Divine by Choice (3 page)

Maybe I was getting old.

No, thirty-five and a half couldn't be old, and anyway, I
had always planned on being one of those eccentric old ladies who wore lots of big jewelry, had chic, funky hair, drank wine knowingly and died suddenly of an Old White Woman's Disease (preferably a painless aneurysm after an especially sumptuous dinner). I enjoy practicing for my future golden years.

I tried to convince myself for the zillionth time that I just had a stubborn flu. It was making me depressed and making me imagine things. Of course, now that it was daylight, last night's dark images seemed distant and more than slightly ridiculous. ClanFintan would be home tonight. Just thinking about being with him again made me feel better, or at least that's what I told myself. He'd been gone almost a month, and this world's lack of telephones and e-mail had really worn on me. We'd been married less than six months, but with him gone I felt strangely hollow, like a bell without a clacker. Which was a disconcerting feeling for someone who had changed worlds recently. Actually, it made me feel a little like I was trapped in one of the alternative-dimension
Star Trek
episodes (minus Kirk and whatever alien bimbo he would be boinking).

“Try this.” Alanna handed me a thick mug filled with fragrant tea. “It will settle your stomach.”

I sniffed at it hesitantly, waiting for it to turn rancid in my hands (kind of a twist on the Midas touch thing), but the soothing scent of herbs and honey thankfully stayed enticing. I sipped at the mixture and let it comfort my rebellious stomach.

“Thanks, girlfriend, I feel better already.” If I said it, it would be true…If I said it, it would be true…If—

“The maid said the sentries have spotted ClanFintan's warriors,” Alanna's chatter was comforting. “They should arrive soon. I knew they would be on time. Carolan said they
would return within the days that prelude Samhain—it is two days before and he will be here today.” Her voice was washed with the expectation of a newlywed.

I knew exactly how she felt. I let visions of my husband's strong, sexy torso drift through my mind as I soaked.

“Man, I've missed him.”

“As I have missed Carolan.”

We shared girlfriend smiles.

“Better hand me that sponge. I want to be sweet smelling and well dressed when they arrive.” Well, for a little while I wanted to be dressed.

I poured my favorite vanilla nut-scented soap from its delicate bottle, and started scrubbing with the thick sponge. Alanna began rummaging through one of my overfilled wardrobes.

“It'll be nice to see Victoria again, too.” I had missed the Lead Huntress the past couple months. Her nomadic duties caused her to travel almost constantly, and I was happy to hear (by way of centaur runner—a little like the Pony Express, only with the rider built in) that she had joined with my husband's band of warriors and would be returning with him. We had become close friends, and I was hoping that Epona's Temple would be a second home to her.

“Perhaps we will see Dougal smile again.” Alanna's eyes sparkled with mischief.

“He's smiled, you bad thing.”

“Is that what that expression was?” Her musical lilt intensified as she teased. “And here I was sure he must have caught part of your stomach upset.”

“Poor Dougal, between you and ClanFintan teasing him about his thing with Vic it's a wonder his face isn't permanently pink from blushing.”

“Which reminds me, what exactly do you think happened between the two of them?”

“Well, I thought it was just a crush he had on her, but before she left I noticed they were both absent from the temple quite a bit—at coincidentally the same time. Add that to his misery since she's been gone, and his pink face whenever Vic is mentioned, and I do believe we have a pair of lovers.”

Alanna giggled. “He really is a sweet blusher, isn't he?”

“Oh, look who's talking!” I splashed some water at her, which she neatly sidestepped.

“I do not blush.”

“You don't blush like I don't cuss.” We giggled at each other. “Toss me that towel, please.” I began drying myself vigorously, determined that tonight, surrounded by my friends and my husband, I would feel well again. “I'm glad ClanFintan had Dougal stay here and take charge of the construction of the new centaur quarters. It's kept him too busy to do much moping.” Dougal had lost a brother a few months earlier, and then the centaur he had apparently fallen for, Ms. Lead Huntress Victoria, had broken off their budding relationship and left him to go back to her old life. He was definitely a young centaur who desperately needed diversion.

“You know, Rhea, perhaps it is not a coincidence that Victoria just
happened
to meet up with our warriors. Perhaps she was looking for a reason to return here—” she raised her eyebrows suggestively (which made her look like a blond bunny) “—to Dougal.”

“I hope so.” I finished drying myself and ran my hands appreciatively over the shining length of fabric Alanna presented to me. “I think they make a great couple, and who cares that he's younger. Something tells me any centaur who Victoria loves is going to need to be young
and
highly athletic.”

We laughed in agreement. I wrapped the towel around myself and sank down onto the padded seat of my vanity chair, relaxing into Alanna's expert hands as she tried to tame my wild red hair.

“I seriously need a trim.” I mentally calculated…I'd been in this world for almost six months, and I hadn't had my thick curls trimmed for several weeks before I'd been yanked over here. Man, my hairdresser, Rick, would have an apoplectic attack if he could see me now. Rick always said, “Girlfriend, I don't know why you'd ever let a
woman
touch your hair. They're in competition with you, so they just
look
for hateful little ways to make y'all look like shit.
I
don't mind if you look
fabulous.
We're not, shall we say, dipping out of the same punch bowl.” You have to admit he had a point.

“Women do not cut their hair.”

I snorted, remembering ClanFintan saying something very much like that several months ago.

“Let me clue you in, my friend.” I spoke to her reflection in the mirror. “There's nothing wrong with a little snip-snip once in a while. I swear I've seen more split ends in the past six months than I have in the past decade. You'd think we were at a Pentecostal retreat.”

Alanna didn't say anything. She was becoming used to my out-of-this-world babblings. Apparently she enjoyed the excitement now that she trusted me not to bite her head off. And, yes, I mean that literally. I'm telling you, Rhiannon was not a nice girl.

I contemplated silently how I was going to go about mass hair trimmings while Alanna finished my hair and makeup. When I had first awakened in this new world, I had felt awkward about Alanna waiting on me. Because she is the mirror image of my best friend (in any world), Suzanna, it felt somehow, I don't know, blasphemous, to allow her to coif me, clothe me and coddle me. But I have come to the realization that I am Alanna's job. She's technically my slave, but that's ridiculous and I called bullshit on that as soon as she told me about it. So now I tell myself, and everyone else, that she's my personal assistant and I let her have her way with me.

Okay, I admit I like the attention.

And Suzanna always was great at everything that had to do with being a Lady. She had to be. She's Southern Mississippi born and raised, transplanted in adulthood to Oklahoma (which they don't consider a part of the True South). And being a Lady of the South must be some kind of crossdimensional-genetic-imprint, because Alanna definitely did Dixie proud.

Alanna squeezed my shoulder, signaling that she was done with my coiffure. I stood and held my arms out while she wound a shimmery piece of golden silk around my body until it hung in beautiful folds, accentuating my deep curves and long legs.

“Hold this while I find that new brooch.”

I held the slick material together at my left shoulder while Alanna dug through a pile of gold and sparkles that pooled on my vanity.

“Here is it…” She held a brooch out for my inspection. “Is it not exquisite?”

“Ohmygod, it's beautiful!” I breathed a long, sincerely jewelry-loving sigh.

It was a golden miniature replica of my husband—a plunging, centaur warrior—complete with a diamond-handled claymore, which he held before him in both hands, streaming hair (or mane, whichever way you wanted to look at it) and plenty of muscles (both horse and human). It looked so lifelike that for a moment I thought I felt it quiver. And in this world, you never know.

“Wow—” I peered down at the brooch as Alanna pinned it into place “—it even looks like him.”

“That is what I thought.” She turned and retrieved a new pair of hoop earrings that were encrusted with diamonds. “And I thought these would lighten your spirits, too.”

The earrings flashed with clear fire as they caught the reflection of the candles.

“I'll bet these weren't cheap.” I put them in my ears, loving their weight.

“Of course they were expensive. Only the—” we finished the familiar sentence together “—best for Epona's Chosen.”

Alanna handed me a thin golden coronet, decorated with an ancient piece of polished amber, and I slid it in place on my forehead. It rested comfortably there—like it had been made for me—like I had been born into this position and Chosen by a Goddess for special favors
(and responsibilities,
my mind reminded me). Little wonder I had grown to love this world. My husband was here; my friends were here; people depended upon and trusted me; and (incidentally), the position of Goddess Incarnate does carry with it a decidedly better salary than Oklahoma public-school teacher (well, let's face it, a burger-flipper has a better salary than an Oklahoma teacher, as I'm sure the real Rhiannon is finding out).

“You look lovely. Pale, but lovely.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I pulled a face at her.

Two firm knocks sounded against the bathing room door.

“Come on in!” I called.

The perky little Noreen nymphet rushed into the room.

“My Lady! The warriors have been sighted over the western ridge,” she gushed.

“Well, let's go welcome them!”

“Rhea, your wrap.” Alanna reminded me of the encroaching cold as she helped me into an ermine-lined cloak (no animal rights activists here). Then she wrapped herself in a similar cloak, and we were ready to roll. I felt my heart pound in expectation as the two women stood aside so that I could lead the way from the room.

A quick left turn took me through my private hallway,
which led to the main inner courtyard of Epona's Temple. One of my warriors opened the door, and the three of us spilled out into the crowded courtyard.

“Hail, Epona!”

“Blessings upon you, Lady Rhiannon!”

“Blessed be Epona's Chosen!”

I smiled and waved cheerfully at the throng of maidens and guards who made a path for me through the courtyard, out past the plunging-horse fountain that smoked with bubbling mineral water, to the smooth, ivory-colored marble wall that enclosed the temple. Outside the front entrance I was pleased to see a nice-size crowd of locals had gathered to welcome home the warriors.

Epona's Temple had been built on a plateau, and the raised entrance to the temple faced a westerly direction. I looked up from the crowd that spread before me and felt my already hammering heart leap in response to the magnificent sight. The setting sun had left the sky a watercolor of dramatic violets and pinks, which shaded to deep, sapphire blue near the horizon. Against that amazing backdrop came the warriors. Plunging over the western ridge the army moved as one, a liquid tide of strength tempered by grace. At first they were just darker shadows within shadow, bodies silhouetted by the setting sun, centaurs intermingled with humans on horseback. The closer they came the more individuals emerged. Beading on the centaurs' leather vests shimmered and glinted with the movement of their long strides. The bridles of the horses ridden by the human men winked brilliant shards of color as the fading evening light caught its reflection in well-adorned headdresses. They galloped in a tight formation, the banner of Partholon, a silver mare rearing against a regal purple background, snapped and curled above them.

As they came to the strategically cleared area that sur
rounded Epona's Temple, the army executed a neat flanking movement. Rippling like water, they separated into two neat columns that split to surround the group of joyously waiting spectators who cheered their maneuvers appreciatively.

Unexpectedly, I was reminded of my father's football practices. His team had become so successful that a crowd that outnumbered the total fans at most Friday night high school games consistently gathered to watch their practices. He had decided it would be good for morale to entertain his loyal fans, so he had his boys enter the practice field in intricate formations. The football players feinted and moved around each other like they were in a well-choreographed play.