Divine by Mistake (10 page)

“And the warriors, my Lady, human and centaur alike, will look to you.” Alanna’s worried voice interrupted ClanFintan. “You are Goddess Incarnate of the warriors, too. It will be a hard blow when they realize The MacCallan is dead. If the Beloved of Epona is in danger, it would severely damage the spirits of the warriors.”

Wonderful. I was in charge of the esprit de corps and I wasn’t even Marilyn Monroe. Somehow it didn’t seem fair.

“Think of what it would do to your people if you were injured or captured.” ClanFintan took my hand.

His hand was warm. His grip was firm.

God, he was a big guy/horse. He’d be hell on a football field.

Dad would really like him. The thought almost made me smile.

“Listen to him, my Lady. What if the Fomorians are still at MacCallan Castle? Your father would not want you to put yourself in danger, not even for him.”

“But I can’t just leave him out there.” I felt tears forming in my eyes again as my frustration overwhelmed me.

“Lady Rhiannon…” ClanFintan’s deep voice penetrated my swirling emotions. “Ask yourself what The MacCallan would have you do.”

I shut my eyes. Of course Dad wouldn’t want me to get hurt. If only it were that simple.

My mind could tell me that the man I watched die was not really my dad. He was not Richard Parker, high-school biology teacher in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, football coach, horse trainer, amateur artist (he liked to work with charcoal sketches of animals—which now seems vaguely ironic), excellent cook and a darn handy plumber. He was my dad.

No, not just my dad. My favorite man in the world. Yes,
my
world, and I knew rationally that my old world was not this one. But my heart said something else. It said that it somehow didn’t matter. He looked like Dad. He sounded like Dad. And, no matter how bizarre and screwed up things had become since I’d awakened in this weird world, Rhiannon loved this man, too.

She might be a bitch. She was definitely a slut. She wasn’t even a very good person. But she, too, was a Daddy’s Girl. She loved her dad. Before now I hadn’t thought too much about home. I’d been a little busy. But if something happened to my dad, I knew, somehow I just knew, no matter how crazy her new world seemed to her, Rhiannon wouldn’t desert him.

And I wouldn’t desert her dad, either. I felt the responsibility of a devoted daughter. I couldn’t escape it and I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t want to even if I could.

But Alanna and ClanFintan wouldn’t understand.

I opened my eyes. Seeing clearly—finally.

“What you’re saying makes sense.” I gave them my best accommodating smile.

They relaxed.

And I pretended dizziness. “Oh, I’m so tired. Is it morning yet?”

They looked concerned, and I felt a momentary twinge of guilt. Alanna answered first, but ClanFintan squeezed my hand, looking worried.

“My Lady, it is not yet daylight.”

“Rest, Rhiannon, I will see to sending the warriors to begin bringing the villagers to the temple.” His free hand touched my cheek in a brief caress. He really was cute, in a horsey way.

“I’m just so tired.” I played Lana Turner, falling back on my pillows, my free hand touching my forehead. The other one still clutched at ClanFintan’s. (Well, it felt good!)

“Rest, my Lady.” Alanna was clucking and arranging pillows.

“I will see to the warriors.” ClanFintan bowed over my hand and turned it, palm up. My eyes shot open, and for a second I was scared he was going to bite me again. Instead, his gaze caught mine and held it while he kissed the middle of my palm. I mean really kissed it. Man, his lips were warm.

Yep—it felt good, too. I’m telling you—Dad would like this guy. Dad always liked a guy who could keep me on my toes.

Then he dropped my hand and moved quickly toward the door. I could hear him yelling orders for his centaurs to be awakened and sent to him, then the door closed and I was left with the lingering warmth of his lips on my palm.

Alanna was still plumping my pillows and looking worried, kind of like a sweet little mother hen.

“Are you well, my Lady?”

“Yes, Alanna, thank you. I think I just need to rest for a while. So much has happened.” I snuggled down into my comfortable bed. “You need to get some sleep, too. I’ll be okay, go ahead and rest.”

She gave me a doubtful look. “Can I not get you some warm mulled wine, or perhaps brush your hair until you sleep?”

Damn, she sure knew what I liked.

“No, honey. Thank you, though. I just need some sleep.”

“Then I will leave you to your rest.” She brushed the hair back from my forehead in a familiar gesture, and just before my eyes closed I felt her lips touch my forehead as she whispered, “Good night, Shannon.”

As she turned to leave I couldn’t help but ask the question that kept popping into my mind. “Alanna, did Rhiannon ever mention how she was going to get back here—and get me back there?” My eyes were still shut, but I could hear her feet stop, and I knew she had turned to look at me.

“She said it was not possible to return. It is only possible to pass through The Divide once and live.” Her voice sounded sad. “I am sorry, Shannon. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” I wondered if she could hear my heartbeat all the way over there. Never go back home? I kept my eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly I understood Scarlett O’Hara. I couldn’t think about this today. I’d think about it tomorrow.

I heard Alanna’s footsteps fade away, and my eyes peeked open at the soft sound of the door closing. Then I sat up and downed the rest of the tea (caffeine is good for the soul). I had places to go and people to…well…inter. And this “stay safe and be good” crap might be okay for Ms. Rhiannon, but I’m a different kind of girl.

And my dad was not going to be abandoned.

Damn, I wish I had my Mustang. Mobility is the modern woman’s emancipation. Who can keep a woman down when she can jump her ass into a car and drive to a different town/state/man/job?

I tried to figure out how to get myself to a castle somewhere northwest of here. In the middle of the night. With some kind of vampire-looking monsters loose upon a bizarre world. Without a car. Well, to be fair, no one here had a car.

So, with my theme song—“I Am Woman”—playing over and over in my mind, I tried to fend off a nervous breakdown. Okay, when in doubt, fix your wardrobe. First order of business—change these clothes. There was no way I could travel in pieces of filmy silk. And even here it must get cool at night. I’d catch my death dressed (or rather, undressed) as I was. Plus, if I couldn’t have my Mustang—I could feel the big lightbulb clicking on in my mind again—the next best thing was, well, a
real
mustang. Alanna said my dream was truth. So that gorgeous silver mare must really belong to me. Bet she wouldn’t mind a midnight ride. And this outfit was absolutely not made for horseback riding. (Ouch.)

Looking around my spacious room, I noticed several carved wardrobes, like giant armoires. A little snooping yielded not just clothes but
lots
of clothes. No kidding, I felt like I was Barbie. Not just plain Barbie, but Prom Barbie, Summer Barbie, Cocktail Entertaining Barbie, Dating a Doctor/Lawyer/Corporate Executive Barbie…on and on. Rhiannon seriously had a lot of clothes, something I in no way held against her.

Trying not to get sidetracked (or hypnotized; I could see we had something else besides love for our dads in common), I covetously ratted through yards and yards of clothes until I finally stumbled upon what must be the Sportswear Armoire. It was filled to bursting with soft leather leggings and tops. All the pants were one style, the same buttery-yellow color, each with its own intricately tooled decorations. I recognized a very Celtic-looking knot woven down the sides of many of them. And I swear I could see more of those gross skulls hidden in the decorative leatherwork. They all had narrow legs, and weird ties that laced up high on the left hip (I guessed they were clueless about zippers in this world). I eyed them askance, hoping I hadn’t put on any water weight lately. Deciding on one pair that seemed to have the least skull-like pattern, I started to pull them on, and couldn’t help but gasp at the supple smoothness of the leather. They felt as if someone had fastened a baby’s butt onto my legs. They didn’t just fit, they molded their softness to my ass and thighs. Yep. Rhiannon was one spoiled girl.

She’d have a surprise coming when she checked out the price of clothes in my world, and the finite state of my closet.

I unwound myself from my silky top and grabbed one of the matching pieces of leather. This, too, laced up the back (which I had one hell of a time tying—I could see why I needed Alanna to help me dress). But I wasn’t about to wake her and answer a gazillion questions, so I struggled all by myself (all the while maniacally humming “I Am Woman”…) and finally had the top tied securely. Actually, I was pleased to notice that besides being flattering, the outfit was obviously built for riding. The clothes moved with my body, yet they afforded support that Victoria’s Secret would be proud of. (Let’s be totally serious here, I’m thirty-five—my generous C-cup “girls” are old, and gravity is an evil thing. Know what I mean?) So I was pleased to note that I was wearing the Celtic equivalent of a sports bra. I could probably climb trees or slay dragons (I briefly but fervently hoped
that
wouldn’t be necessary) in it.

Rummaging around in the bottom of the armoire, I found several pairs of very, very cool boots. They were made of the same buttery-colored leather, supple and pliant. They had thick soles, kind of like moccasins. As I grabbed a pair I noticed something on the sole and was delighted to see that into the bottom of each boot was carved a thick, five-sided star.

I would leave footprints of stars everywhere I walked. Barbie doesn’t even do that.

Well, I was all dressed, but—

Remembering back to my dream vision, I could still envision the temple from above. If my iffy sense of direction was correct, the temple faced the west. The mountain range was to the north, spreading as far as I could see to the east and west. On the west edge it met the sea. Further down the coast was Dad’s castle. I clearly remembered there was a wide river that wrapped behind the temple, and from there stretched roughly to the west. The northwest end of the river ended (or began, whatever) at the sea. All I had to do was follow the river away from the temple to the sea, and then turn right. I would eventually come to Dad’s castle.

At least that was the theory.

I knew the stable was attached to the northern part of the temple, and that was where I would find the mare.

But how the hell did I find the area of the temple that held the stables? It wasn’t like I could just wander around, unnoticed, until I stumbled into horse poopie. I had lifted up out of this ceiling. But I had no idea where I was located in the castle.

Great.

Then I got an idea. Remembering the adorable door decorations I had ogled earlier, I suddenly thought of one of my favorite mottoes: when in doubt, sucker a guy into helping you out.

I patted my hair, which was really staying in place for a change (thanks to Alanna’s expertise), and gulped the rest of my tea. Then I proceeded to the door—the one I was sure led to the hall, as opposed to Alanna’s or ClanFintan’s room. I opened it quickly and surprised “the boys.”

Yes, Lord, they were yummy.

Flat tummies. Bare chests. Strong chins. Tiny little coverings, and…(staying in character of Rhiannon the Slut I couldn’t help but sneak a peek) large packages. And I’m not talking UPS.

They banged their muscley chests in some kind of adorable salute. I drew myself up to as haughty an attitude as I’m capable (while trying not to drool), and looked the taller of the two in the eye.

“I would like to ride my horse.”

He blinked.

“Now.”

He blinked again. Why do I always assume tall guys are smarter? (Note to self: tall guys are not smarter, they’re just more attractive.)

“Well, inform the stable…um…servants that they need to saddle her for me.” Nice save, but I knew I was reaching. (God, I hoped Rhiannon rode with some kind of a saddle.) I took a big breath and tried to act all sure of myself and bitchy—which, for some annoying reason, was suddenly more difficult than usual.

“Mistress, shall I have your escort awakened?” Mr. Muscles still looked confused.

“No!” I realized my voice sounded shrill and I got it under control. “I want privacy. Do
not
wake up any of my guards. Just have the stable servants saddle her for me.”

“As you command, my Lady.”

And I was right on his heels as he turned and headed for what had to be the exit to the stables. I did see him turn his head once, and caught his startled glance as he noticed me right behind him, but I figured he must be used to Rhiannon acting like a raving bitch—this was probably small potatoes compared to her screwing everyone in sight and God knows what else.

The cute guard led me down a corridor that wound in the opposite direction of the one that led me to my handfast and feast. After a short walk we came to a set of carved double doors. Mr. Muscles spoke to the guards standing before the doors, and they hustled them open before rushing off to wake the stable hands. I entered the stable and my little Oklahoma horse-girl heart went all a-pitter-patter.

It was a stable fit for a queen. Or better. The stalls were carved out of the same milky-colored marble from which the temple and its surrounding wall were made. They stretched down a wide hall on either side of me. There were probably twenty spacious stalls on either side, and as I walked down the hall I couldn’t help pausing at each stall and cooing to the beautiful horses they held. They were the breeding stock of royalty. All mares, they ranged from dainty bays with an Arabian look, to long-legged sorrel Thoroughbreds. As I made my way down the hall, I was touched by how each mare seemed to recognize me. At each stall the enclosed mare would raise her soft muzzle and blow in my direction, looking forward to my caress and my whispered flattery.

“Hey there, beautiful girl.”

“Hi, sweet thing.”

“Look at you, what a pretty lady.”

The mares whickered back at me, vying for attention. It was familiar horsey talk to a girl raised around horses. Each mare’s head reached out over the half door of her stall, waiting for my touch. Whatever else Rhiannon was, she certainly loved her horses. And they certainly reciprocated the feeling. Add another to the column of ways Shannon IS similar to Rhiannon. (I’d try to make sure that column didn’t get too large.)

As I came to the end of the row of stalls, the chamber turned to my left, then widened into a gigantic stall attached to a private corral outside the stable. I recognized it as being the one my spirit body had visited earlier. Inside the spacious stall (which somehow reminded me of Rhiannon’s bedroom—as strange as that may sound) three lovely (but sleepy and rumpled-looking) nymphs were readying the silver mare for me. I entered the stall and the nymphs paused long enough to curtsy to me, then returned to grooming the mare.

I stopped and breathed a sigh of happiness at the sight of such an exquisite horse. She really was magnificent, even more exceptional than she had appeared in my dream. She noticed my presence and I was delighted to see her twist her perfect head around so that she could see me. She telegraphed her greeting in a wonderful, full-throated neigh that made me laugh out loud with joy.

“Well, hello to you, too, gorgeous!” I moved eagerly toward her, taking a currycomb from one of the servants and enjoying the feel of her sleek coat under the soft brush.

I love grooming horses. I always have. Too many horse owners think that grooming a horse or mucking a stall is mundane. They despise the ordinary tasks of caring for their animals. I never have. From the time I was a little girl, I have adored the smell of the stables and the feel of cleaning my horse’s coat and stall. It’s a labor of love. It’s like lying in the sun—or weeding roses—soul- and mind-clearing work. Good for what ails ya.

The silver mare nuzzled my face and lipped my shoulder as I combed her already perfectly groomed neck.

“You are a sweet, beautiful lady.” I clucked and cooed at her, feeling like I was a girl again, soaking in her scent and the feel of her warm breath.

Her head swung obediently forward when one of the servants approached with a dainty-looking hackamore (you gotta figure this mare wouldn’t need a bit). I stepped out of the way as two more servants lifted onto her back a saddle blanket that looked like a 1970s sheepskin bucket-seat cover with stirrups and a girth.

The servant tightened the girth and stepped back. Then they all stood there. Just looking at me.

I looked at those high stirrups. And the tall mare. And considered my thirty-five-year-old body.

Great. Now I have to pretend to be Ms. Athletic.

Wait—no, all I have to pretend to be is Ms. Bitch. And some people would say that was not much of a pretense.

“Well, someone help me mount!” Damn, I sounded hateful. Smile. Without hesitating, I strode forward (relishing a true John Wayne moment), grabbed a fistful of silver mane and lifted my foot (hoping a nymph would catch it and give me a boost up). Thank God one did, and I scrambled aboard, sticking my other foot in the empty stirrup and squaring my shoulders.

But now I didn’t know which way was out.

“Well, open the gate for me!” I seemed to be catching on to this pretend-to-be-a-bitch stuff pretty easily.

One of the nymphs scampered toward a door at the far side of the mare’s stall, and another nymph scrambled to open a seamless exit in the outer wall of the temple. I clucked twice with my tongue on the side of my teeth (in what I hoped was the universal horse noise for giddyup) and the wonderful mare moved forward. Just before I went through the last opened door, I pulled her to a halt and spoke over my shoulder to the servants.

“Thank you. You may go back to your beds now. Sleep late, I will care for the mare myself when I return.” I squeezed my thighs against the soft saddle blanket and leaned forward. The mare broke into a rolling canter.

We were out of the castle and on our way. The moon was still high and bright, so visibility was pretty darn good. I pulled the mare up so that I could look around and attempt to figure out just where the hell I was, and then I would theoretically know where the hell I should be going. The first thing I noticed was that the temple had been built strategically on the top of a hilly rise, and the grounds around it, although lush and green, were clear of trees. The temple itself was a huge circle, stately and rich-looking with marbled columns and a rushing fountain situated square in the foreground (some kind of giant horse rising from a fake ocean with what looked like hot mineral water spewing from several orifices—very Trevi Fountain–like).

I tried to look at the building with a soldier’s eye, and I could see what ClanFintan had meant by it being built for defense. The biggest clue to that was the huge wall that encircled it. The wall looked thick and impenetrable, and the top of it had the stereotypical toothlike balustrades, complete with a battlement that would be a great place to situate archers (or sunbathers, whichever the current conditions of war or not-war called for). And the wall wasn’t just solid, I noticed with a start of surprise, it was beautiful. It looked as if it had been built of one solid slab of enormous cream-colored marble. In the moonlight it gave off an otherworldly glow. I realized that if you took away the outer wall, the temple itself would have reminded me of the Pantheon in Rome, only the top didn’t have a hole in it.

The reflection of the moon on water drew my attention to the river, which looped around and behind the temple—not so close it would flood, but close enough that barges could dock nearby. It was a convenient setup. If it weren’t for those horrible flesh-eating man-creature things, this would be a very nice place to live.