“I don’t like to recall that time because people were often cruel to my mother, but the creatures of the forest were kind, and once we discovered I possessed the knowing, we never lacked for anything.”
“Wait a moment,” Egan urged. “Did your mother never return to her people to tell them about Lugh, or to show off her beautiful daughter?” He could not believe any family would disown Oriana’s mother if she had been even half as lovely as her daughter.
“Once my mother left to be with Lugh, she never returned home. I’ve no idea who my mother’s people even are, but it’s always given me great comfort to know I am the daughter of a god. Would you like to hear his song?”
Egan could not resist giving her a fond pat. “Please sing for me. I’m most eager to hear your father’s song.”
From such a beautiful young woman, Egan anticipated a delicate soprano, and perhaps a pretty tune the minstrels would covet, but when Oriana began to sing, it was in a rich, throaty alto. There were no words, but the most haunting melody he had ever heard. It soared, then dropped to a near whisper, at once joyous and so poignant it brought tears to his eyes.
He had not believed such a thing was even possible, but surely the song was divine, and Oriana really had learned it from Lugh. All too quickly she fell silent, and Egan had never felt so deprived. He was at a loss for a means to describe how deeply he had been touched by the deceptively simple song.
Egan drew Raven to a halt with a quick yank on the reins. “Would you sing that again, please?” he whispered.
When Oriana turned to look up at him, she found his eyes had lost their amused sparkle and reflected instead a stunned amazement. At that moment she could have given up speaking entirely and for the rest of her life sung only that one painfully sweet song.
But as she drew the breath to reply, she heard the faint echo of hoofbeats in the distance. A chilling terror stole up Oriana’s spine, and she grabbed hold of Egan’s tunic.
“That’s Duncan coming. He’ll be upon us swiftly, and a meaner man was never born.”
Jarred from the blissful music of paradise to that gruesome image, Egan urged Raven off the worn trail, leaped down from his back, and thrust the reins in Oriana’s hands. Although he thought it might be a different, harmless man on the road, he intended to be ready for the worst. He shed his cloak, drew his sword, and swung it around above his head before bringing it down upon the grass in a powerful blow.
“Remain with Raven,” he ordered. “If it looks as though I’ll be the one to die, save yourself and ride away.”
Oriana was already tempted to flee, but fought down her fear long enough to shake her head. With Duncan intent upon killing her, she wasn’t intimidated by the mere fierceness of Egan’s scowl. Celtic warriors would kill for mere sport, but her cause was just, and Egan would be a true champion.
“Even if you have never trusted anyone, trust me now,” she begged of him. “Duncan will swear to the boldest lie. Nothing will appease his lust for my blood, but I am innocent of any crime. Please believe me.”
Forcing his concentration away from her and toward the road, Egan shoved the tip of his blade into the earth, rested his palms on the incised hilt, and widened his stance. “It is you who are not trusting me, Oriana, or you’d know I’d never forsake you.”
Before Oriana could respond, Duncan O Floinn came into view. He was a great bear of a man with a full red beard. His mud brown steed exhaled with a groaning snort each time his hooves struck the packed earth of the trail. Duncan had let it be known that he would pay well for word of Oriana’s whereabouts, and only that morning a runner had brought him the news he desired. For the last hour he had ridden hard to reach the village before Oriana again vanished into the forest.
He had not expected to find her alongside the trail, nor had he anticipated her having a warrior’s protection. He barely slowed his mount before leaving his saddle with a flying stumble. Regaining his balance, he brandished his sword and approached Oriana cursing with the foulest language possible.
“Step aside,” Duncan shouted at Egan. “Just hand over that flame-haired bitch, and I’ll allow you to live.”
Egan laughed as he raised his sword. “I’d never abandon a lady, nor will I allow you to address her as though she were the unfortunate woman you call ‘wife.’”
At that taunt, Duncan let out an enraged howl and charged Egan. With blurring speed, Egan swung his sword to block Duncan’s blow. Their iron blades crashed together with a bone-jarring clang that sent every bird in the nearby forest screeching from its nest. The sky darkened with beating wings, then cleared as the graceful wave soared aloft.
Equally startled, Raven reared up on his hind legs, and Oriana threw her weight forward and clung to his mane to steady him. She had not ridden on horseback more than half a dozen times in her life, and would have had difficulty controlling such a spirited mount when he was in a tranquil mood. Now it was all she could do just to stay in the saddle. Certain she would be trampled to death beneath Raven’s dancing hooves should she be thrown, she hung on tightly.
Unaware of Oriana’s predicament, Egan continued battling Duncan without a glance in her direction. The weight of the broadsword soon made his shoulders ache, but he was too finely trained to allow fatigue to slow his moves. He blamed himself for not taking Oriana’s bargain more seriously when she had made it, but he would be damned if he would die for the mistake of arrogant pride.
Far more agile, Egan drew back and circled just out of Duncan’s reach. “Before I cleave you in two,” he boasted, “tell me what wrong Oriana has done you.”
“Her curse killed my beloved,” Duncan screamed, and he charged Egan with renewed fury. Egan countered each of Duncan’s vicious blows with his own blade, and after a rough shove, Duncan drew away.
Barely able to draw the breath to defend herself, Oriana fought to turn Raven toward the men. “I gave only a prophecy, Egan, not a curse!”
“My Rose is dead!” Duncan turned his head to shout.
With one mighty blow, Egan could have beheaded the larger man in that split second of inattention, but instead he gave him only an insulting slap with the side of his sword before again stepping out of Duncan’s range.
“Your fight is over here with me, Duncan,” he reminded him with a wide grin.
Nearly blinded by the sweat dripping into his eyes, Duncan swung his sword in a dizzying swirl. He had always relied upon his great size to overwhelm an enemy, but none had ever possessed Egan’s combination of strength and grace. Duncan had fought hard, but with his arms growing weary, he feared he could not fight much longer. In what he hoped would be his last blow, he let out a bloodcurdling yell and charged Egan.
Appearing paralyzed by fear, Egan stood his ground, but at the last instant he stepped aside, stuck out his foot, and sent the larger man sprawling onto the dusty trail. Before Duncan could catch his breath and rise, Egan kicked his sword out of his hand and picked it up.