Divine by Mistake (5 page)

“How’d ya like that, girlfriend? Did I sound like The Mistress Here?”

“We are players in a dangerous game, my Lady.”

“Oh, come on, Suz. This is all a dream or something!”

“Please, my Lady—” she grabbed my hands and squeezed “—if you bear any love for your Suzanna, please listen and heed my words. More than just your own life rests upon your actions today.”

“Okay, okay, Suz. I’ll listen.”

“First, you must not call me by that name. You must only call me Alanna. You must meet with ClanFintan. Your betrothal period is over, it is time to enter into the formal handfast.”

Something about her eyes caused me to bite back my refusal. She really believed this. She was not pretending or kidding. She looked terrified.

“You know I will always help you, my girl—”

“Alanna! If you call me by name you must use that name. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Alanna.” Whatever was wrong I couldn’t fix it without more information, and Suz—oops—Alanna definitely needed fixing. “Okay, isn’t a handfast a temporary marriage?”

“Yes, my Lady. It is a marriage that is arranged for only one year.” She definitely wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why was Rhiannon only marrying him for one year?”

“That was the agreement.” She was suddenly oh so busy reaching for and then pouring something that smelled like honeysuckle into the water from one of the little bottles that sat on a marble ledge near the side of the pool. Yep, she was hiding something. Lots of something.

“So, how do you expect me to pull off a handfast with a man I have never met?”

“Lady Rhiannon has met him.” By the look on her face I was beginning to think that might not be a good thing. “I will present you and explain that you had an accident during the last Moon Ritual, and your voice has left you. I will speak for you.” Helping me from the warm pool she was totally businesslike, and I told myself that I would ignore the fact that she was matter-of-factly toweling me dry.

“Okay, but what about the…um…intimate details of this handfast thing? I don’t even know this guy—I’m certainly not going to consummate anything with him!” And if he turned out to be the mirror image of my ex-husband, I was outta there.

“Simply remember
you
are Lady Rhiannon, High Priestess and Beloved of Epona. The Lady Rhiannon is only touched when she allows it.”

“Even by the man she is handfasted to?”

“Yes, even him.” She sounded pretty confident. I must be a real bitch. Smile.

The gauzy bit of nothing that she had carried into the room had somehow found its way into Alanna’s hands. Man, it really was pretty. It was my color, a shimmery golden-red that seemed to move by itself.

“Please hold your arms out from your sides, my Lady.”

Doing as she asked, I was a captive audience, entranced as she wrapped the diaphanous material around my body. Reaching behind her with one hand, she rescued two lovely woven circles of gold from the vanity, and expertly pinned one at my waist and one at my shoulder, much like a Highland kilt would wrap and hang (except that I didn’t think kilts were semitransparent and silky, unless purchased from MacFrederick’s of MacHollywood). Stepping back, she surveyed her work, making alterations and tucks here and there. She always had been good at crafts.

“My God, it’s see-through!” And it was—not in a slutty, stand on the corner of Eleventh and Peoria Streets at midnight kind of way, but in a sultry Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra kind of way.

“Oh, forgive me for forgetting.” She lifted a small triangle of the same gauze from the vanity (I thought it was a hankie) and held it for me to step into. Seriously, it was a teeny thong. Gosh, I felt so much better, so much more “covered.” Jeesh.

“Please be seated, my Lady, and I will dress your hair.” Fine. I might as well have some part of me dressed.

Frowning over my damp locks, she began attempting to work a wide-toothed comb through them.

“Your hair is shorter than hers. The same, but shorter. I will arrange it up until it grows longer.” Seemed like she was talking to the hair, not me. Relaxing into her ministrations, I thought I’d enjoy my coiffure.

I don’t know about you, but having my hair brushed is a borderline sexual experience, secondary only to getting a really great foot rub. Yum. Only Alanna reaching for a piece of jewelry could snap me out of my hairbrush trance (proving that jewelry can combat apathy as well as accessorize).

She settled a thin gold band around my forehead, artistically arranging my swept-up hair to complement it. I turned my head from side to side to get a better look. The candlelight reflected off the polished gold and caught a diamond-shaped stone set in the center of the circle, making its facets flash. I leaned closer.

“Garnet?”

“Yes, my Lady. Your favorite stone.”

“
My
favorite stone?” My eyebrows crept up in suppressed amusement.

She actually smiled at me, almost like my Suzanna. “Well, Rhiannon’s favorite stone.”

“Mine is a diamond, but garnets are nice.” Smiling back at her felt good—almost normal.

“But, my Lady, you must remember you
are
Rhiannon.” Back to serious Alanna.

“Okay, not a problem.” She looked relieved and continued to pull tendrils of reddish curls out of the cool updo to frame my face and hang down my back.

“Now I will work on that face.” I guess a closer look at “that face” was pretty sobering, because she gave me the stubborn Suzanna look and went to work, stroking on creams and powders from beautiful glass jars scattered in disarray on the vanity.

“Uh, I don’t care what you do, but my one request is for lots of golden-brown lip color.”

“Exactly as Rhiannon would have chosen.”

“That’s pretty weird.”

“She said you would be of one soul.” She glanced nervously at me, only briefly meeting my eyes.

We needed to get this crap straight right now. For good.

“She lied.”

“Pardon, my Lady?” Alanna looked like she had just received an electrical shock.

“I said she lied, Alanna. I am not her—I am Shannon Parker, a high-school English teacher from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, who has been caught up in something even more bizarre than the World of the Teenage, which takes some damn doing. I’ll help you. But I know who I am, and I am not her.” My gaze never left hers. “Understand?”

“Yes, my Lady. But it is difficult.”

“No shit.” She smiled again.

“You have a very odd way of speaking.”

“So do you. It’s something like a cross between a Scottish burr and Deanna Troi’s Star Trek accent.” Now she looked really confused. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

She smiled again and returned to making me up. My eyes strayed around the unusual room. I felt relaxed and warm but not sleepy (guess a semi-death/coma experience replaces a good eight hours of sleep). My eyes kept being drawn back to the myriad candles set within the smooth, creamy walls. It was like my eyes
wanted
to look at them—a weird but not exactly unpleasant feeling.

“Those sconces are really unusual. They remind me of—
eeuew!
Are they skulls?”

“Yes, of course, my Lady.” She sounded surprised at my screech. “Skulls form an intricate part of your devotion to Epona.” Now she gave me a schoolmarmish look. “Surely, even in your world you understand that all things powerful and mystical come from the Fire in the Head, the Seat of Learning and Knowledge?” I swear she made a very Suzanna-ish hmmph noise when I didn’t respond. “You have always surrounded yourself with the power of the mind. It is only right.”

“But they’re skulls dipped in gold!”

“Of course, my Lady, the High Priestess and Beloved of Epona has only the best.” She sounded as if I had just tried to choose a Days Inn over the Hyatt.

Well, looks like I had finally found something I didn’t like in gold. Amazing.

“So, tell me something about my betrothed. What was his name?” She continued to work on my very tired-looking face, attempting a transformation from yuck to non-yuck.

“His name is ClanFintan. He is a powerful and well-respected High Shaman.” That was it. Hmm…good thing I’m not Hamlet, ’cause something sure stinks here in Denmark.

“So, uh, I’m in love with him?”

“No, my Lady.” She was looking nervous again. “It was a marriage arranged by your father.”

“Hey, I thought I was mistress here!”

“You are, my Lady, but sometimes the greater good of the people must overshadow the desires of the one.”

Who was she, Spock?

“Okay, admit it. I can take it. He’s hideous, isn’t he?”

“No, my Lady.” She actually looked like she was telling the truth. She was a good little actress when she wanted to be.

“Then what’s wrong with him?” Herpes? Balding? Tiny penis? Or worse—was he a tightwad?

“Nothing that I know of, my Lady.”

Okay, she wasn’t going to tell. Guess I’d have to find out for myself.

“Your toilette is complete.” She looped through my pierced ears two waterfalls of garnet beads and slid a golden garnet-encrusted armband up to encircle my bicep as I stood. “Beautiful, as always.” Did she sound smug?

She was right, though. For a woman who thought she was in hell just hours before, I was looking damn good if I did say so myself—scantly clad, but good.

“Showtime.”

“What shall I show you, my Lady?”

“Never mind. Let’s just get this over with—I’m starting to remember I haven’t eaten in days, or whatever.”

“Follow me, my Lady.” I followed—she chattered in a low conspirator’s voice. “Normally, you would, of course, lead the way. But today I will walk somewhat in front of you.” She observed my progress as I followed her out of the room. “Good, my Lady. You are recovering. Remember, the Lady Rhiannon never hurries unless she desires to get somewhere quickly. Walk slowly, languidly, as if you rule all you see.”

“Do I?” I teased.

“Of course.”

Huh! I do? Not the response I expected.

I rule all I see. So I gawked/looked around as I languidly made my way to meet some guy I didn’t know but to whom I was engaged. We were in a hall much like the one that led to the bath, only we were walking in the opposite direction from which we had come (I think). We kept moving forward. Alanna had straightened her spine. Actually, she was walking like she had something stuck way up her butt, so I did the same. We rounded a corner in the hall and ran into a huge set of double doors. They were carved with intricate looping designs, interweaving like Celtic circles. I blinked and could have sworn some of the circles looked like skulls (yeesh). But my attention didn’t stay with the carvings long, because decorating either side of the doors were two adorable men, scantly clad.

At my approach they snapped to very attractive attention, banging hateful-looking swords against their firm, muscular chests (God bless them). One jumped forward to open the doors for me (now,
that’s
what’s missing in America today—guys don’t think they have to open doors anymore). Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to give them the attention they so obviously deserved. Alanna was nudging me into a huge room.

High ceilings, carved pillars (I swear I saw more of those stupid skulls everywhere) and exquisite frescoes, complete with frolicking nymphs and…oh, jeesh…
me!
also scantily clad, astride a gorgeous white horse, very obviously leading the frolicking. (Does the weather never turn cold here?) In the middle of the room, on a clichéd raised dais, was a lovely gilded throne. A couple of the prerequisite nymphets were lounging on the dais steps, but at my entrance they leaped to their bare little feet and bowed their cute little heads.

I should have been nominated for some kind of Greco-Celtic Academy Award for Best Voluptuous Ascent to a Throne. God, it felt good to sit down.

Before the dead airtime grew, Alanna, who had situated herself directly to my right, jumped in with, “Inform Shaman ClanFintan that Lady Rhiannon will see him now.” One of the nymphets scampered out another enormous arched doorway, and I wondered briefly if the men guarding it were proportional.

My eyes met Alanna’s briefly and she gave me a tight smile of encouragement. I dropped one eyelid in a quick wink as the doors reopened and the nymphet returned in a cloud of transparent wisp masquerading as clothing.

“He comes, my Lady.” She seemed flushed and excited (maybe he really wasn’t hideous) as she melted her way back to the dais steps. With all that skin showing she probably couldn’t help being high-strung.

Everyone was looking expectantly at the arched doorway. I noticed a distinctive sound beginning to roll from the open doors, building as it came closer. It reminded me of…hmm…of…I know! Horses! My betrothed was riding a horse into my throne-room-chamber-place? Okay, I realize Epona was some kind of horse goddess, but he and I were going to have a talk about proper palace etiquette. Soon. I mean, as my grandma would have said, that certainly couldn’t be mannerly behavior.

The hoof sounds were now quite loud. There must be several of them. Oafs!

That’s it. He was probably the mirror image of an Oklahoma bubba. I could see it now, he would want to call me his sweet thang and slap me on the butt.

I could see my door guards (yes, they
did
appear proportional) snap crisp sword salutes as the horses reached the doorway and entered the ro—

And the breath caught in my throat. Just like in the movies. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I had to struggle not to make the Universal Choking Sign as I swallowed my heart.

Two abreast they entered the chamber. I quickly counted—amazed I could still think well enough to count—ten of them.

“Centaurs.” My voice, already strained from whispering too much, barely squeaked the word, but Alanna’s expression said she heard me. So I closed my mouth (which was flopping open like a wind sock) and shut up. No, Toto, we were damn sure not in Kansas anymore.

The two lead centaurs kept coming toward the dais, while the other eight spread out in a neat flanking motion. As the leaders got close to the steps, one of them stayed a little behind, while the other approached the stairs and made a graceful, sweeping flourish with his arm.