The Fox (18 page)

I stood rooted to the floor, not able to move. I was petrified and humbled. He was trying to forgive me. Tears stung my eyes. “I am sorry, Marc. What I did was so wrong. I’ve no excuses. But I think I paid for it.”

“Yes, I guess you did.” He circled me again, with his gentle bear hug, lowered his head and used his mouth to cover mine in a deep, long kiss. I tasted the tip of his tongue. Feelings of order, of things being right in the universe, came over me. I’d not felt this way since he and I were together in college. He was my life partner, my teacher, and my love.

“Aine?”

“Um, yes?” I answered, breathing fast.

“I wanted to do this right. Is this romantic enough?” he whispered into my ear.

“Shut up.”

One of his hands came down from my hair and settled in the small of my back and pulled me closer.

We didn’t want to let go of each other and waddled to the closest bed. I began to laugh, and Marc covered my mouth with his and gave me something else to do. Oh my God, it’d been years since I last made love, wanted to make love, and I’d feelings I thought were gone forever. My heart tattooed against my chest, my breath was ragged, and my conscious thoughts were gone. I’d one thing on my mind, and from his reactions, fast breathing, drumming heartbeat, and one noticeably hard item, I knew he felt the same way.

We sat on the edge of the bed and Marc’s hands began to explore my back. He grabbed my tucked in shirt and began to pull it out of my pants. We were still kissing but without the earlier panic. We knew we’d be here for each other and time didn’t matter. My shirt was above my waist, and his warm hands touched my cool skin. Fire and ice. I melted even more. His hands crept up under my shirt and came to my bra. I knew one truth: if he stopped for any reason, I’d die. I prayed he knew how to undo this bra. He did. His fingers cupped my breasts, and his thumbs circled and gently pinched my nipples.

I pulled back from him, unbuttoned the top two buttons on my shirt, and pulled it over my head. He let my bra slip to the ground.

“Aine. You’re perfect. I knew you’d be. Beautiful,” he said as he lowered his mouth to a nipple, licked and sucked it. My back arched to meet his mouth and I gasped.

Now, I wanted more. “Let’s get your shirt off,” I said. I reached over and started to unbutton it when he jerked the shirt off, popping a button across the room. “I brought another shirt for tomorrow, don’t worry,” he said, and grinning, when he saw my surprise.

He turned the lamp off, and the only light in the room came from under the bathroom door, just enough to let us see what was necessary. We pulled off the rest of our clothes, climbed under the down spread and started kissing again, his tongue exploring my mouth and mine teasing his. His hands were velvet, rubbing all over my body. He explored tender spots not touched in years and I was ready to explode. I brushed my hands down his furry chest, into the curve of his taut waist. His stomach began to vibrate and heard an intake of his breath. I slid my hands down his thighs. This time he arched and groaned. We were together in lust and love.

When it was over, I cried tears of completion and happiness. I kissed his neck and shoulders as he lay on top of me. He wasn’t heavy. I wanted to be covered by him, still have him inside me, kissing the top of my head for a very long time. When he rolled off, I rolled with him and snuggled. “The world seems right when I’m with you,” I said. “I think I’ll need a lot of this.”

“Me too. Do you think we stand a chance?”

“God, I hope so. I hope you can forgive me. I’ll try to make it up.” I kissed his hairy cheek. “I want another drink. Do you?” I scooted out of bed, found his shirt and put it on against the coolness of the room. I poured two fingers of scotch into our glasses. Sniffing the pungent odor of iodine and peat mixed, I handed the tumblers to him to hold as I climbed into the bed. I piled my pillows against the headboard, and retrieved my drink. He balanced on one elbow, took a swallow, and looked at me.

“After I sew the buttons back on, I think I’ll give you that shirt, it never looked like that on me,” he teased.

“Humm. Cute. Sounds like a beach romance.”

Suddenly, I smelled a very strong scent. “Do you smell it? Do you smell the smoke?” I asked, sniffing and turning to Marc. I saw the confused look in his eyes and said, “She’s here. I smell peat smoke. Get me some paper and a pen. Quick, from the desk drawer, hotel stationary, anything. Just get it.” He brought them back as I sat my glass on the floor. I took the pen and paper from him just as her thoughts started running through my mind.

“Who is here? What’s wrong?” demanded Marc.

“I’m fine. Just let me be quiet for a few minutes and then I’ll tell you.”

Jahna was here. I closed my eyes and let her thoughts put pictures into my head. She stood in the spot on the mountain where the sun shone at sunset. She was there with someone, looking back at her village. Several homes stood on the hilltop, farms in the surrounding valley and three hills in the distance. I could feel her happiness. She loved this spot and she shared it with those she loved, a man and a child, their daughter. I could feel the two standing beside me. I saw her home, the one closest to the gate, with the unusual small alcove. Something was heavy in my hands. She looked at a bronze bowl. It wasn’t the one I found last year, this one was different. A big, red forest fox ran in across the path in front of them. My mind went blank. The pictures were gone. Jahna was gone. I wrote down what I could remember, although the scene seemed burned into my head. I wrote about the sights and feelings that ran through my mind and drew a picture of the bowl. I sketched three ravens as I saw them on the outside of the bowl. When I was done, I slumped in exhaustion, and the paper and pen fell to my lap.

Marc leaned over and took me into his arms. “What the hell was that? I thought you were having some sort of seizure or something, and then you started writing. What happened?”

“I’m sorry, but Jahna came. I felt her touching me several times today and wanted to get everything she told me on paper so I didn’t forget it. I saw the hill-fort, Marc. It’s there!”

“Your ghost? Your invisible friend, Jahna?” he asked as he leaned back on his pillows. “Did she show you where to find some money to pay the crew with?”

I remembered the invisible friend poem my girlfriend made up when we were kids. I picked up my glass of scotch, put my folded notes in my pants pocket so I’d find them tomorrow, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. I didn’t say a word.

I had just stepped under the hot spray when the bathroom door opened, and Marc walked in. “All right. I’m sorry. I promise to try not to make fun of you about this again.” I thought about his apology for a nanosecond, accepted it, and invited him into the shower with me. He kissed me and we made soapy love again under the warm spray of the shower.

The next morning we rose early, breakfasted, and walked to the train station. The rain stopped about an hour before we went out, but the air still hung heavy with the ozone from the lightning storm. The gutters were full of fast-running water as we crossed the streets.

We arrived at the train station by seven-thirty. People were milling everywhere waiting for the train from London to arrive. Some waited to greet lovers and family and others with luggage were ready to start an adventure. A loud din surrounded us. I glanced up at Marc as he looked out over the crowd. I grasped his arm to keep him close, and he leaned to hear me. “I know what happens to me is very hard for you to believe. It would be hard for me to believe except I’m living it. I’ve never told anyone else, not even Brad, and I want to keep it that way. Please don’t mention it unless we are alone.”

“Okay. I haven’t and won’t tell anyone until you do. By the way, do you get warnings when this is going to happen? Does it ever happen when you’re driving?”

“Yes, I smell peat smoke. Sometimes just a whiff and sometimes it’s thick. Last night it was heavy and no, it’s never happened while I was concentrating on something, like driving. I need to be relaxed.”

“Good. Let me know when you smell it and I can get a drink and turn on the TV so you two can converse in peace,” he suggested as he continued to survey the crowd.

Pulling on his sleeve to get him to look at me, I asked, “Marc, all this must seem strange to you but you’re still here. Why? Most people would’ve run at my first mention of Jahna. I couldn’t believe you didn’t go downstairs and tell the team about her. I was surprised the next morning when you weren’t on your way to Wales and you’re still here after last night. Why did you stay?”

He pursed his lips and nodded as if deciding to answer my question was difficult.

“Okay. Here’s my confession. I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, but I’ve an aunt in Ireland who talks to the dead, or so she says. My uncle says she got bored with him and wanted to bring some excitement into their marriage. She says that isn’t true, but she does love being fey. My uncle doesn’t fully believe her but says it doesn’t harm anyone. No one else admits to it although my cousin seems a bit strange at times. Of course, that could be just because she lives in Ireland. They seem happy. And, ghosts are a big part of this island. They’re woven into our history. And who knows, this may be that one piece of information that will lead us to our pot of gold under the rainbow,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Thank God for his Irish aunt. I decided I’d have to meet her someday.

The train arrived in all its thunder and confusion. We watched for George among the detraining passengers, me jumping up and down trying to see past the bodies of those around us, Marc calmly looking over the heads of the crowd.

Then Marc waved and yelled, “George! Hi! Over here!”

C
HAPTER
9

JAHNA

75 AD M
AY
-J
UNE

The oak fires of Beltane were cold, the home fires cleansed and restarted. The proper sacrifices were made and rituals observed. Lovern had seen his fox vixen with two new pups this spring so all was well in his mind. Mine was dark with foreboding. In it lay a heaviness that did not allow recognition.

Twelve bloody moons had passed since our marriage. I slept with mistletoe under my head, and making a sacrifice to the god Lug often crossed my mind. Lovern had not voiced any concern about my not being with child. He told me what the gods wanted to happen would happen in their time. I was the impatient one.

My mother requested – no, demanded a grandchild. I hoped to give her one before she died. My mother, at forty sun cycles, was one of the last of her generation. All her childhood friends were gone and she bemoaned it every day. Gray now streaked her bronze hair, and her blood cough caused her to lose strength. She wasted, eating only soup. I worried that I would not be able to ease her pain.

She had coughed blood last month, even with our treatments. I knew from the experiences of the others that we could not stop the course of the illness, but I hoped we could slow it. We made her comfortable. I was selfish and did not want her to go before she held my child. I used this to explain the darkness in my mind.

Beathan passed thirty-eight sun cycles, and was now the oldest among his warriors. He swore he had not lost any strength. However, he walked slower, and sometimes could not count hogs in a pen at a distance the way he used to. Streaks of white ran through his beard. He had shades of gray near his ears he tried to hide when liming his hair.

The
seanmhair
of our clan was almost sixty sun-cycles and revered. A grandmother many times over, she revealed stories of her youth during our festivals.

“My father and brother died in battle against other clans. My first husband’s head hung off the rail of an enemy’s war chariot, the fourth summer we were married.” She always started her tales with these sad memories. “You complain of hardships but you do not know of those we suffered when we were young.” The snowstorms in her youth were fiercer than ours and the stream flooded every year. “Beathan’s peace has made you soft. You may come to regret not having to stay fit by fighting every day,” she told us.

She could not walk. Carried to the festivals, they said she was as light as a seed. She ate food that someone else chewed. Her breasts hung to her waist, and her face was lined with the tracks of many sorrows. Her hair, still long and plaited on top of her head in our fashion, was the color of the wispy clouds that came before a rain. Goddess be blessed, her mind was clear. She and I spoke often. She had in her memory many cures from the old times. Sometimes when we were together, she sat and stared at me.

“Why do you look at me so,
Seanmhair?”

“I see no age in your face. It is the face of a youth. No age lines like mine. I see no age lines in your future,” she said. “Always be at peace with our gods. You will not live long.”

I shivered. I have lived through nineteen growing seasons. How many more would the gods give me?

A dal was called after our last Samhainn. All the valley clans attended the meeting. Lovern and Beathan represented our clan. It was there Lovern learned that the sea grass harvest on the coast brought in several rare kinds this year and that the tradesman who brought these to us died on his last trip. Lovern wanted to go gather the sea grass. We had many uses for it, such as thick-neck, aching of the joints, sick stomach, aches of the head, and the expelling of afterbirth. There were healing quartz stones on the beaches as well.