Rose of the Mists (3 page)

“There!” the stranger cried triumphantly as he tossed a boot aside. The second came off more quickly, and then he stood once more. Meghan did not see him unfasten his leggings. It seemed to her that they merely fell away from him and then he stood as God had made him.

Never having learned modesty, Meghan studied him with open interest. His legs were long and shaped by supple muscle, but that was not what most attracted her. Nestled at the base of his belly in a shadowing of golden curls was the proof of his manhood. Whatever else he might be, he was a man.

As she gazed at him, Meghan felt a curious stirring inside her, not unlike the quickening of her body near its monthly cycle. The feeling surprised her, for she had never experienced it at the sight of a man before. But he was unlike any man she had ever seen. Perhaps the herdsmen were right; the pond was enchanted and the man was the work of magic.

Unable to understand but willing to feed the strange languor stealing over her, she traced the slope of his spine with her gaze, lingering on the tight swell of a buttock, on the contoured muscle of his thigh, and then rising again to blink in wonder at the pure gold of his hair. It made her feel as warm and happy as she had when she climbed to the top of the oak and turned her face to the morning sun.

A golden haze stole softly over the opposite bank, wrapping the man in a mantle of amber light. When it had drifted on, only the dog remained, standing tall, straight, and perfectly still.

Gasping in surprise that the man had suddenly disappeared from her view, Meghan forgot her fears and stood up. Then the water heaved about her and she realized that he had dived
into the pond. Not wanting to be found, she dropped down and began moving back into a denser region of the reeds, only to pause in fresh amazement as she heard the man’s voice. He was singing…in Gaelic!

There is a distant isle,

Around which sea horses glisten:

A fair course against the white-swelling surge
—

Four pillars uphold it….

Unknown to us wailing or treachery

In the familiar cultivated land,

There is nothing rough or harsh,

But sweet music striking on the ear.

…A beautiful game, most delightful,

They play sipping at the luxurious wine

Men and gentle women under a bush,

Without sin, without crime.*

*The Voyage of Bran,
eighth-century poem

Resisting the urge to continue to spy on him was futile. Drawn by his charming voice, she stretched out in the water and allowed herself to float back toward the break in the reeds. The water’s chill would have driven her out long before now, but there was no safe way to leave while the huge dog sniffed the air expectantly. What harm, then, she asked herself, could come from watching the man until he left?

He was floating on his back and Meghan was not surprised to see a smile upon his face. The urge to swim to his side was powerful. He seemed friendly, a kindred spirit in this place that she thought of as hers alone. Without conscious thought she slipped her knife back into its place. But a lifetime of caution kept her from joining him. If he saw the mark on her face it might frighten him away, or, worse, he might try to kill her as the herders had.

Even when he drifted across the pond, so close to her that she could see the pale light of his eyes, she did not move. Yet she drank in every bit of him. When two yards separated them he stood up in the shallows and began washing the blood from his injury, and she noticed that he was young. The blond stubble of beard on the strong angles of his jaw and chin pronounced him full grown, but he had only recently come of age, she guessed.

Fascinated, she watched as the breeze stirred rippling shivers across his broad back. She too shivered, and as her teeth began to chatter she wondered how long she would be trapped in the water. With relief she saw him dive back toward the center of the pond, heading for the opposite shore and his horse and dog.

Meghan clasped her hands tightly over her naked shoulders, but the cold pierced bone-deep and her shivering intensified. For a moment she entertained the impulse simply to leap from the water and run into the woods. The man could easily be evaded…but, alas, not the dog.

Her wary gaze moved to the bank, where the dog stood at the water’s edge waiting eagerly for his master. Panting, his open mouth revealed large sharp teeth, and his black eyes kept watch on the lake surface. A shudder of revulsion quaked through Meghan. The baying of hounds after her own blood was too fresh in her mind for her to admire the handsome animal. She would miss the man when he left but she would be glad when the beast was gone.

The dog was the first to realize that something was wrong. He moved out and began pawing the water, whining like a puppy. Following his lead, Meghan turned her attention back to the pond. Its surface was smooth again, with no sign of the stranger. Then she saw the faint bubbling near the center.

Though she could not see through the murky water, an inner vision revealed a man suspended beneath the surface, his body
bobbing and swaying like a puppet at the end of the reeds that gripped his wrists and ankles. Without hesitation she pulled her knife from her wrist, clamped it between her teeth, and dived toward that telltale sign.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky but its rays could not penetrate far into the marshy water. Still Meghan kept her eyes open as she propelled herself deeper into the muddy green underworld. She did not think of failure. It never entered her mind that she would not find him. She hoped only that she would be in time.

As she reached the tops of the long sinewy weeds she drew back instinctively. Their touch was like the licks of long wet tongues across her stomach and legs. This was what she had been taught to avoid.

Her hesitation lasted only a moment. The golden-haired stranger was down there; the writhing nest of snaky weeds had wrapped themselves about him and held him in a death grip. He had no weapon to free himself. She had to find him.

Although her skin shrank from the cold reedy fingers that reached out to her face and body, she plunged deeper into the forest of underwater growth, one hand stretched out in the darkness in search of her goal. When she felt a man’s shoulder under her palm, the solid hard warmth of his skin triggered a leap of joy within her. Already her lungs were aching. With a hard kick she forced herself deeper, reached blindly lower to grasp him under the arm, and then tugged. Only then did he respond. His arm came up and, incredibly, shoved her up and away. Caught unprepared, Meghan floated helplessly to the surface.

She broke the surface gasping for air, confused and amazed. Was he a madman? Or had he thought her some monster of the deep come to claim him as its meal? It did not matter. A flip and a kick sent her straight back down. This time she didn’t hesitate as the reeds grazed her. Without seeing, she knew where he was.

She found his head first, when the springy texture of his
hair moved through her searching fingers. Slipping behind him to stay out of his reach, she ran a hand down his back until she encountered his bonds. Both legs were caught in the leathery grip of the reeds. Small but sharp, her blade sliced through the wet tentacles that clung to him. He was no longer hostile, but he did not even try to free himself as she worked to release him. She hacked more frantically at the vines.

He must live! He must!

The thought became a chant in her mind. She could not bear another death on her conscience.

When finally he floated free, rising past her like a bubble, Meghan sheathed her knife, grasped him about the waist, and began to kick with all that was left of her strength. They rose slowly. It seemed an eternity to her until they reached the air. When his head broke the surface her gasps sank them again and again until she could control the heavings of her starved lungs; but not once did she release her burden.

“You’re safe! You’re safe!” she whispered against his cheek as she started for the shore, the stroke of her free arm carrying them.

In deep water she maneuvered him easily, but as they reached the shallows the man became an ungainly weight. Finally Meghan gave up swimming and began dragging him, one hand under each armpit, as she struggled for sure footing on the slick bottom.

Suddenly the water behind her erupted with splashing and barking. A moment later, Meghan was pushed flat as a great weight leaped onto her back. Hair streaming water cross her face, Meghan righted herself and came face to face with the stranger’s pet. The dog was even bigger than she remembered, nearly chest-high and baring teeth that could grind her bones, but she was too angry to be terrified.

“Get away, ye great beastie!” she roared in a furious tone and heaved an armful of water at the dog.

Without waiting for the animal’s reaction, she turned and
grabbed the man, whose head had slipped under the water. Pulling and tugging, she brought him to the bank, keeping her gaze averted from the animal who stood watching her. No doubt he waited to see if she meant his master harm.

When she reached the grassy bank, she lifted the man by his underarms and tried to drag him onto the land. He was heavier than she had thought and her efforts met with only partial success. Once his shoulders and chest cleared the water, she found she had no strength and lowered him onto his back. Squatting, she paused to draw several fresh breaths, knowing that he would not slip back in.

“No thanks to ye!” she muttered as the dog came hesitantly forth, his head lowered, and poked his nose beneath his master’s. After a brief inspection, he began to whine.

“He’s nae dead!” Meghan said sharply, and pushed away the dog’s muzzle as she bent over the man. He could not be dead; she would not have it so.

But a look at his face was not reassuring. He lay absolutely still, his face as translucent and pale as mother-of-pearl. Annoyed and frightened, Meghan gently shook his shoulder.

“Awake, man! Ye must nae be dead!”

She laid a hand on his chest, but she could not be certain that she felt anything more than the throb of her own pulse in her fingertips. She knew nothing of dead people, had never touched one. The small animals she and Una snared were different: their rapid heartbeats and quick breathing were easily detected. She shook him again.

“Open yer eyes, man! Dinna be dead!”

Once more the dog poked his muzzle against the man’s clammy cheek and licked it twice before lying down beside him. The man did not respond.

Terror awakened within Meghan. One man had died before her eyes this day. Now she had risked her life to save another. He could not be dead.

“Wake up! Wake up!” she cried in frustration as she fell on
him, pummeling his chest and stomach with her hard little fists. “Ye mustn’t be dead! Ye foolish, foolish man! Ye should nae have gone so deep! Great brute! Ye mustn’t be dead! Ye mustn’t!”

The dog, confused by the girl’s actions as she pounded his master and screamed abuse, barked and leaped excitedly upon her, knocking her flat.

Looking up into bared teeth, the dog’s paws on her chest, Meghan lay perfectly still while tears obscured her vision. If the man was dead, she no longer cared what happened.

The man’s cough startled both girl and dog.

Encouraged by the sound, the dog leaped away from her and to the man’s side.

When Meghan pulled herself upright she saw that his lungs and stomach were beginning to expel the pond water that had nearly drowned him. Quickly she moved to his side and turned him onto his stomach as the heavings continued. This she understood. She had nearly drowned once and had never forgotten the feeling. She knew that he would live if the water came out of him.

After his spasms stopped, she cradled the stranger’s head in her arms, holding him quietly as he lay insensible in her embrace.

The minutes passed slowly and soon her arms ached and her naked body quaked with the cold, but she was afraid to release him. By force of will she had pulled him back from death, and now, holding him, she believed she kept him safe. The dog lay a few feet away, his head on his paws but eyes ever watchful.

Slowly a little color came back into the man’s face, and the blue ring around his lips faded, leaving a faint trace of pink. Meghan watched eagerly for those signs of life, willing him to stay in the world with her. His closed eyes were deep set beneath golden brown brows, the jaw hard and square, and the nose bold and blunt tipped.

He was so beautiful, she thought as she slowly rocked him, more beautiful than any other being she had ever seen. And she was responsible for saving his life. Surely, then, she could not be the devil people claimed.

Shyly she stroked the bright hair turned dark by the water, and one damp curl entwined itself about her finger. Yet he did not move. Fear reawakened within her as she felt the clammy texture of his cheek. His skin was as cool as that of a fish. Anxious for reassurance, she bent over and rested her cheek against his.

“Dinna die,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth, and was rewarded with a feathery sigh of his breath against her lips. The touch sent a quiver of pleasure through her. Emboldened by his stillness, she cupped his cool cheek in her hand and turned his face until her lips lay lightly against his. “Dinna die,” she whispered again into his mouth, as if her words held the gift of life.