Kitabı oku: «Divine by Mistake», sayfa 5

“Blessings to you at your handfast, Beloved of Epona.” Her voice was an odd mirror of Michelle’s. It sounded the same, but the words were hard and flat, totally devoid of the familiar warmth we share in another world. “I hope this mating brings you all the joy you so richly deserve.” With a visual caress to the mate she was wishing me joy with, she turned and floated back out of the room.

Well, spank me and call me bad—I think I had just been insulted. And more and more I was wondering what Rhiannon had been up to. A little bird was telling me she might not be a nice girl. I glanced over at ClanFintan and noted he was still gazing, or should I say leering, at Michelle’s departing form.

“She dances well, don’t you think?” Noting his guilty start, I smiled knowingly up into his eyes.

“Yes, my Lady, she evokes Terpsichore’s presence well.” His voice had taken on a decidedly husky tint. He was almost purring. As we would say in Oklahoma, Sheeet boy, settle down!

But instead of looking away from those eyes, which were still glazed with passion, and instead of being annoyed by that purring, husky voice, I found myself becoming intrigued. Under the pretense of leaning closer so that he could hear my whisper, I got all into his Personal Space.

“Her dance was a blessing to our occasion.” Man, he was warm. I wasn’t even touching him and I could feel heat radiating from his body. Which, for some reason, made me want to giggle.

Reciprocating, he leaned toward me, which did make me giggle. (Quick note to self: yellow light—wine alert!) Oh, well, a yellow light was just a warning.

“The handfast dance is meant as more than a blessing.” He paused—my eyebrows raised, inviting him to continue. “It is typically used as an incentive.” On the last word his velvety voice dropped to match my whisper. “But as an Incarnate Goddess yourself, I am sure you are very aware of that.”

Yipes.

My eyes broke from his heated gaze to trace the length of his body as his did the same to mine.

Had I forgotten that he was…well…a horse?

As if by a will of its own, my body stiffened and sat straight up—definitely out of his Personal Space. My abrupt movement brought on a wave of dizziness, a blur to my vision and a throb to my head. The Yellow Wine Alert changed to Red.

“Uh…” Trying to set my wine down, I totally missed the tabletop. Wine spilled all over. The goblet clattered and clanged. All attention was suddenly centered on moi.

“My Lady, are you well?” God bless Alanna’s concerned sober little self.

“Too much to drink…” I wished she would quit dividing into several Alannas. Blinking hard, I got her image to settle back into one person. As I rubbed my forehead I risked a look at ClanFintan. He was watching me closely.

“You have overexerted yourself, Lady Rhiannon.” His attempt at concern felt more like a challenge. “For one so recently ill, today has been overtaxing.”

Now, that was the understatement of the decade.

“Perhaps it is time we retire.” Did he just smirk?

“Uhhh!” The noise I made was somewhere between a shriek and a gasp. Retire? As in go to bed with him? In the Biblical sense? Where in the hell had my head been? Suddenly I realized I hadn’t really considered all of the ramifications of this handfast. Yes, I had discussed the consummation thing with Alanna—she had reassured me—but I didn’t know then that my intended was a horse! I had been worried about sex with a stranger, not bestiality! My stomach clenched. Please don’t let me barf up this delicious meal all over my chaise.

“Uhhh…” And why the hell hadn’t I been thinking about the sex issue? On my last wedding day when I married my stupid ex (who I like to think of as my starter husband), getting into bed with him was all I thought about. It wasn’t like I was an innocent virgin and not aware of what happened on a wedding night!

“Uhhh…” Guess almost dying and changing worlds could truly screw up a normal thought process. Not to mention drinking too much wine. Medicinal or not.

Well, I’d better think about it now.

Consummation.

With a horse.

Who bites.

4

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“My Lady, shall I escort you to your chamber?” At least Alanna’s concern was real. Her hands felt soft and cool as they pushed sticky tendrils of hair off my visibly moist forehead.

“Yes, please.” Standing was suddenly a nautical experience. Pitching…rolling…ohh, feeling sick…eyes shutting tightly.

“Whoa—” Just as my butt was getting ready to slap the lovely marble floor, I felt myself being lifted into a firm burrow of heat.

“Allow me, Lady Rhiannon.”

Holy shit the horse had just picked me up! Peeking one eye open, I saw his face at close view. He wasn’t paying any attention to me, though, he just nodded at Alanna, who beamed some kind of thank-you smile at him and led us out the way she and I had come in. Looking at her retreating form from above reminded me of just how big ClanFintan really was—and how far above the ground I must have been and—

“Ugh.” Maybe I should just keep my eyes closed.

“You will feel better after you sleep.” His wide chest vibrated with his words. With my eyes shut he kinda reminded me of a large, warm vibrator, and I had to stifle a silly giggle.

“I didn’t realize I drank so much wine.”

He made a deep hrmmph noise in his throat, which only heightened the vibrator effect.

“You did.”

“You vibrate when you talk.”

“What?”

“It’s okay. I like vibrators.” I realized I was sounding tipsy, which was okay because I was definitely feeling tipsy. And for some reason my head was very heavy, like my hair weighed a lot. With a sigh I felt it plop down on ClanFintan/Mr. Ed’s shoulder. Yes, I was most certainly deeply entrenched in The Land of the Lush.

“You smell good.” Yes, I realized I was speaking my thoughts out loud. And, yes, I realized I was going to have a serious wine headache in the morning. But, no, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it just then. Giggle.

“You have had too much to drink.”

“No way!”

Another snort from him, which rumbled his chest and made me giggle again. Then I noticed that the snort had stopped but the rumble hadn’t, and my eyes popped open.

He was laughing. At me, but he was laughing. And it was a nice laugh, which suddenly turned his face from a handsome cold face to a handsome nice face.

Of course, about this time my giggles gave me the hiccups, which really cracked him up.

Alanna stopped in front of the door I vaguely remember as the one to Rhiannon’s room, and she seemed to be having a hard time containing her own laughter as she watched us. She saw me watching her through my semi-hysterical wine-hiccup giggles and her face flushed a bright pink right before she turned hastily to open the door and usher us through. Yep, Rhiannon obviously had no damn sense of humor.

“Dang,” hic! “I have a seriously,” hic! “big,” hic! “bed!”

Setting me down on the seriously big bed he studied me through his lingering smile.

“Thank you,” hic! “ for the,” hic! “ride.” Convulsing in winesoaked giggles against my smooth pillows, I couldn’t help but crack myself up. Thanking him for the “ride”—now, that was funny!

“You are different from the last time we met.” His smile was still in place, but his deep voice had a contemplative quality to it that, even wine-soaked, I recognized. Glancing at Alanna, I saw the cheerful pink of her cheeks suddenly drain to white.

I felt myself struggling to sober up.

My hiccups evaporated.

“I’m, uh, me. As usual.”

“Nothing is ever usual with you, Lady Rhiannon.” His smile faded then, and for an instant I was sorry to see it go. Then I remembered that he was a horse and this was supposed to be our wedding night—and, according to Alanna’s fearful face, there was lots of stuff going on around here about which I was clueless.

I closed my eyes and let myself slur a whispered reply, “Whatever…” and took a deep snorey breath. As if on cue, Alanna piped in.

“My Lord, perhaps you would like me to show you to your chamber.” The silence that answered her made me want to open my eyes, but I could feel his gaze, so instead I took another deep breath and let it out in a decidedly unladylike snore.

“Your chamber adjoins this one, my Lord.” Alanna’s voice was insistent.

“Yes, I am definitely ready to retire.” His voice was back to cold formality. His retreat from the room was loud and abrupt.

So loud it almost drowned out Alanna’s musical lilt.

“My Lord, she has been through much recently.” The softness in her voice mirrored Suzanna’s sweetness so completely that I felt an unexpected rush of homesickness.

“So have we all.” And the door closed with a grim finality.

“He is gone, my Lady.”

As was my giggly, tipsy feeling. Nothing like a little personal intrigue in an alternative mirror world to sober you up.

Returning, she stopped at the basin of water on the nightstand at the foot of the bed. Her hands shook as she made fluttery movements wringing out a small cloth.

“He knows I’m not Rhiannon.”

Her hands still shook as she wiped my clammy forehead with the cool cloth.

“No, my Lady, he just knows you are different than he expected.”

“Tell me about Rhiannon.” Her hands stilled.

“She is my mistress and High Priestess, Goddess Incarnate of Epona.”

“I know all of that. Tell me what kind of person she is.”

“She is a powerful person.”

Sigh.

“Alanna, I don’t mean that. I mean her personality. You say she isn’t like me, so I want to know what she is like.”

Silence.

“Don’t you know enough about me already to know you don’t need to be afraid to tell me the truth?”

“It is difficult, my Lady.”

“Okay, I’ll help. Tell me why ClanFintan doesn’t like her.”

“She did not want to handfast with him, so she avoided him when she could. When she could not, she treated him coldly.” Alanna’s eyes shifted away from mine.

“Why didn’t she just break off the betrothal?”

“Duty—the Incarnate of Epona has always mated with a High Shaman of the centaurs. If she wanted to remain High Priestess, she must handfast for at least the required year with ClanFintan. Most matings between Epona’s Beloved and the centaurs’ Shaman last for life, though.”

She certainly looked uncomfortable talking about it.

As she should!

“I know I’m not from here—but I really can’t blame her for not wanting to have sex with a horse!” Alanna blinked in surprise at me. “I mean, please! It’s freaking me out, too.” Alanna tried to interrupt but I put a hand up and shushed her. I was sobering up, and I was on a roll. “And I don’t appreciate you not warning me. He’s nice-looking, and seems okay when he loosens up, but what the hell are you people thinking? How am I supposed to, well, do it? The logistics alone are mind boggling!”

“My Lady, it is not what you think.” Her cheeks certainly were pink. “He is a High Shaman.” She said it like that should clear everything right up.

“Yes, and he’s a friggin horse!”

“What is ‘friggin’?”

“Just an expression. I’m trying to quit cussing. Never mind.” Sigh. “Are you saying that he and I are not expected to consummate the handfast?”

“No, of course not.” She looked shocked.

“No, we’re not to consummate—or no, we are to consummate.” My headache was back.

“Yes, you are to consummate the handfast.”

“Please explain how. Is he not a horse from the waist down?” God, my throat hurt.

“Well, yes, my Lady. In his present form.” Now she was downright red around the cheeks.

“Alanna, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! What other form does he have?”

“He is a High Shaman, which means he can shapeshift into many different forms. A human is only one of them.”

“That’s impossible.” Wasn’t it?

“Not for ClanFintan.” She said it all matter-of-factly, like water running downhill or wine inducing giggles and hiccups.

“So, I don’t have to have sex with a horse?”

“No, my Lady.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Yes, my Lady. Here, let me help you get more comfortable.” And she promptly started puttering around, removing my crown-thing, jewelry, makeup…

“You still haven’t told me about Rhiannon.”

Now it was her turn to sigh.

“Did she know ClanFintan could turn into a human?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“Stop puttering! I’m fine. Sit here and talk to me.” She reluctantly sat next to me, looking prim and uncomfortable.

“It was not ClanFintan she abhorred. It was the idea of being mated to any male.”

“Why?” Oh, great. Was I a lesbian? Not that I was homophobic or anything stupid like that, but being gay would seriously complicate an already difficult situation.

“Lady Rhiannon has made it exceedingly clear to him that she would not be happy limited to one man.” She sounded embarrassed and sad. “Not even for one year.”

“No wonder he doesn’t like me.” It all made sense now.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“You didn’t approve of her behavior, did you?”

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove of Lady Rhiannon’s behavior.” Her voice was flat and impersonal.

“Why not, aren’t you her assistant or something like that?”

“Assistant?”

“Yeah, like an executive secretary or the person in charge of her schedule? You know, her employee.”

“My Lady, I am her servant.”

“Sounds like she didn’t appreciate you or give you a decent job title. I’ll bet the pay is crap, too. Couldn’t you just quit?”

“You do not understand, my Lady. She owns me. I am her property.”

Ohmygod.

“You’re her slave?”

“Yes. And now I’m your slave, my Lady.”

“No! I can’t have a slave! I’ll set you free. Give me the papers, or whatever. This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“You must not, my Lady.” Her face had paled once again and her voice sounded panicky. “Being Rhiannon’s slave is my life. The MacCallan purchased me for his daughter when I was just a child. It is the way of our world.”

“It isn’t my world.”

“It is now, my Lady.”

A wave of exhaustion overwhelmed me. What was I doing here? How could this be real?

“Sleep, my Lady. Everything will be more clear in the morning.”

“Everything will still be screwed up and bizarre.” But sleep tugged at me. Wine and the stress of the day combined to make an excellent Tylenol PM. My closing eyes were leaden, my strength and desire to open them gone. Blackness was a welcome respite.

Besides Diana Gabaldon’s Scotland and Anne McCaffrey’s Pern, DreamLand is my favorite land to visit. My dreams have always been in color (and 3-D, of course) and wonderful. The Land of My Dreams is populated with flying heroes who fall in love with the heroine (me, of course), save the world (which has a sky that is a lovely shade of lilac violet) and then grind faceted diamonds out of raw coal with their strong (yet gentle) hands. My favorite suitor always begs the privilege of being allowed to pay off my enormous Ann Taylor credit card debt to prove his worthiness. In between scenes of being wooed by Pierce Brosnan (who can also fly), I laze about the lilac sky on clouds of golden cotton candy (the nonsticky kind) tickling the tummies of fluffy fat black-and-white cats, drinking fifty-year-old single-malt scotch and blowing the little white things off of old dandelions, which turn into snowf lakes.

So, you can understand how drifting into my Land of Dreams would be something that I would look forward to after several days of stress and a change of worlds. Curled up on my side, breathing deeply, I fell willingly into a deep sleep, happily anticipating the newest dream in my fantasy land.

Which is also why you can understand I wouldn’t be alarmed at first when I began to experience a floating sensation and I opened my eyes to see my soul detaching from my sleeping body as I drifted up and through the roof of my room.

And, yes, I did have a big bed—even from an overhead view.

Flying or floating is a cool side effect of visiting my Dream-Land. Granted, in my dreams I usually have to take a running start and hold my arms in front of me before I can leap off the ground and become airborne, but what the heck, it’s Dream-Land, and not exactly steeped in reality—so just about anything goes…

…Back to floating through my ceiling. As I drifted up and out of the confines of Epona’s temple I had an unusual moment of vertigo. Flying is always a pleasant dream experience, consequently the dizzy, gut-clenching feeling surprised me, but the vertigo was fleeting and I soon forgot the momentary oddity. Floating in the night air I was relaxed, breathing deeply and enjoying the beauty of the high, puffy clouds passing in front of an almost full moon. I noticed that they weren’t the usual golden cotton-candy clouds of my dreams, which also was a little odd. And, yes, I realized that in tonight’s dream I did seem to be able to actually smell the night air, but my dreams are normally very graphic and realistic, so I was curious, but not overly concerned with the vague fluctuations from the norm. After all, I was in another world. Maybe my DreamLand had been affected, too.

Looking below me, I was interested to see that my dream had totally made up a whole set of lovely buildings that pinwheeled around the stately temple. Movement in a corral just outside of a rich-looking building which must be a stable piqued my interest. The stable was actually attached to the side of the temple, but that figured because it was the temple of a horse goddess and, of course, my dream layout would give horses extra privileges. Besides, I really do like horses—I’ve dreamed about riding/flying Pegasus several times. The movement caught my eye again, and my dream body floated down toward the corral until I was hovering just above the stone fence. A soft gust of wind pushed the puffy clouds away from the moon, and the sudden brightness illuminated the interior of the corral. I smiled and cooed in awe at the perfection of a silver-white mare. At the sound, the mare stopped grazing and lifted her dainty head in my direction, blowing softly at the surrounding air.

“Hi there, you gorgeous girl.” The mare’s neck arched at the sound of my voice. I was delighted that instead of being afraid of my floating body, she seemed to recognize me (well, it was my dream) and pranced toward me. I held out my hands to her and she stretched her muzzle in my direction.

She was an amazing-looking animal. She reminded me of one of the Royal Lipizzaner stallions I had seen several years ago when their tour stopped in Tulsa. She was a nice-size mare, probably almost fifteen hands high. From a distance her coat appeared to be all one glistening silver color, but as she got closer to me I could see that her muzzle was dark, like black velvet, and her silver coat faded to darkness around her expressive eyes and her well-shaped hocks. I had never seen a horse like her before, and I smiled at my dream imagination. She continued her contented grazing and I gave her a last look as I floated back up into the night. Maybe I would return before my dream was over and we could go for a lovely ride in the sky.

The puffy clouds seemed to have cleared for good, and from my aerial view I could turn my floating body slowly in a circle and see for miles in all directions. The elaborate temple buildings were surrounded by a huge marble wall. The land outside the temple proper was sweet and rolling, reminding me of the Umbria region of Italy. (I took ten high-school kids on an “educational” trip to Italy a couple of years ago. They did just fine chaperoning me.) The gentle hills looked to be covered with grapevines. Which figures because, of course, my dream would have to touch on wine somehow. Hopefully, a floating waiter who looked like Pierce Brosnan would soon appear to serve me my favorite Merlot.

But I guess I’d had enough wine for one night, because Pierce didn’t show. Yet.

Exploring my newest DreamLand seemed like a fun idea, so I kept floating and gawking. In the distance, probably to the north of the temple (don’t quote me on that, though; I am directionally impaired) I could make out what appeared to be a large mountain range. While I was beginning to float toward the mountains, I noticed, again, the breeze which, again, struck me as an odd addition to my DreamLand because it had a scent. The breeze was coming from the west and I turned my head into its softness. I took a deep breath and recognized the smell of…hmm…I think salt in the air. An ocean? My shifting of attention also changed the direction of my airborne body, and I felt myself float into the wind. By squinting my eyes I could barely make out some flickering lights and, maybe, the reflection of the moon on water. Smiling in anticipation of the dream possibilities, I decided to head in that direction—and was shocked by how quickly my dream self responded.

The land passing quickly beneath me was populated with sleepy little villages that were scattered between vineyardcovered rolling hills. A shimmering river connected them and I noticed several small, flat boats moored at each village site. The scent of salt was stronger, and I could make out a large body of water in the quickly decreasing distance directly in my flight path. Its shoreline looked imposing—rugged and green, which suddenly reminded me of Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher. (I took students to Ireland one summer. We called it the Educational Pub Tour.) The shoreline stretched on in the distance as far as I could see in the moonlit night, and as the dark liquid horizon met the night sky, I could see silhouetted the western edge of the mountain range I’d noticed earlier.

My body was still racing forward and I could see that I was headed toward some type of large structure situated solidly near the edge of one of the most dramatic-looking cliffs. (Kind of like Edinburgh Castle—yes, I took a group of high-school students to Scotland, too. I didn’t cause them too much trouble…no matter what they say.) Drifting closer, I felt myself slowing down and I took a good look at what I could now see much more clearly.

It was a wonderful, enormous old castle, and I was floating directly above the entrance that faced away from the sea. Unlike most of the castles I’ve toured in Europe, this one looked like it was in perfect condition, complete with four massive towers over which flew flags decorated with a rearing silver mare. Huh. Looked just like the cool horse back at the temple.

The rear side of the castle was situated near the edge of the nasty-looking cliff; the inhabitants must love the amazing view. The front of the castle, above which I was floating, looked out on a tree-covered plateau, which gradually dipped down to a valley where a neat-looking village nestled. A well-worn road ran from the village through the forested plateau up to the castle, giving evidence of a congenial relationship between castle and town. The typical walled ramparts surrounded the castle itself and were joined at an enormous gated entrance, but rather than looking menacing and cold, the castle was well lighted and its entrance was open and welcoming. A castle used as a military fortress would be closed and guarded. The lovely forest of old trees would be shorn so that an advancing enemy couldn’t sneak up. My dream castle obviously wasn’t war friendly, and it was probably “guarded” by (who else?) Pierce Brosnan! It was more than likely that he was waiting inside for me to quit my floating tour so that he could rub edible pink coconut oil all over my body. Then lick it slowly off. Yummy…Which is why it was odd that my body was still floating over the castle. Okay, I was definitely ready to stop flying now and get to the more “personal” part of my dream.

Anticipatory smile.

Nothing.

Still floating.

Okay, I was ready to stop flying now!

Nothing. What in the hell was up with this? DreamLand was my fabrication. It obeyed me. I remember when I first realized not everyone had the ability to control their dreams. I was in third grade and a friend of mine was looking pale and upset one Monday morning. At recess I asked her what was wrong and she said an amazing thing—she said she’d had a horrible nightmare the night before. I told her she should have just told the dream to change, and she looked at me as if I was crazy (or scary), and told me that that was impossible. Dreams did what they wanted to do. Until then it hadn’t occurred to me that everyone couldn’t control his or her dreams. If my dreams ever began to get uncomfortable or frightening, I just told them to change. And they accommodated my request. In thirty-five years I have never had a dream that wouldn’t obey me. My girlfriends think it’s way cool, my boyfriends think I’m making it up. So my dreams have always been mine to control.

Until tonight.

Hovering over the castle, my feeling of confusion was compounded by my rising frustration level. I wouldn’t really classify this as a “bad” dream; it was more like an annoying dream. And I really wanted it to stop—

Then everything changed. Fear enveloped me. It was like nothing I had ever known. More terrifying to me than my car wreck. More horrible than my snake phobia. It was the raw fear that comes with the certainty of being in the presence of evil. Living evil, like the kind that inspires pedophiles or rapists or terrorists.

Trying not to panic, I took deep breaths and reminded myself that this was only a dream…only a dream…only a dream. But the feeling persisted. Gazing beneath me, I studied the castle for some hint that could explain my terror. The castle looked sleepy and innocent. In a room built on the wall near the open front gates, I could see two men dressed in uniforms who might be guards or night watchmen. They were sitting at a wooden table playing what appeared to be some kind of dice game. No evil there; slacking employees, perhaps, but nothing overtly villainous. Various other rooms in the castle were still lighted, and once in a while I could glimpse figures moving in front of windows. No one seemed to be committing any murders, no raping or pillaging was going on. At the side of the castle that overlooked the ocean I could see a man standing on an observation ledge, but he wasn’t cutting up any babies or raping any grandmas; he was just looking. No evil there, either.

But it was here. I could feel it. I could almost touch and smell it. It was like after you drive your car over an animal that has been lying dead in the road for a very long time. The stench seems to cling to your car’s wheels and to your throat even after you’ve left it miles behind.

My body turned gently as I continued my search, and I found myself looking out over the forest—

That was it. No question about it, the evil was there, coming from the forest. It emanated from the northern edge, the part that eventually met the distant mountains. It was so strong that I found it difficult to keep my eyes focused on that area; my vision kept shifting, like I was trying to concentrate on one of those 3-D pictures but couldn’t quite get the hidden image right.

It was as my gaze slid over the trees, not quite focused, that I saw it. A ripple in the darkness of the night-shadowed trees. Blinking, I focused above the tree line and, again, the forest rippled. It was like ink seeping down a naked page—crawling shadows, oily and thick. A mass of something was moving through the trees, singular in intention and demeanor. The forward line of it was swift and silent.

I gasped in realization. Its destination was obvious—it was converging on the sleeping castle.