Читать книгу Divine By Choice - P.C. Cast, P.C. Cast - Страница 10

“She has been like this for more than two seven-days.” Alanna sounded like she was tattling, and I threw her an ugly look, which didn’t stop her. “Except, never before has she been sick in public.”

“I’m feeling better already. I just needed to lie down.” Of course, I hadn’t needed to puke in front of my people (and on my friends), have my husband rush to my side, pick me up and practically run (well, gallop) to my bedchamber with Carolan and Alanna following closely behind. I groaned. “I’ve ruined the celebration.” Before she could say anything, I interrupted. “Alanna, you have to go back to the hall and reassure everyone that I just have some kind of…of…” I looked at Carolan for help, but he didn’t offer any medical terminology. “…Of stomach distemper-thing, and now that Carolan and my husband have returned, I’ll be fine.”

Alanna opened her mouth to argue, but I played my trump card.

“I need you to do this for me. The people will be so worried.”

“Of course.” Her tight smile said she knew my tactics. “But I will return as soon as the people have been reassured.” She kissed me quickly on my damp forehead, then patted ClanFintan’s arm in a motherly gesture before kissing Carolan on the lips and whispering, “Please, my darling, find out what is amiss with her.”

“I heard that!” I yelled weakly at her departing back. She ignored me.

My attention shifted back to the two males who were watching me like I was an egg ready to hatch.

“Why did you not send word of your illness?” ClanFintan sounded more hurt than angry.

I started to protest that I was really okay, but his expression told me I was definitely done playing that game.

“I didn’t want you to worry. And I guess I thought if I didn’t admit something was wrong, nothing would be wrong.”

His grunt said he thought I was a moron.

“I will need to examine you, Rhea.” Carolan’s voice was soothing.

“Ok-k-kay…” My voice shook.

“ClanFintan, I will call for you when I have completed my examination.” Now Carolan was the general giving orders as if he expected to be obeyed.

“I prefer to stay with Rhea.” My husband sounded stubborn.

Before I could chime in, Carolan spoke with the quiet surety of experience. “It would be better for her if she had some privacy. Trust me, my friend.” His hand grasped the centaur’s muscular shoulder and their eyes locked.

ClanFintan broke their gaze first. Abruptly, he leaned down and kissed me on my damp forehead. “I will be just outside. Call if you have need of me.” His exit was quick.

I tried to smile bravely at Carolan. “Thanks. I love him, but this whole thing is very awkward for me, and, well, you were right about my need for privacy.”

He returned my smile as he sat next to me, making the huge down-filled mattress fluff up.

“This is an interesting sleeping arrangement you have here.” His gesture took in the enormous mattress that rested directly on the floor of my spacious bedchamber.

“Being married to someone who is part horse demands some creative solutions to things you wouldn’t otherwise think about. I mean, really, how the heck does a horse comfortably fit into a traditional bed? And I, the Beloved of Epona, certainly need more than a pile of sawdust or a bale of straw.” I patted the mattress. “This works for us.”

“Alanna says you have a unique name for it.”

“A marshmallow.” I grinned. “It’s named after a sweet, sticky mound of white fluff from my old world that can be eaten as a dessert.” Carolan, Alanna and ClanFintan knew my true identity. Sometimes it was a relief to be able to relax and make references to my prior life without worrying about betraying myself. Relaxation, I suddenly realized, must have been Carolan’s reason for getting me to chatter. Being on the receiving end of his much renowned bedside manner was a new and not totally unpleasant experience.

“So, now that I’m not hyperventilating anymore, what’s next?”

“Nothing too horrible,” he reassured me. “Just some questions first, then I will examine you.” The confidence in his voice soothed my puke-frazzled nerves. “Tell me how long you have been feeling ill.”

I started to reply with a quip, but he held up his hand, cutting off my words.

“You must be honest, Rhea. If you are not totally truthful, I will have a difficult time being of any aid to you.”

I sighed. “Almost three weeks, or, as Alanna would say, three seven-days. It’s just been so obvious for the past two weeks that I couldn’t hide it from her.” I shared a pretended long-suffering look with him. “You know how nosy she is.”

He rolled his eyes as he began feeling the glands in my neck. “You need not tell me how tenacious she can be when it comes to the welfare of those she loves.” He began taking my pulse. “How long have you been purging yourself?”

“Purging?” I was confused. Bulimia had never interested me. I’ve always been strictly an “eat everything in sight and work out like a fiend” girl when it came to weight management.

“Relieving yourself of what you’ve eaten. Vomiting,” he clarified.

“Well, I certainly haven’t been doing it on purpose.”

“Of course you have not!” He paused in his examination, giving me a shocked look.

For an instant a sarcastic remark rose to my lips, then I reminded myself that he wasn’t pretending to be shocked at what my twenty-first century peers would consider a norm. I know it sounds hard to believe, but sometimes I forget I’m no longer in a world where beauty is defined by anorexic, strung-out models with boob jobs.

“Right, well, I’ve been actually vomiting for a little over a week, but I’ve been feeling like I could puke any second for almost three weeks.” Before he could get confused I added in a teacherly, informative voice, “To puke is to vomit.”

“To puke,” he pondered as he opened a huge leather bag that seemed to always be with him. “That is an interesting term.”

We smiled at each other.

“Have you had any other symptoms besides your stomach upset?” He asked.

“Well,” I said hesitantly, “I’ve been feeling kind of weird and depressed and jumpy.” I figured that about covered everything from my emotions being all out of whack to the possible hallucinations last night.

He patted my arm reassuringly as he pulled out of the bag a long, funnel-like object that seemed to be made of construction paper. “Please sit up and breathe deeply,” he said, and I complied as he used the funnel as a sort of crude stethoscope.

He appeared okay with what he heard, because he put the funnel-scope away and continued with the examination, gently probing, prodding and looking all over (and within) my body as he questioned me. He asked me everything from what kinds of flowers my maidens had been cutting for the daily arrangements that filled my bedchamber with fragrance, to how often I’d been pooping.

Finally, he finished. Patting my nervously folded hands, he began, “I am very certain you—”

“Have a brain tumor!” My stomach rolled in revolt and I felt my palms dampening.

Carolan chucked. “You have no tumor, Rhea, but you certainly have something within your body now that was not there just a few months ago.” His eyes sparkled, and I wanted to choke him until they bulged out of his face.

“A friggin aneurysm. I knew it. Somehow I was exposed to something radioactive when Rhiannon the Bitch traded places with me.” I fell back on the pile of pillows, trying unsuccessfully to stop my eyes from filling with tears.

“By the Goddess, Rhea, will you not listen!” Carolan’s voice was frustrated but definitely tinged with humor. “You are not dying. You are not ill. You are, quite simply and blessedly, pregnant.”

“I’m…I’m…I’m…”

“I estimate you will give birth mid-spring.”

“A baby?” I realized I sounded like a dolt, but my mind had literally become mush.

“That would certainly be my experienced diagnosis.” He smiled as he collected odds and ends and fed them back into the mouth of his doctor’s bag. “A girl,” he added.

“A girl? How do you know?” My hands unclasped themselves and crept down to cup my deceptively normal-looking abdomen.

“The firstborn of Epona’s Chosen is always a girl child. It is a gift from your Goddess to you and your people.”

I felt stunned. Sure, I had missed a period, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I’d chalked it up to stress. A new world in a different dimension where mythology lives. Becoming Goddess Incarnate. Battling demonic hordes. Stufflike that was bound to throw off anyone’s system a little, to say the least. I noticed that Carolan suddenly seemed in a big rush to leave.

“What’s your hurry?” I sounded on the verge of a crying jag, which, at least, now made sense. Hormones.

“Alanna will want to announce the wonderful news to the people. The celebration will continue all night!” I blanched and he laughed. “No, you will not be required to attend, but there will be many toasts to your health and the health of your child.” He turned to face me one last time before he opened the door. “Congratulation, Rhea. Let me be the first of many to wish your daughter health and happiness!”

I could hear him telling ClanFintan he could come in now as he rushed past my still worried-looking husband. The centaur approached me, folding his legs and settling fluidly to the floor by my side. His expression was grim as he studied what I realized must be my glazed, Barbie-exposed-to-math-word-problems expression.

“What is it, love? What has happened to you?”

“You!” A semi-hysterical giggle escaped from my lips.

His brow furrowed in concern. “I? I have injured you?”

I reached up and touched his cheek. “You haven’t injured me, you’ve impregnated me.”

He blinked twice, his expression blank. Then realization folded over his face.

“A child!” His deep voice resonated with joy. “We are to have a child?”

“Yes…” I knew I sounded reticent, but I had gone from tumor to baby in just a few heartbeats.

ClanFintan took my hands in his, kissing both my palms before leaning down and kissing me softly on my lips.

“Ugh.” I pulled away. “I taste like puke.”

“I do not care.”

“Well, I do.”

He pulled back and studied my face. “Rhea, are you not pleased?”

“I’m scared.” I blurted out before I took time to think.

His face softened and he pulled me into the warmth of his strong embrace. “Do not be afraid. Epona will always care for her own.”

I rested my cheek against the butter-soft leather of his vest and murmured my fear. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but, well, what am I going to have?”

He remained silent, and I bit my lip. I loved ClanFintan, and I didn’t want to cause him pain, but the facts were that he was part horse and he was the father of my child. I couldn’t help but be concerned about the meshing of our two gene pools—especially when I would be the one giving birth—in a world without C-sections or epidurals.

“She will have your form, Rhea.”

“And what will she have of yours?” I whispered into his chest.

He paused for just a moment, then quietly said, “My heart. She will have my heart.”

My arms tightened around him while my eyes filled. “Then she will have everything.”

His warm lips briefly pressed against the top of my head. Then he shifted his hold on me so that he had me scooped up in his arms. Rising to his feet in one fluid motion he started toward the door.

“Oh, please don’t make me go back there with all that food and all those people.” I futilely tried to wipe at speckles that clung to my soggy dress.

“No, I am taking you to your bathing chamber. Tonight I will care for you, and our daughter.” He beamed down at me as he shouldered our way through the door and turned down my private hall in the direction of my bathing room.

The temple guards leaped out of his way, saluting me and calling, “Blessings on you and your child, Lady Rhiannon!” as they opened the door to the steamy chamber for us.

For a world that didn’t have TV or the Internet, it never failed to surprise me how fast news could travel.

I grinned mischievously at them over ClanFintan’s shoulder and winked. “Thanks, guys!” I didn’t “know” my guards (yes, I do mean in the biblical sense) as the original Lady Rhiannon had, but I did appreciate them.

“Do not encourage them.” ClanFintan chided goodnaturedly.

“Soon I’ll be too fat and pregnant to get a second look from them.”

“Humph,” he commented eloquently as he deposited me near the edge of the deep pool.

One of the many benefits of being Goddess Incarnate was that a veritable plethora of overenthusiastic maidens considered it an honor, as well as a duty, to keep me in the lap of ancient luxury. Which meant I had all the best wine, food, clothes, jewels, horses, warriors…on and on, but no television, telephones, computers or cars. In return I had to care for the spiritual health of Epona’s people: conduct ceremonies (albeit bare-breasted, which took some getting used to, especially as the weather had begun turning cold), serve as figurehead, you know, do whatever it was my Goddess asked of me to the best of my ex–high school English teacher abilities.

I was pretty sure I’d gotten the best part of the deal, which included having an opulent bathing chamber that was perpetually kept in a state of ready-for-me-to-use.

“Let me help you with that.” ClanFintan’s deft fingers took over for my pukey ones, which were struggling upside down to unclasp my diamond-encrusted brooch.

“New brooch?” he asked as he studied the mini replica of himself.

“Yes, today is the first time I’ve worn it. Do you like it?”

“I like that it rests near your breast.”

“Talk like that, if I recall correctly, is how I got into this condition.” I swatted at him playfully.

“I have suspected your old world wasn’t as, shall we say, knowledgeable as our world, and if you think talking impregnated you, then we should—”

“Oaf!” I swatted at him again, causing the once-lovely, now-crusty fabric of my bodice to slide down, exposing the very bosom to which he had been referring. I watched his expression change as he reached one hand out to gently cup my breast.

“You already appear changed. Your breasts are more full, more welcoming.” His voice was hypnotic as he framed my rib cage with both of his hands, softly caressing the sides of my weighty breasts with his palms.

Even after being married to him for half of a year, the heat of his body still had the ability to surprise me. A centaur’s natural body temperature is several degrees higher than a human’s body. ClanFintan’s touch was always erotically warm, and, although I knew it was simply the state of his physiology, his heat worked on me like an aphrodisiac.

I shivered in anticipation, pleased the queasy feeling in my stomach had subsided.

“You are chilled…” His sensuous touch was replaced by a matter-of-fact unwinding of the rest of my soiled dress. “Start soaking,” he ordered.

“Not very romantic,” I muttered, trying to bend seductively and slip out of my teeny thong, but he had already turned toward the shelf near my vanity and was searching, opening bottles and sniffing.

“The vanilla-almond one is in the gold-colored bottle.” I called to him over my shoulder as I lowered myself slowly into the clear, bubbling mineral water, and made my way to my favorite rock ledge.

ClanFintan turned back with a triumphant smile, golden bottle in his hands. “I like the scent of this one.”

“I know you do—that’s why I use it.” We grinned at each other.

His hooves clicked on the marble floor as he approached the edge directly across from where I was submerged. In one swift movement, he divested himself of his leather vest, and placed it and the bottle of perfumed soap on the floor.

“Do I need to remind you that you must not speak?”

“Oh!” I blinked in surprise. “No, but, I, uh, didn’t—”

“Shh…” He put a finger to his lips.

I closed my mouth, preparing myself for what I knew would come next—the Change. As a High Shaman, ClanFintan had the extraordinary ability to shapeshift from his centaur form. I didn’t think it would ever stop amazing me. I watched in awe as his concentration turned within, and I felt a shiver of bittersweet desire. We could only mate as husband and wife if he Changed, thus the fluttering of passion I felt as his chant began. But the Change did not come without cost. He could only maintain a different shape for a temporary amount of time, approximately eight hours, and he was never truly comfortable in any form but his centaur shape. The shapeshifting itself caused him terrible pain, and after he shifted back into his centaur form it left him in a weakened state for hours.

Every time he called the Change so that he could shift into human form, he proclaimed the depth of his love and commitment to me.

His chanting was becoming louder, and I could distinctly hear the magic in the Gaelic-sounding words ClanFintan’s velvet voice spoke over and over again. He began lifting both arms, until they were directly over his head, which was flung back. His long hair fell free down his human back, which did nothing to obscure his tensed, quivering muscles. Then it seemed that his skin had begun to sparkle and shimmer, as if he was being beamed through a Star Trek transporter. His glowing skin rippled, like it was about to liquefy. I knew I should close my eyes and protect them from the blast of light that would come next, but I couldn’t pull my gaze from my husband’s face. It was set in a grimace of agony. Light burst from him, making my eyes blink and tear even though I closed them in response to the explosion of silver-white brilliance.

I could hear his harsh breathing in the quiet darkness that always seemed so complete after the light of his transformation.

“ClanFintan?” I couldn’t help the edge of fear in my voice. It wasn’t that I was afraid of his magic, or of his Change. I was afraid of what it cost him, scared that someday he would not recover from the pain.

“I have—” his voice was raspy as he struggled to regain his breath “—told you not to worry so.”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to blink away the sunspots that kept me from seeing him.

“I know, but I hate how much it hurts you.”

“It is a price I will never regret paying.”

My vision cleared and I could see that he was still on his knees, where the Change had caused him to collapse. With one hand he raked his hair out of his sweat-streaked face, with the other he pushed himself slowly up into a standing position. He stood still for a moment, and I knew he was gathering his energy and accustoming himself to this much smaller, less powerful human shape.

Not that he was a small man (in any sense of the word). Actually, he was a beautifully proportioned human male. He was tall and well muscled, and he retained the breadth of shoulder and chest that was so impressive in his true body. His human hips were sleek; his ass and legs were tight and well shaped. As was everything else that protruded from his very naked body. And he did appear quite happy to see me, if you know what I mean.

He raised an eyebrow at me, reminding me of a randy, naked Spock (imagine that!). “Is everything—” he glanced down at his body “—where it should be?”

I felt my breath catch in shock. “You mean things can get moved around when you Change?”

“Of course not.” His laughter reassured me, as did the strong, confident way he began striding toward the edge of the pool. “I was simply—how do you put it—messing at you.” He attempted to mimic my Oklahoma drawl with his deep, lyrical voice.

“It’s messing with, not at, you silly thing.” I flicked some water at him while he bent to pick up the bottle of soap. Then, using the stone steps that led down into the water, he joined me. “And you know I’ve been trying to get rid of my Okie accent.” Thankfully, one of the many things being Epona’s Beloved entitled me to was the ability to be eccentric without having the populace question me. Partholon had simply gotten used to the weird way I talked. I’d even heard some servants whispering, “It is more of Epona’s touch,” after I’d y’all-ed and yep-ed them one too many times.

“Do not lose your accent. I like the long, lazy way you can make words sound.”

“Anythin’ for you, darlin’,” I twanged. And I was serious. A month was a long time, and I was really glad he was home. (And doubly pleased that my stomach had quieted enough for me to contemplate doing more than puking.)

“Good.” He reached past me and plucked a thick sponge that was resting close to the edge of the pool. He poured a generous amount of thick soap onto it before setting the bottle back on the floor. “Then what I would like you to do for me is to relax and let me care for you.” He paused and his eyes slid down to where the water obscured, but did not conceal, my reclining body. “Both of you.”

His words brought back the reality of my “condition,” which effectively silenced me. I numbly let him begin soaping up my shoulders with a slow, circular motion, while I contemplated the fact that I was carrying another life within my body.

ClanFintan stayed silent, letting me think as he brought the soapy sponge down one of my arms, being careful to wash all of the crusty, leftover rice from my hands. Then he followed the same path down my other arm. His touch was soothing, and I felt my numbness dissolve with the last vestiges of the rice. Gently, he slid the slick sponge around my neck and lower, until its softness brushed my sensitized nipples.

“Tell me if I do anything that you find uncomfortable.”

“Everything you’re doing is just fine.” I sounded out of breath.

“Good. Then I will continue.” The sponge followed a path down to my thigh, calf and foot, where he set it aside briefly so that he could massage the bottom of my foot. The heat and strength of his touch made me groan with pleasure. “I have not forgotten how much you love having your feet rubbed.” He exchanged one foot for the other, and continued his soothing ministrations.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I whispered, meaning every syllable of it. There are few things a teacher loves more than a great foot rub (a pay raise, perhaps, but a foot rub is easier to come by—at least it is in Oklahoma).

Too soon he picked up the sponge and lathered his way back up my other leg. By the time he reached my shoulders again I was feeling excessively clean for a woman who was having such dirty thoughts.

Pulling myself up from a reclining to a sitting position, I watched as his eyes caressed my wet, soapy breasts.

“You are a beautiful woman.”

“And squeaky clean.” I let my body slide forward until my legs were straddling his lap. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rubbed my breasts against the seductive heat of his chest, loving how my nipples puckered against his skin. “Alanna better watch out. You make one heck of a bathing assistant.”

He replied by devouring my mouth with his, pulling me hard against him. My hands explored the curve of his back and hips, and I felt pleasure thrill through my body at the wonderful textures of his muscles. His familiar taste flooded my senses, and my body felt so hot and wet I couldn’t tell where I ended and where he began.

“I’ve missed you so much, my love.” His voice was rough with lust, and the sound of it had desire tugging hot and heavy low in my stomach.

“How could I have forgotten about your heat?” I moaned, and nipped his shoulder.

“Ah, Goddess! I should be gentle with you, but I—”

“Don’t be gentle. I promise I won’t break.”

With a growl of raw desire his hands cupped my butt. He lifted me and in one smooth motion, plunged himself inside me. I met his thrust with my own. I clung to him, sucking and nipping at his tongue. We came together like we were starved for each other, like the month apart had been a lifetime. Our tempo escalated quickly, and before either of us could think about math problems or taxes my orgasm built and exploded as I felt his release pumping heat into me.

Still breathing hard, ClanFintan traded places with me, pulling me onto his lap as he reclined upon my ledge. We clung to each other, allowing our bodies to remember how well we fit together.

“I meant for that to happen after I had bathed, dried and returned you to our marshmallow.” I felt his chest vibrate as he spoke.

“I love the way you say marshmallow. You make it sound like it’s a magic carpet, something special and mysterious.”

“It is special and mysterious to me.” He reached down and tapped the end of my nose with his finger. “I have never seen a real marshmallow.”

“I should try and figure out a recipe so that I could explain how to make one to the pastry cook. It would be fun to roast them over an open fire.”

His eyes widened in shock. “It would certainly take an enormous fire.”

“An eatable marshmallow is smaller than my fist. It’s just our mattress that’s huge.” I started to giggle, but I interrupted myself with a rather large and embarrassing belch right into his face. “Oops!” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

And I belched again.

“Your stomach?” His concern made me feel somewhat less humiliated.

“I think maybe I should dry off and drink some more of that tea Alanna’s been pouring into me.” I was feeling a little queasy again.

He easily pulled himself out of the pool, then reached down and lifted me out beside him. We padded wetly over to a pile of thick towels and he began vigorously drying me.

“Hey! You’re rubbing off skin!” I squeaked, and grabbed the towel from him.

“I thought you might be chilled out of the water.”

“I’m fine, really. You just dry yourself.” I was suddenly feeling kind of touchy, like my skin was too sensitive to allow any handling. Hormones were certainly strange things.

“The Change will dry me.” His smile said he understood my shift in mood, and that he wasn’t offended. I just hoped his patience would last the rest of the nine months. Who knew what else my body was going to do to me?

“Thanks, I—”

“Shh,” I hadn’t noticed that he had taken several steps from me, and had begun muttering the words that called the Change to him.

I closed my mouth before the “I’m sorry” could escape. Shading my eyes with the end of my towel, I watched as he retransformed. The Change back to his centaur form always seemed to happen more quickly than when he shifted into the alien shape of a human male. His skin glittered and rippled. This time I pressed my eyes closed before the starburst of color. When the light against my closed lids disappeared, I knew it was safe to look (and to talk).

“I have really missed you.” The words tumbled from my mouth as I looked up at the magnificent being who was my husband.

“And I you. I was born to love you.” He smiled as he came to me, dwarfing me with his size while he encompassed me within the love of his embrace. He held me gently in his massive arms, and looked into my eyes, saying simply, “I am not complete without you. It is good to be home.”

I had witnessed enough of this world’s magic to know that he spoke the truth. Through some wondrous twist of fate, my Goddess had fashioned him as my mate, even before I was a part of this world.

“Yes,” I repeated his words. “It is good to be home.”

“Come!” He swept me off my feet and up into his arms like I weighed no more than a child. (Uh, let me assure you, I weigh more than a child!)

“You know, I really can walk.” But my complaint was only halfhearted. I liked the safety I felt in his arms.

“Humor me. I have only just returned.”

He kicked the huge door, his hoof ringing dully against the oak like a living doorbell. My warriors immediately pulled it open for us. I noticed how they diverted their eyes from my towel-clad form. No doubt they were trying to avoid a scowl from my husband. But I made a point to wave gaily at them over ClanFintan’s shoulder, and was rewarded by their quick grins.

“You spoil them.”

“They’re adorable. And anyway, you know you have nothing to worry about. It’s that other Rhiannon who felt the need to sleep with all of her warriors, and then some.”

“I do not believe she did much sleeping.”

“You know what I mean.” I flicked his shoulder. “As you already are very well aware, I am a faithful wife. Shoot, my middle name’s Faithful!”

“I thought your middle name was merlot.” His laughter boomed at his own joke.

I blanched. “Don’t mention that word.” My new aversion to wine must be Epona’s way of making sure I didn’t pickle my unborn daughter. I supposed I should be grateful—and I would be, as soon as I was purged of this pathetic puking. (Pardon the pun. And the alliteration.)

My chamber had obviously been freshened since we had been gone. The down-filled marshmallow mattress that served as our bed had been made, and a small dinner for two had been set on the table in the alcove that sat before the velvet-cur-tained glass doors that led to my private garden. I sniffed the air suspiciously, afraid that any wafting aromas would set off my puke reflex. When I didn’t catch the scent of anything objectionable, I hesitantly approached the table. My husband’s attempt at smothering his chuckle caught my attention.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked.

“I never thought the day would come when you would approach a table of food with trepidation.”

My love of a good meal had been a constant source of amusement to my husband. Actually, more than once he has commented that I have the appetite of a centaur Huntress, which somehow is endearing to him.

To me it’s less endearing, and more like the reason I force myself to exercise regularly.

“Very funny. Keep in mind I’ve already puked on one centaur tonight.” When I got to the table I breathed a sigh of relief. Alanna’s delicate hand and unerring ability to manage me was evident. There was a steaming tureen filled with an almost clear broth that had a light, vaguely chicken-like aroma. A cloth-covered basket held thin pieces of toasted bread and sliced bananas. A pot of hot herbal tea waited invitingly for me to pour. For ClanFintan she had fixed a platter of cheese and cold chicken. Not a scrap of rice or anything that reeked of fried food, spices or (yeesh) dripping butter.

“Alanna is very wise,” ClanFintan said as he settled into his chaise and began to happily dig into his chicken.

I ladled myself some broth and nibbled hesitantly at the toast. “Knowing her, she’s probably already making baby clothes.” He and I smiled at each other.

I sipped the broth slowly, allowing time for my easy-to-upset stomach to accustom itself to food.

“So, you would say the trip was a success?” I asked as I blew at the hot tea.

“Laragon Castle was thriving when we departed. In the spring their fields will once again yield the healing crops and flowers they once did. The reinhabiting of Guardian Castle went well after the women settled in. The new warriors are vigilant.” He cleared his throat as if what he was about to say was lodged there uncomfortably. “As we had thought, there were signs that the prior inhabitants had been lax in their duties as watchers and defenders.”

It had been a shock when it was discovered that the demonic Fomorians, Partholon’s ancient enemy, had broken though the supposedly impenetrable Guardian Castle, which defended the only pass through the mountains. Much speculation had been gossiped about regarding how the invasion had begun. I gave him a curious raise of my eyebrows, prompting him to continue.

“Their weapons were rusted, broken and untended. Tournament fields were overgrown with weeds, proving that no practice in weaponry or those skills needed in warfare had been kept at ready.” His frown deepened. “But there was no shortage of wine and ale, and even before we unpacked the supplies brought with us, we found the kitchens were filled to overflowing with stored delicacies.”

“So, they ate and drank and that was about it?”

“We also found many disturbing paintings depicting…” His voice trailed off.

My curiosity was certainly piqued. My own temple was filled with bigger-than-life-size frescoes of my image clad in not much more than a slip, and that only from the waist down. Not to mention the zillions of cavorting maidens who frolicked seminude (in the paintings and around the temple). I couldn’t image what kind of images had shocked a centaur who was so used to the casual nudity and open sexuality of a clearly matriarchal world.

“Okay, give. What was in the pictures?”

“They enjoyed inflicting pain upon one another.” I guess my face didn’t register much shock (keep in mind, he’s never been exposed to MTV, as I, unfortunately, have been), so he continued. “They inflicted pain during sexual acts. And there was evidence that they had been dallying with a dark god.”

I had the unnerving feeling that maybe my question to Alanna earlier that day had been prompted by more than a random thought. I swallowed, not particularly liking where this might be taking me, but knowing that I had to follow my goddess-touched instincts. “A dark god? What do you mean?”

He looked as disgusted as he sounded. “Amidst the paintings of their perversions there were drawings that showed the Triple Face of Darkness.”

“Wait, I don’t understand what you mean. What’s a Triple Face of Darkness?”

He lowered his voice, which only heightened my feeling of unease. I mean, we were totally alone. Why was he lowering his voice?

“I do not like to speak of such things. One should not name a dark god without care—even if he is a High Shaman, or the Chosen of a Great Goddess. But as Epona’s Beloved you have the right to know exactly what the Fomorians, and the decadence of the Guardian Warriors, allowed to enter Partholon.”

“Tell me.” I sounded much braver than I felt.

“Pryderi is the Triple Face of Darkness. Ancient stories say that he was once a god, like Cernunnos, only he chose the mountains and the Northlands in which to reign. Legends also say that he was Epona’s consort and that she loved him. Then he began to lust for more power—power to subjugate Epona to his will.”

I felt the wrongness of Pryderi’s attempt to usurp Epona in the depths of my soul. Partholon was a matriarchal world. There were gods who were worshipped as consorts to the goddesses, but their place was definitely secondary. Men were not bullied or repressed in Partholon. They respected the Goddess as birth-giver and creator; therefore, they respected women. Anything else would ultimately destroy the beautiful balance that made Partholon such an incredible place.

“What did Epona do?” I asked, even though my heart already knew the answer.

“The Goddess’s anger and hurt were terrible. She cast him from Partholon with such wrath that his aspect fragmented, much like a soul can be shattered if it is too traumatized, which is why the depictions of him show three faces.” Clan-Fintan looked away from me when he said this and I could tell he didn’t want to explain further, but I needed to know, so I prompted, “What do the faces look like?”

He sighed deeply. “One face has nothing but eyes. The mouth has been seared closed. The rest of it is featureless. Another has only a gaping, fanged maw, terrible to behold. The eyes of that face are hollow holes. The third is unbelievable in its beauty. That face is said to look exactly as he did before he betrayed Epona.”

I sipped my tea, trying not to notice that my hand was shaking. “And there are people in Partholon who worship him?”

“No. Or at least if there are they are only in the most obscure parts of the nation.”

“But Guardian Castle isn’t an obscure part of Partholon.”

“No, it’s not. But the people there had been corrupted, whether by the Fomorians or by greed and sloth before they infiltrated the castle—the sequence of events have never been entirely clear. What is apparent is that Pryderi had been influencing them for some time.” He touched my cheek reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. People must be open to Pryderi’s poisonous whisperings for him to gain a hold on their souls, and Epona’s Partholon will not so easily open itself again to such darkness. We need not fear that the new Guardian Warriors will forget their duties.”

“Good.” Purposefully I shook off the creepy feeling discussing Pryderi had begun to give me. “So, you think my idea is going to work?”

He smiled. “Yes, your orders to make Guardian Castle a working school to train warriors resonated with its new inhabitants.”

“Vigilance and education—always an excellent mix.”

“It is certain that Guardian Castle will not fail Partholon again,” he said soberly.

“You don’t think enough Fomorians survived to attack us again, do you?” Those creatures were evil, vampiric beings that belonged in hell. Yes—the thought of them plotting to come back through the mountain pass Guardian Castle had been built to guard definitely made my skin crawl.

“I believe the pox and their losses in battle weakened them to the point of annihilation, but we must remain prepared for their resurgence.”

“You think they took pregnant women back over the pass with them?” I asked, horrified.

“I pray they did not.”

Which really didn’t seem like a positive answer to me.

“So we stay prepared and keep our eyes open.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged.

“Okay.” I yawned and his ears pricked (not literally).

“When your body tells you to rest, you must rest,” said the father-to-be.

“For a change, I won’t argue with you.” I stood, stretching like a cat. Even after the rather morbid dark god subject, the warm broth and tea, and the absence of worrying that I might have a fatal illness, had made me feel more than ready for a long night’s rest. Not to mention the wonderful orgasm.

“Perhaps your not arguing with me will be a nice side effect of your pregnancy,” he said as he followed me to our bed.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I retorted through another yawn.

He folded himself down onto our mattress first, then I settled into a position curled comfortably against him. I realize it should be an awkward pairing, a being who was half horse, half man, sleeping with a human woman, but it wasn’t. No matter how I lay, one of his hands would find the small of my back, or the curve of my leg, and rub gentle circular patterns over my skin. His warm caress was like a sleeping pill. I loved that his touch could lull me to sleep. My eyes were already closed when his voice interrupted my foggy thoughts.

“It surprised me that you did not use the Magic Sleep to visit me.” He paused, then added, “Or did you come to me, and I failed to feel your presence?”

“No…” His question brought me fully awake. “I have not had the dream-thing since your battle with Nuada.”

Except for a quick grunt of acknowledgement, he stayed silent. I knew we were both thinking back to that terrible last battle when Nuada, the leader of the Fomorians, almost killed ClanFintan. I had been knocked unconscious, and my Goddess had called my spirit free from my body so that I could distract Nuada. ClanFintan had killed the creature, causing the Fomorians to react in confused panic, and the tide of the battle to turn in our favor. Before then, Epona had used my dreams to call me out of my body and send me on what amounted to spiritual reconnaissance trips to spy on our enemies and taunt them into falling into our traps.

But since the Fomorians had been vanquished, I had not been called by Epona to go on any nighttime spirit trips, even when I had tried to will myself on one after ClanFintan left. Nor had I heard the whisper of her voice, which I had become strangely accustomed to hearing, until today when she had breathed into my mind the words You are not playing, Beloved. It took hearing her voice again for me to realize how much her silence had bothered me.

“I tried to send my spirit out of my body to visit you, but it didn’t happen. I asked Epona to let me visit you. It was such an easy thing before—I even traveled so much that I got really tired of it.”

“Yes, I remember.” I felt him nod his head.

“And she hasn’t been talking to me, either,” I said in a small voice.

“Rhea, your Goddess would not leave you. You must believe that.”

“I don’t know, ClanFintan. I don’t really know anything about this Goddess Incarnate stuff. Remember, I’m not Rhiannon.”

“Yes, and I thank your Goddess daily that you are not.” His voice was firm. The truth was, no one had liked Rhiannon. Okay, more accurately, most people who had known her had loathed her, which was—at first—an almost constant source of irritation to me. Plus, it was confusing to look like someone who had evolved into such a different kind of person.

“Sometimes I wonder if I just imagined that I was meant to be Epona’s Chosen.”

“Do you think so little of Epona?” He didn’t sound angry, just questioning.

“No.” My answer came easily. “I’ve felt her presence and experienced her power.”

“Then it must be yourself of whom you think so little.”

I couldn’t answer that. I had always believed I was a strong woman with a healthy ego and excellent self-esteem. But maybe my husband was right. Maybe I needed to look inside myself for doubt and weakness, and not Epona.

Could that be part of why Rhiannon and I were so different? I knew self-doubt could be destructive and life altering, but wasn’t some self-reflection healthy? Had Rhiannon become so spoiled and willful that she was immune to any kind of self-questioning? Mix that with the power that went along with being Epona’s Beloved and maybe, like Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, she had become “as a serpent’s egg which hatched, would as his kind grow mischievous.” Had Epona done what Brutus contemplated, and by switching me with Rhiannon, smashed her shell before her hatched evilness could destroy Partholon?

Or was I just letting the useless literature that tended to clutter my English teacher brain freak me out?

“Rest now.” Once again his hand began a hypnotic caress, and ClanFintan’s familiar touch helped to quiet my jabbering mind. “Your Goddess will answer your doubts.”

“I love you,” I murmured as a wave of weariness closed my eyelids and I fell softly into a deep sleep.

I was nibbling Godiva dark chocolates while I lounged on a down-filled, violet-colored divan, which was situated in the middle of a field of waving wheat. At the end of the divan sat Sean Connery (dressed in 007-era black tie). My feet were in his lap, and with one strong, firm hand he rubbed erotic swirls across my instep, and with the other he held open a book of poetry entitled Why I Love You. As he read to me in his sexy Scottish burr, he kept glancing at me with looks of undisguised adoration…

…And I was suddenly sucked out of my fabulous dream and through the ceiling of Epona’s Temple.

“Whoa! Feeling sick!” My spirit voice held a familiar ghostly resonance and I gulped the night air. The rush of exhilaration I felt as I realized my Goddess was once again directing my spirit warred with the revolution in my stomach. My spirit hung over the middle of Epona’s Temple, remaining very still while I got my bearings and reaccustomed myself to the Magic Sleep—which wasn’t actually sleep at all, but the traveling of my soul, and was therefore exceptionally magical.

As my vertigo receded, I was able to relax and enjoy the incredible view. The moon was almost full, and its clean silver light kissed the walls of the temple until they seemed to come alive, glowing with an inner blush of illuminated marble.

Below me I could see that the feast must be coming to a close. Sleepy shapes moved in groups of twos, threes and fours, and were stumbling a little amidst good-natured jesting and merriment as they emerged from the front entrance of the temple, heading back to their neat homes outside the temple walls. I smiled as several of the pairs seemed to have a hard time moving out of the shadows, and when they did continue on their way home, their arms remained entwined suggestively around one another.

I guess my people had been inspired to emulate my condition.

As I continued to play spiritual voyeur, I noticed a centaur couple standing apart from the departing crowd, some way from the path taken by the other people. My body drifted in their direction, until I was hovering above the female’s back—far enough above her that my presence was not noticed, but not so far that I could not easily see that the two centaurs below me were my friends,Victoria and Dougal.

I could not see Victoria’s face, and I could not hear what was being said, but I could see that Dougal was speaking, and that his words held rapt the Huntress’s attention. (I realize I should not be eaveswatching, but, well, my spirit body wasn’t moving away—which gave me a great excuse to pry.) As I watched,Victoria held up one of her hands and pressed a finger against Dougal’s lips, stopping his speech. Then she stepped forward, and in one graceful movement, she rested her head against his shoulder and nodded once, yes.

The radiance in Dougal’s face made the light of the moon appear sallow in comparison as he wrapped his lover within his arms.

I grinned, thinking that I couldn’t wait to tell Alanna that whatever had been keeping Dougal and Vic apart appeared to be totally fixed.

Slowly, my spirit form began moving forward, leaving my friends their privacy and me a happy knot in my throat. I traveled in the night’s sky toward the road, which led past the western ridge of the temple plateau. Once over the ridge, I picked up speed and began moving with purpose toward a tidy-looking home that was situated north of the road amidst a rolling field of well-tended grapevines. The main house was flanked by a sturdy barn with a matching corral, as well as another large structure, which was probably used for the fermenting and storage of wine (may-the-Goddess-bless-them-and-keep-them-till-I-give-birth-and-regain-my-love-for-the-fruit-of-the-vine).

For an instant I hovered directly over the house, then the bottom fell away beneath me and I dropped through the thick thatched roof.

“I wish you would warn me before you do that,” I mumbled to my Goddess, but my grumbling stopped as I beheld the sight beneath me.

I was floating near the ceiling of a nice-size bedchamber that was lit by what must have been hundreds of brilliant white candles. A large bed sat against a windowed wall, and an intricately carved wardrobe and matching vanity had been pushed against another wall. Small stools and tables hugged the other two walls—all of the furniture was covered with soft, draped material and pools of lighted candles.

Women clustered below me, surrounding a naked female, who was standing, but leaning heavily against the top of a cushioned chaise lounge, much like the ones we used at the temple. The naked woman was obviously very pregnant. Her head was bowed, and her eyes were screwed shut in concentration. I watched as her ripe stomach rippled and her breathing became more pronounced.

As I observed the scene beneath me, I realized that the other women were a single, focused unit. One woman gently pressed against the laboring woman’s lower back with the palm of her hand. Another woman crouched before her, breathing in concert with each of her panting breaths. Two women fanned the air so that a light breeze continually bathed the laboring woman. The other women either hummed or sang softly.

My body drifted closer, and the woman’s contraction ended. Instantly, her head came up, and I was amazed to see a satisfied smile curve her full lips. She wiped a loose strand of damp hair from her face.

“It is almost time!” Her voice was joyous, not filled with the pain and strain I had expected.

Cheers and laughter greeted her announcement.

A tall, handsome woman approached the soon-to-be mother, offering her a sip from a goblet. Another woman, this one a teenager, wiped her brow with a thick cloth. All of the women were smiling, as if they were taking part in an event filled with such wonder that it was impossible to contain within them, and the happiness came spilling out of their bodies.

“Help me into position…” The pregnant woman’s voice was soft, but it carried throughout the room. Three of the older women stepped forward. One woman knelt before her. The other two supported her on either side as she moved into a squatting position. The next contraction took hold of her body. I could see her muscles tense as she took a deep breath and began pushing.

The women surrounding the group formed a circle, clasping each other’s hands while they hummed a wordless tune, which reminded me of something Loreena McKennitt would sing.

“I see the head!”

The woman’s bulging belly relaxed for just an instant, then she drew an even deeper breath and bore down again.

After another round of concentrated pushing a wet, writhing form slipped from between her legs and was caught deftly by the waiting woman.

“Your daughter is born!” the matron cried.

And the other women caught up the cheer.

“Welcome, young one!”

I found my voice somewhere between my tears, and I echoed their joyous cry. Only occasionally can my presence be sensed when I’m on a spirit journey, so I was surprised and delighted when the new mother’s head snapped up in response to the sound of my ethereal voice. Her eyes glistened through tears of happiness and I felt the change in my spirit body that told me my hovering form had become visible to her.

“Epona’s Beloved has witnessed my daughter’s birth!” Her tired voice was rapturous.

The other women began laughing and clapping—some even started an impromptu dance, twirling and spinning with their hands painting intricate patterns in the air. I found their joy infectious, and as the women cleaned the newborn and the mother, I felt my spirit body moving in time to their song of new life.

And a thought struck me. The miracle of birth was and should always be a moment of empowerment for all women—as it had been in the scene below me. Perhaps this ancient world had lessons it could teach the modern one from which I came. C-sections and epidurals should be blessings to women, but I suddenly wondered if they had become a means from which to steal the magic of the power of birth away from a generation of mothers.

As this thought formed in my mind, I could feel my spirit body begin rising. The new mother’s head lifted from its resting place and she waved at my departing form.

My heart felt full and at peace as I floated contentedly back to the temple, and down through the ceiling of my bedchamber. As my spirit rejoined my body and I fell back into a deep sleep, Rest now, my Beloved, and know that I am always with you…whispered through my mind.