The Stag Lord (19 page)

Bann spun around. The guilty look on his face made him exactly like his son for a moment. “A fine morning to you, Shay—”

“Save it.” She planted her fists on her hips. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I told you she'd be mad,” Cor said.

“Why, a bit of knife work.” Bann gestured toward the dummy. “As Hugh pointed out, I'll need to sharpen my skills—”

“You need to heal.”

“I have, thanks to your ministrations. And it has been three days since the attack.”

Shay moved closer and motioned at Bann's stomach. “Let me see your wound first.”

With a grudging sigh, Bann pulled his T-shirt up and tugged down the waist of his already low-slung sweats. Shay leaned closer.
By the Goddess, that stuff works fast
, she thought, gently prodding the injury, feeling for any signs of tenderness. She hid a grin when he flinched and sucked in a breath.

“Dad's ticklish.” Cor announced. He waggled the blades back and forth in the sun, sending twin flickers of light dancing across the patio. Max pounced, trying to capture the ghost flashes between his enormous paws.

“I can see that.” She let her fingers linger a few moments longer, enjoying the combination of soft skin over hard muscles. She noticed Bann's skin was tanned as far down as she could see.
I wonder if he works out in the nude like an old-school Celt
.

The image of the Knight's body from the other night sent a thrill through her. She tried to ignore it. Straightening, she stepped back. “Well, it does seem to be healing cleanly.”

“Then, might I humbly beg for the Healer's permission to proceed?” He took the knives from Cor. “Thank you, son.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Not at all.”

Cor snorted.

As Bann directed Cor through a series of warm-up exercises, Shay headed inside for the all-important I-drink-it-to-keep-
you
-safe first cup. Noticing a used mug already in the sink, she applauded herself for setting the timer on the machine.

The thought of the Knight moving about her kitchen, most likely barefooted, unshaven, and with tousled hair, filled her with a profound contentment. She could just see him standing at the sink with his first cup, as had been his habit the last few days, sipping as he gazed out the window at the boulders blushing from the assault of the rising sun.

Fingers wrapped around her own warm mug against the snap of the morning air, she sauntered back across the yard and took a seat on a low boulder half-buried in the dirt. Settling herself more comfortably, she took a sip as she watched the show.

Warm-ups completed, Bann led Cor over to a spot a few feet in front of the practice dummy. He handed his son the bronze knife, a plain affair about the length of the boy's forearm, keeping the iron one for himself. Repositioning his son's hand on the haft, he spoke.

“Since the very beginnings of our race, the Tuatha Dé Danaan have fought the goblins, known as the
Amandán
, as well as others, for control of
Éireann
. For the war goddess, Danu, gave the green land to us, but only if we can hold it. And even here in the New World, we are surrounded by enemies.”

As Bann's voice took on a storytelling cadence, Shay found herself lost in both the ancient tale as well as the sound of the Knight's voice.
He has a bit of bard in his soul
, she thought.

“You should always be armed and always be on your guard,” he continued. “And when the battle comes, you must strike the enemy hard. Thus.” Bann lunged forward and sank his blade to the hilt in the thick leather with a dull, popping sound. “
Bury
your blade.” He ripped it out. “And do not let go.”

“Is iron better than bronze?” Cor asked, eyes locked on his father's blade.

“It depends upon the creature. On the
Amandán
, iron is useless. Only bronze destroys those beasties. For the old gods, iron alone can kill them.” Bann glanced at Shay. She knew he was thinking about Hugh's words from the other night.

“What about Fir Bolgs?”

“Either metal works on them. As does steel. Truth be told, all you need to kill a Fir Bolg is a sharp weapon and a strong arm.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Cor examined the point of his knife as if to make sure he had one out of two. “Show me how.”

For the next hour, Shay observed as Bann ran Cor, then himself, through a number of drills. Some she had remembered learning as a young apprentice; others were new to her. The more she observed, the more she realized just how skilled with a blade Bannerman Boru was. Every move was loose and easy, almost nonchalant. Light-footed for a man of his height and build, he jigged from side to side in mock conflict, lunging for a killing thrust, then dancing back out of danger.

Throughout the session, it was all the Healer could do to stop from rushing over and checking the Knight's wound every time he attacked the target or whirled around to demonstrate a behind-the-back strike. By the end of the lesson, the dummy's stuffing poked out like cottony intestines through holes in the leather skin. Both father and son were panting; Bann's damp shirt clung to him. She sighed in relief when he motioned for the boy to stop.

“Enough for today.” He took the knife from Cor. “Clean up, then breakfast.”

After Cor chugged a glass of juice, Bann sent him to shower first. “And this time, Cormac Boru, actually
wash
your hair, not just wet it. Or I'll shave you bald.” As Cor left, he started to sit down at the table.

“No, you don't.” Shay motioned at his stomach. “Let me check it first.”

“Oh, for Danu's sake,” he muttered, then lifted up the hem of his shirt. “I'm beginning to feel like livestock on exhibit at a county fair.”

Shay bent over and peered at the wound. The scent of man sweat, musky and earthy and, oh, so masculine, wafted past her nose. She didn't mind. Not one bit. “What sort of livestock?” Straightening, she nodded at him to lower his shirt. “More coffee?” She walked over to the machine, already certain of his answer.

“Aye, please. Why, a prize stallion, of course. This being the West and all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“Did you have another animal in mind, then, Shay Doyle?”

“Oh, I don't know. I was thinking something more in keeping with your personality.”

“And that would be?”

“A bull. As in
bullheaded
.”

“At least you did not choose a donkey.”

“My second choice.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs, and clasped his hands behind his head. She could feel his eyes traveling up and down her body.

“What?”

He tilted his head, lids drooping as he continued to examine her, long lashes half-covering his eyes. Blue eyes that seemed darker, for some reason. “I'm trying to determine which animal
you
would be.”

Measuring the coffee, Shay stole a sideways glance at him.
Is he flirting
? “And?”

“Well, certainly not a pig.”

“Hey!”

“Nor a ewe. You're much too independent.”

“You say it like it's a bad thing.”

“Not at all. I like women who know their minds. So, a mild heifer would also be out of the question. Which leaves me with no choice but to return to where we began.”

Shay held her breath.

“If I am a stallion, then you would be my…” He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, a smile lurking about the corners of his mouth.

Yup, he's flirting
, she thought.
And damn if he isn't pretty good at it, too
.

“Okay, all done.” Cor padded into the room, barefooted and dressed in a fresh T-shirt and the least dirty of his jeans. His wet hair stuck out as if astonished at being clean. He looked around the kitchen. “Did I miss breakfast?”

“Working on it even now.” Shay opened the refrigerator, both grateful and disappointed by the interruption. She stuck her head farther in the fridge to cool her cheeks. Other parts had also warmed, but the fridge couldn't help there. She wondered how much further the flirting would have gone.

“I'll be but a few minutes,” she heard Bann say. “Cor, help Shay.”

After locating a clean shirt and underwear from his meager supply, Bann stepped into the bathroom and nudged the door closed with his heel. His body hummed, both from the residual kick of endorphins from the workout and from Shay's fingers on his skin.

Not to mention the whole livestock exchange.

He peeled off his clothes, hyperaware of the rub of cotton against his skin, then turned on the shower. For a long moment, he stared at himself in the mirror. He tried to imagine what his body would look like to Shay's eyes. When steam began to fill the small room, he quirked his mouth, then stepped into the tub and dragged the curtain closed.

With his back to the spray, he luxuriated under the tiny fingers massaging his scalp and neck. After a few minutes, he began lathering up. One hand, slippery with water and soap, drifted down to his manhood, which had become partially erect. Closing his eyes as his hand took liberty, he tried to remember the last time he had pleasured himself. He could not. Living cheek to jowl in a tiny camper with a son did not lend itself to that particular pastime.

But now…

With a palm braced against the tiled wall, he stroked himself, the water flogging his buttocks. Heart speeding up, he moaned, the sound muffled by the hiss of water as the sensation intensified. He squeezed harder.

They kept hurting me
.

Cor's voice exploded in his mind. Bann froze. His hand dropped to his side like a dead animal. Nausea rose in his throat; it tasted of bitter guilt, old and new.

What was I thinking? What the hell was I doing?
He rinsed his groin, then turned off the water and stood panting in the shower. With a less-than-steady hand, he wiped the water from his face and spat down the drain.

A knock.

“Dad?” Cor called through the closed door. “Shay said to bring you this.”

“A moment.” Bann sucked in a deep breath. Yanking a towel from the nearby rack, he dried himself roughly, then wrapped the towel around his waist. Tucking in the end, he stepped out of the tub. “Come along.”

Cor walked in, a steaming mug of coffee with a spoon sticking out of it balanced in both hand. He wrinkled his nose. “I don't know why you like this stuff—it smells gross.” He set it on the counter. “Hey, can I watch you shave?” Before Bann could answer, Cor squeezed around him and took a seat on the toilet lid.

First his mother's death, then a year on the run from that monster, and now having to live with the violence those creatures did to him
.
And yet here he sits, cheerful at the prospect of simply watching me shave
. He marveled at his son's resilience.

Determined to honor the boy's courage, he forced back his own guilt—once again—and nodded. “To be sure. In fact…” He plucked the spoon from the mug, taking a gulp while he rinsed off the utensil. Cor hooted in delight and took a stand next to his father. Matching faces looked back at them in the mirror.
Gods, was I ever that young
?

After lathering his own face up, he did the same to Cor's, then handed him the spoon.
We've not done this in years
, he thought as he began.

Cor mimicked his every move, using the utensil as a razor. After a few minutes, he lost interest and began sculpting the cream into a white soul patch on his chin. He studied himself in the mirror, then showed it to Bann. “Look, I'm Rory.”

“Uh-huh,” Bann murmured, drawing the razor carefully around his jawbone.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“It was fun this morning. I can't wait for my first hunt.”

I certainly can
.

“What about the Song? When are you going to teach me that, too?”

Bann started to say
when you are older
, then paused, hands stilled. It dawned on him that his son
was
older.
Or at least old enough to begin learning the words
. “All right. ‘Tis probably time. But you understand you have to be thirteen before the
power
of the Song will work for you?”

“Yeah, I know. When I'm an apprentice.” He crowded around the man and rinsed his face, then hoisted himself up on the vanity, feet swinging in anticipation.

The thought of Cor leaving home—leaving
him
—to live and train with another Knight tore at him. Forcing the thought away, he finished shaving and leaned a hip against the counter.

“Does it really work?” Cor's face glowed with anticipation. “I mean, when I sing it, I can really run faster and be stronger and all that?”

“To some degree, yes. That's why the war goddess, Danu Herself, gave us the ancient words. For we Tuatha Dé Danaan are Her descendents.”

“‘The Children of Danu,'” Cor quoted, to Bann's surprise.