Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) (22 page)

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H
alfway between midnight and dawn, Nightshade set Gowthaman’s journal aside and turned off the bedside lamp. He’d opened the heavy drapes to let the night in through the wide window and now he lay back, hands clasped behind his head, to watch the sky. An untrained eye would miss the faint haze lingering at the edge of the stone outcropping. A human’s eye.

Letting his eyelids drift closed, he waited for a sleep he knew would not find him. Too many thoughts, possibilities, recriminations... too much rumbled through his head until he had lost primary focus. After a few minutes he threw back the blankets and stalked to the window.

Cool air surrounded him, raising chill bumps on his naked body. Had he become so used to comfort that a little cold made him shiver? He snapped his fingers in a precise ‘Z’. “Honey, get over yourself.”

After slipping on silk pajama bottoms and a crumpled tee shirt, he snagged the journal, left the bedroom and sought the comfort of the huge kitchen.

Only the soft light over the stove illuminated the room, that and the last of the moonlight reflected on the loch. In a few hours the sun would rise over the distant hills and another day would begin.

Nightshade took a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, a box of heavily-sweetened cereal and a glass from the pantry and sat so he could see out the window. After pouring the milk, he tipped the box, cascading a small pile colorful circles onto the tabletop. He opened the journal.

While munching on the crunchy cereal, he stared at the pages covered with fine, precise script and well-marked diagrams. Although his eyes saw the words, his mind wandered elsewhere.

He’d been too long in this life. Too much of who he was had slipped from beneath his flamboyant facade. Always in the past he’d moved on long before now, leaving a mystery and little else. Twice he’d tried to leave, to disassociate himself from this place, these people. Twice he’d returned.

He drew in a deep breath then released it slowly. He was tired of moving on, starting over, deciding who he would be. The closest he’d ever been to his true self, he liked who he was now. Liked his place in the world. Maybe he should consider...

But not now. There was too much on the table already for his adopted family. Once everyone was safely home, once the drama this family constantly found themselves in was over, maybe then. He crunched slowly, swallowed, then took a long drink. He would come clean with them.

Or disappear.

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T
he sounds of someone scuffling over the stone littered ground woke Gowthaman from an exhausted, oddly peaceful sleep. Without moving he glanced around, wondering when he’d fallen asleep. The sweet memory of Breanna holding him brought him to sitting as he looked around for her.

Chance was the only one visible at their tiny campsite. When the young man noticed him, Chance dropped the pack he rummaged through and hunkered down beside him.

“As far as I can tell, it’s still a couple hours until whatever passes as dawn.”

Gowthaman nodded and took the water Chance held out to him. Chance studied him while he drank greedily, but the frank perusal did not cause him distress as it had so often in the past. He lowered the bottle to his knee and looked around. The landscape was still the same bleak gray, yet it seemed less oppressive. He would survive.

“Where... are the others?”

Chance tossed him a cocky grin. “The... others. Well, Coralie and Morghan are off that way somewhere.” He waved over his shoulder then looked expectantly at Gowthaman.

Shaking his head at the young man’s impetuous nature, Gowthaman obliged. “And Breanna?”

Although the smile remained in place, the teasing glint in Chance’s eyes faded. His gaze skittered to one side then back. “Said she needed a little private time.”

Breanna’s brother had no talent in prevarication. Tight, dense terror sucked at Gowthaman’s breath. “Why?”

“Sometimes... Oh, hell, Gowthaman. She healed you, even I can see that. Can’t you just leave it?”

The terror took a jagged bite into his heart. He clasped Chance’s arm. “Tell me what you mean.”

Chance studied him for a few seconds, gave a sharp nod and sat. “She’ll kill me for this, you know. But, maybe it’s time. It’s like this, Gowthaman. She heals.”

“Yes, we have established that.”

Waving a hand to prevent Gowthaman’s further speech, Chance continued. “She heals two ways. Physical and emotional. The physical’s easy. She takes the hurt, the pain and somehow it dissipates. Somewhere. I don’t think she understands the process either. It’s just something she does. We’ve both benefited from the physical healing. To her it’s no big deal. But the other.”

“The pain of a mind in torment.”

“Yeah. Look, I have some idea what you went through, how much baggage you’ve carried around with you. I’m glad two finally got all that taken care of.”

The urge to shake the young man strained Gowthaman forward. Chance must have read his intent, for he leaned back and said, “Okay. But she’s really gonna kill me.”

“And if she is reluctant...” He gave a small smile to soften his threat. The worry remained, but without the burden of negativity, he had opened his heart to a world, to many worlds, of possibilities. Possibilities he would explore with Breanna once Chance told him where she hid.

“Only a few people know about this. Mom and Dad, Granda, Jayse. I suppose you’d find out sooner or later anyway, seeing as how... well, never mind that. I only know because I followed her once when she told me not to.” He ducked his head. “I made it worse because she tried to hold back.”

“Hold what back? Chance, tell me where Breanna is.”

“In a grotto over that way. The place Morghan mentioned earlier.”

Gowthaman tensed his muscles to rise, but Chance pressed down on his shoulder. “Wait. Before you go running off, I’ve got to tell you more. Unlike when she heals physical injuries, and the pain just kinda flows from her and drains away, when there’s emotional pain involved...”

Grasping Chance’s wrist, Gowthaman growled a low threat. A knot formed in the pit of his belly. Bitter acid filled his throat. He knew, but needed to hear the words. “What are you avoiding telling me?”

Now Chance’s eyes dimmed, a flash of tortured denial spoke more to Gowthaman than any words. “The pain, she takes it inside herself. It doesn’t just float away. She carries your agony with her until she has time, a private place, somewhere where she can let them go.”

“But when she was a child—”

“She doesn’t understand that either. Maybe it didn’t bother her then because of a child’s innocence. That’s been the best theory we’ve been able to come up with. Once she understood the scope of emotional pain, she was unable to simply funnel it though herself.”

“Are you saying she is out there somewhere trying to rid herself of
my
torment? That I did this to her? Gave her my pain?”

“Hell, Gowthaman, you didn’t do anything to her. She took from you. And willingly. She’d do it again in a minute.”

“I must go to her.”

Chance grabbed his shoulder again. Gowthaman resisted the need to shake off the unwanted pressure and rush into the murky gray to find his beloved. Chance held his gaze, a fierce light in his eyes so similar to Breanna’s, Gowthaman’s heart stalled. “No. She wouldn’t want you to see.”

The heavy beat of his heart resumed with his determination. “I must go. She will see me.”

Chance held up his hands in mock defeat. “I’ve made my token resistance. You tell her that. She does need you now.” He reached blindly to one side and snagged a blanket. “Take this, she’ll be cold.”

Gowthaman rose, took the blanket then paused. Perhaps he should not intrude upon her.

Chance scrambled to his feet and gave him a not too gentle shove between the shoulder blades. “Go. Don’t think. Just do. Geez,” he muttered as Gowthaman stumbled away. “Who’da thunk I’d be giving relationship advice.”

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H
ands covering her face, Breanna collapsed to her knees. She’d barely reached the tiny, hidden grotto before her legs gave out and she could go no further.

How had Gowthaman carried such a tremendous weight of guilt and pain every day? He was so much stronger than she’d ever imagined. If only she had known the extent of the damage he kept hidden, she would have insisted on this healing long ago, and never given up until he relented and allowed her to help. How different would his life be, or her life... their life together?

Bending forward until her forehead pressed against the ground, she gasped for breath then coughed when the dry dust coated her throat. She lifted her head slightly, scraped her fingers through her hair.

The pain of biting her lip failed to contain her sobs. Dry as the land around her, the sounds of an intense healing echoed in her ears, trembled through her chest. Gowthaman’s healing. Chains, cold and burning like ice wrapped around her heart, crept agonizingly along her veins, invaded her mind. Clinking silently against the memories of the pain she’d eased from Gowthaman, the bindings threatened to pull her inexorably into those memories, to hold her there. To replace Gowthaman’s pain with her own.

She struggled to straighten her back and face the coming release upright. But her muscles refused to respond and tightened, keeping her frozen in tortured agony. Years he’d carried this with him. Years she could have given him if she’d only known. But her naïveté... she shook her head violently. No, at five she had been an innocent child, believing she helped. Repercussions now helped no one.

She pounded her fists against the ground in rhythm to the sobs wracking her body. It hurt. Oh gods, it hurt.

Hurts.

She tasted blood but bit her lip harder to keep from crying out. The force of her fists raised a cloud of dust that settled over her. Violent coughs battled with her dry sobs. As though she had run miles, sharp pains punctured her sides. Yet those pains were minor irritants compared to the anguish she fought to force from her mind and soul.

Finally, she pressed one hand to the ground and forced herself to straighten. Rocking on her knees, she wrapped her arms about her waist, and tipped her face to the sky.

Leave me. He’s healed. Go away.
She accompanied her mental scream with an inner vision of hands pushing away a tangled, writhing mass. As she shoved, thin, ragged-edged tentacles stretched out to wrap around her arms, digging deep into her flesh, holding, binding the mass to her. A deep groan broke the seam of her tightly compressed lips. Her groan eased to his name.

“Oh, Gowthaman.”

The soft warmth of a blanket wrapped over her shoulders. “I am here.”

Breanna jerked fully upright, shoving the fleece to the ground. “Go away.”

“I will not.” Gowthaman knelt before her and rewrapped her in the blanket.

Frantic, Bree looked from rock to shadowed rock. Was anyone else nearby?

Gowthaman touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Breanna, I am alone. I am here for you. As you have always been for me. This...” He brushed the dust from her forehead. “This that you suffer now is because of me.”

Sinking back to sit on her calves, she jerked her face from his touch. “Please.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t look at me now. Please, just go away.”

Somehow, she had to make him leave. No one could ever see her like this, especially not him. Not him. Unable to control the tremors coursing through her, she knew only moments remained before the full impact of her struggle was made known. He shouldn’t see her like this. Not now. He couldn’t.

How might he react when subjected to the memory traces, the lingering evidence of his memories? Would he take those memories back upon himself and return to the tightly hidden pain? She would not risk that happening.

“I need to be alone.” The dead tone of her words strengthened her determination to protect Gowthaman.

Gentle, he caressed her face. With no hesitation in the simple contact, he brought his face close to hers and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Breanna gasped. Then burst into tears.

White-hot pain shot through her mind. She bit her abused lip to contain her moan. The aftereffects had never been so intense. Cold sweat covered her. Shivering, she tried to draw away.

“No,
sundarii
, do not refuse me. Do not let the past stand between us again. How many years have I refused you?”

Her single bark of harsh laughter faded rapidly in the heavy air.

The comforting strokes of Gowthaman’s fingers wiped the tears from her face. “Yes, far too many. For that, I beg forgiveness.”

“P-please go. I c-can’t stand for you to s-see me this way.”

“I will not leave you.
TvaaM me priyatamaa
.”

The intensity of disintegrating memories, the ripping away, tore her from Gowthaman’s touch. Arched her back. Cramped her muscles. Froze the cry in her throat. Battered, torn, her senses blinked into darkness.

One breath, ragged, barely filled her lungs. Exhale. Inhale. Again. Tentative, she searched the darkness for any glimmer, any clue, any hope. There. Breathe. Again.

Faint, shimmering gold against velvet black. There. Dancing red. There. Ah. Soulfire.

Breanna opened her eyes.

B
ree woke cradled against Gowthaman’s chest. He had settled cross-legged and held her in a gentle embrace. He carefully wiped the still falling tears from her face. Cocooned in the blanket, she cried, long and hard. The aftershocks of the healing had dissipated, and now she cried for Gowthaman, all he had suffered, all he had lost.

When finally she could cry no more she pressed her palm to his tear-dampened tunic to ease from his embrace. He held her more securely. Lips close to her ear, he whispered, “For too long I fought to keep this from you. I believed I had to hide what happened, how I felt. From you, from all who knew me.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... not like that. Not when I was so young. I had no idea—”

The gentle press of his finger to her lip stopped her speech. “Hush, little missy. This is my time to speak.”