáthach showed. “So many of them. I didn’t realize...”

“Some come to try to follow loved ones to the Summerlands,” Scáthach said. “Some as rites of passage.” She shook her head. “Such foolishness. The only rite of passage on this isle is death.” She met his gaze. “And some are here to quest for something.”

“That’s us,” Cuchulainn said.

“Mostly that’s you,” she corrected. “But I’m here to help.”

“Why?” he asked abruptly, causing one of her brows to arch. He hastily continued. “I’m glad you’re here, but why did you come with me?”

“I like the Underworld. It’s my mother’s realm and I have not visited for too many years.” She smiled as she continued. “I like you, Sentanta. And I owe you two life debts.”

“I don’t keep count of something like that,” insisted Cuchulainn.

“I know, which is why I do keep count.”

He cleared his throat and then asked, “So, you like me?”