The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (31 page)

The warrior tensed at the sound of wings beating against the cool night air. A moment later a black raven swooped down, landing on the wal to his right. And a moment after that the bird seamlessly transformed itself into a beautiful young woman. He nearly growled in frustration at the sight of her . . . and at the reaction his body always had to her presence. How he wished he could look at her and feel nothing, but after a mil ennium he’d final y given up on that ever happening. For some reason she stirred his blood as no woman ever had, or ever would.

She smiled seductively and lounged on her precarious perch, propped up on one elbow with her long, lean body stretched out before him. Her hair looked as black as sin under the night sky but he knew that by candlelight it shone with the subtle, iridescent purple and green of a raven’s wing.

Her face was angular and strong, her lips ful and sensual. Even though he tried not to, he couldn’t help imagining those lips doing things to his body, wicked things that he didn’t even have a name for. Her gown (if you could cal such a thing a gown) clung to her curves like shadows, the black fabric so sheer that he could see her white skin beneath it. She wore the damned thing just because she knew it drove him mad.

“I told you they would come,” she said smugly, nodding to the throng below. “And you said they would not.”

He snorted derisively. “I have no doubt that a goddess’ whispered commands in their ears as they slept had something to do with it.”

“I can be very persuasive,” she purred.

He scowled at her smiling face. “I know that al too wel ,” he said harshly. “You were quite convincing when you struck the deal that damned me for eternity. Tel me, Morrígan, did you feel the slightest bit of guilt when you had me kil ed?”

Two

She swiftly sat up from her reclining position, her black eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him take a step back. “Do not pretend that I was some she-wolf taking down an innocent lamb, Cul en. I gave you everything you asked of me and before this week is out I wil make you a king!”

“And I wil keep my end of the bargain,” he assured her. “I wil lead your vampires, Morrígan. But I wil never forgive you.”

“I do not require your forgiveness, nor do I seek it.” She slid off the parapet wal and stalked towards him. “By the gods, for such a big, strong man you certainly have become adept at whining like a wee girl.” Trailing her long, glossy black fingernails across the rise of his chest, she looked into his dark eyes. “One would think that 1,000 years would have cooled your temper, Cul en.” He grasped her wrist and pul ed her hand from his body. “Then one would be mistaken, for I wil always hate you, Morrígan.”

The words stung, and she looked away. At least they were the truth. She would rather have that than the pretty lies he’d told her when he was human. He had turned the head of a goddess with his beautiful body and his honeyed words. He had made her love him and she would never forgive herself for that weakness. Wel , she certainly wouldn’t al ow him see that weakness now.

She let al emotion drain from her face before she once again raised her eyes to his. Even her skin seemed to pale further, until she was every inch the cold, heartless goddess of legend. And he flinched. A look something akin to guilt crossed his face before he pul ed his gaze from hers.

Satisfied, she took a step away from him. “I believe I wil retire to my chambers,” she informed him coldly.

He released her wrist and gave her a low, mocking bow. “It is your castle,” he conceded.

Morrígan arched one black brow at him. “Yes, it is.”

Three

From her window in the north tower Morrígan watched Cul en pace. She imagined she could hear him cursing her name. Turning away, she walked to her bed, the bed she and Cul en had lain in countless times over the centuries. She ran her fingers across the lush fur blankets and the sheets made of Faerie silk. Perhaps he would come to her tonight, despite his anger. Whatever his feelings might be, Morrígan knew he craved her body and her blood. And she had long ago convinced herself that that was enough.

By Danu, she thought, how did something that had started out so wel go so horribly wrong?

Morrígan knew that most of the blame rested on her. She was wilful and arrogant and jealous –

aye, al that and more. But she was also able to see the past in a way he could not. A thousand years was a trifling thing to her, but Cul en was young yet. The years passed more slowly for him.

He had had centuries to proudly recal his accomplishments and forget his failures, to dwel on his virtues and bury his faults. She could hardly blame him for that – it was what humans did – but she remembered his mortal life very clearly, as if it had happened a month ago instead of a mil ennium. Perhaps she
had
tricked him but, truthful y, al she had done was set the bait. Cul en had sprung the trap himself.

But she did not expect him to remember it that way, for was it not easier to cast her as the vil ain than to be forced to admit to himself that greed and pride had been the downfal of the great Cúchulainn?

Four

The castle of King Conchobar of Ulster

In the twilight of the Old Religion

It was dark and the castle was quiet, or at least as quiet as castles ever were. Morrígan strode through the hal s of Conchobar’s stronghold with little regard to stealth. She was the Great Phantom Queen, the shadows themselves bent to her wil , and she would not be seen by human eyes unless she wished it so.

When she found his door, she paused. He was the key to al her future plans and she must get this right. She had been waiting so long for him. Smoothing the crimson fabric of her cloak, she scoffed at her nerves. Anxiety was such a human emotion. If she couldn’t accomplish this simple task then she deserved to be devoured by the Demon Horde. Human males were so mal eable, after al . One could lead them anywhere by their phal us or their sword arm. And Morrígan intended to use whatever means necessary to get what she wanted. Silently, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.

He was sitting with his back to her, waist deep in a hip bath in front of the fire. That surprised her, for humans (and men in particular) seemed to have little concern for cleanliness. She had not made a sound, but he sensed her. In one fluid movement he grabbed the sword from the table next to him and stood, spinning around to face her. The look of surprise on his face almost matched her own.

By the Goddess, he was lovely. He was young, no longer a boy but barely a man. The muscles of his body were lean and firm. She preferred a heavier build on a man, but that would come with age. Already his face was perfection – cheekbones that could rival her own; a strong, square jaw; and lips that any woman would long to kiss. His hair, which fel just past his shoulders, fascinated her. Black at the roots, it then changed to brown and again to a coppery blond. It was his eyes that held her though. They were the dark green of a Faerie forest with flecks of golden sunlight. The emotions behind them ranged from shock to suspicion as they frankly assessed her.

“Lay down your sword, Cul en. I mean you no harm.”

His body relaxed (wel , parts of it anyway) and he lowered the blade. “You have the wrong room, my lady. There is no one here by that name.”

She smiled and strol ed further into his chamber, taking note of the sparse furnishings – a bed, a table and chair, and little else. She would have thought King Conchobar’s nephew would have more lavish quarters.

“I have not mistaken my destination,” she replied. “Your parents cal you Sétanta. The people cal you Cúchulainn. May I not have my own name for you?”

For a moment he was drawn in by her sweet smile, then his eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he demanded. “You are not from Ulster.”

“Are you so certain?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

“I think I would remember crossing paths with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You aren’t one of Conchobar’s subjects.”

“No, I am not,” Morrígan agreed, pleased with his compliment.

“Are you one of Queen Medb’s spies, then?”

“I am not your enemy,” she assured him. “In fact, I have every reason to believe that you and I wil become firm al ies.”

Impatiently he stepped from the tub and raised his sword. “That is not an answer. I ask you again, lady. Who are you?”

“I am Morrígan, goddess of war. I hear your prayers before every battle, Cul en, and tonight I am here to answer them.”

He stared at her for a moment and then threw back his head and laughed. Irritated, Morrígan raised her arm and Cul en’s sword was ripped from his grasp, flying through the air and into her outstretched hand.

“Any sorceress could do that,” Cul en scoffed.

Morrígan arched one black brow at him. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “But could anyone other than a goddess do this?”

She moved, faster than his eyes could track her, and before he could react her body was pressed against his. Her hands were suddenly on either side of his face and Cul en grasped her hips to steady them both. She looked into his eyes.

“Hold on,” she said, a moment before the room went black and the floor disappeared from under his feet.

The sensation that fol owed was not a pleasant one. It felt as though his body was being turned inside out and Cul en gritted his teeth at the pain. Blessedly, it only lasted a moment and then his feet were on solid ground again. Morrígan released him and he fel to his knees, unable to get his bearings and stay upright.

“What did you do?” he gasped.

“I have brought you across the Veil,” she said proudly. “Welcome to Faerie, Cul en.”
Five

When he opened his eyes Cul en found himself in a world he did not recognize. He knelt before Morrígan in the centre of a smal meadow surrounded by lush, green trees. A ful moon rode high in the sky, gilding everything with its silver light. Nearby, a doe and her fawn, startled by the intrusion, rushed for the protective cover of the tree line. But none of this convinced him that he truly was in Faerie. What
did
was the fact that everything, from the stars in the sky to the grass under his feet,
sparkled
. He had never seen anything like it and he knew he never would again.

“Goddess,” he whispered reverently, bowing his head in supplication, “I beg your forgiveness.” Morrígan placed her hand under his chin and tipped his face up so that she could look into those beautiful green eyes.

“Cul en, we cannot dal y here. Time moves differently in Faerie so we must seal our bargain quickly.”

“Bargain?” he asked, confused.

Morrígan cocked her head to one side. “Tel me, what is the one thing that you want most in the world? If you could shape your future any way it pleased you, what would you wish for?” Cul en was silent for a moment, but it was not indecision that made him pause, it was the fear of actual y putting into words what his heart most longed for. Final y, he said, “I would be the greatest warrior Eire has ever seen.”

Morrígan knelt in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. “Men wil fear you, women wil want you, and no army wil be able to stand against you,” she promised fiercely. “In 1,000, nay, 2,000

years bards wil stil tel tales of the epic battles of the great Cúchulainn. I can give you al that and more, and I require only one thing in return.”

His eyes lit up at the prospect of attaining such glory. “Anything,” he whispered.

“When your mortal life has ended and I come to claim you in death, instead of going to the Summerlands you must pledge your afterlife to my service. In return for that you wil be young and strong forever, Cul en. And I wil make you the king of an army the likes of which no man has ever led. Wil you strike this bargain with me?”

“I wil gladly, my goddess,” he answered earnestly.

Morrígan ran her fingers down the sides of his neck, over his shoulders, and across the firm muscles of his chest. She looked up into his eyes and smiled seductively as she slid the cloak from her body, the red cloth pooling like blood on the grass. He stared down at the pale perfection of her naked body.

“Then let us seal this covenant, my young warrior. By flesh and blood I wil bind us,” she said, her lips a mere breath away from his. “Come, Cul en. Let me give you everything you have ever desired.”

He pul ed her against him, claiming her mouth in a scorching kiss that would change them both, irrevocably and eternal y.

Six

Morrígan laid her head on Cul en’s chest, surprisingly sated. She rarely took a human to her bed; she found them general y uninspiring, but Cul en was different. What he lacked in experience, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Morrígan smiled, thinking of al the wondrous things she would teach him in the coming years.

“Why me?” he asked softly, pul ing her mind back from its wicked imaginings.

“I have seen you fight,” she replied. “There is no grace in your skil nor beauty in your movements. You simply overpower your opponents – hard and rough and dirty.” Cul en stiffened, believing her comment to be a criticism. “What need have I of grace when I have victory?” he asked arrogantly.

Morrígan laughed and propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him with a smile. “That is exactly why I chose you, Cul en. You intrigue me. Besides,” she said as she raked her fingernails back and forth across his skin, “I like it hard and rough and dirty.” In one swift movement he rol ed her over, pinning her to the ground beneath him. The look on his face held none of the virtues she had just mentioned though. The expression in his eyes was so tender that she swal owed the naughty comment she was about to make and waited for him to speak.

“You are so beautiful it almost hurts to look at you,” he said, running his fingers through her raven hair. “I never want to stop touching you. Wil we have this . . . forever, Morrígan?” A surge of panic went through her at his question. She was not the sort of woman to put any man and the word “forever” together in the same sentence. The closest thing she had to “forever” was her annual mating with Dagda, which ended the winter season and brought spring to her people. And if she had a choice, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t even have that relationship. She did her duty though, always, and she rarely had a choice in any of it. But now, with this man, she did. She had chosen him and suddenly, surprisingly, the thought of forever did not tie her stomach up in knots. Her mind wasn’t racing to find a reason to rebuff his offer. Instead it was racing in an entirely different direction – imagining hours, days, centuries, spent in his arms and his company.