The Fox (25 page)

I woke with the bitter taste of the infusion in my mouth. I had not had dreams of the man I knew and feared but instead, I had a vision of a future I did not want to know.

Rhona sat near me, touching my shoulder as I sat up, the dawn’s light just reaching the village.

“Your face twisted with a dream,” Rhona said. “I am sorry. I thought you would not dream of the man who haunts you.”

I could not tell her that I dreamed of her son’s death.

“Rhona, do you know where Beathan’s tomb is?”

It was still dark as I wrapped my cape around me and picked up the bowl.

“Yes, I have visited there. He was a man I respected in life and in death.”

“Will you take me if we both ride my pony? I am ready to go now. I do not want to wait for Finlay and Kenric. They will come later.”

We rode a trail that was steep at times, but my pony never faltered. I was seated behind Rhona. We spoke no words; we communicated by touch. The sun rose hot on our backs, and we stopped at a creek to wash and drink. We would eat after the gifting. Bracken and blooming heather surrounded the trail. Crossing a moor, I could see the hills that were the feet of the stark mountains behind them. The hillside where Beathan’s body lay buried was a mountain foot. Covered in creeping juniper and blue harebells, color filled the spaces between the quartz-filled granite rocks and boulders strewn about the ground. The clean smell of recent rain was in the air.

Rhona sat holding the pony while I slowly climbed to the entrance of the tomb. The side of the hill was steep and covered in loose shale. I carried the bowl, a small piece of peat, a coal from last night’s fire and a live pigeon Rhona had given me. I finally came to the ledge in front of the entrance of Beathan’s tomb. I stood, caught my breath, and leaned on a large boulder that had been rolled to block its entry. I could not get in but that was not important. I would leave the gift outside the entrance. Beathan could see it from the Other World.

I dug a hole using my hands and small sword. As I lifted the bowl to the sky, it caught sparks of sunlight and reflected the color of Beathan’s hair. He was watching. His hand was warm on my shoulder.

“Beathan. A gift to you for the gift of my life. You exchanged your life for mine. I honor you and say you will be in my heart forever. We sing songs about your bravery and drink toasts made in your name.” The last tears I cried for Beathan fell as I continued. “I offer this bowl to bring you happiness. May you drink mead from it. May you dip honey from it. Watch over us, your clan and the clan of your wife. I feel unrest is coming and we will require the help of the gods. Please make them aware of my request,” I called, remembering my dream.

I tucked the bowl, wrapped in my cape, and the soft leather snuggly into the hole, covered it with dirt, and rolled a large stone over it. The entrance looked undisturbed.

After gathering small twigs, I retrieved the live coal from the moss it was nestled in and blew on it until it and the twigs caught fire. The peat began to smolder. I laid hemp on top, and the smoke began to writhe around me. I unwrapped the pigeon and held it securely in my left hand. I lifted my dirk to the sky and called to Andraste and Caswallawn, the Goddess and God of war.

“Hear me, O God and Goddess. If we must fight, make us victorious. Help us defeat our enemies. Help those who die in battle cross the river easily.” My dirk found its way to the pigeon’s heart and blood began to drain from its body, covering my uplifted arms. The smell of the blood, the mixture of the sweet hemp and acrid peat smoke carried me to a passage dream.

I looked through Aine’s eyes at Beathan’s open tomb. To be able to see it through her and know our life story continued was a blessing from Morrigna. Beathan would be remembered as a warrior and chieftain. Tears came to my eyes with this understanding.

I willed her to find my bowl. I took her to the stone and watched as she lifted the bowl from under it. She saw the oak tree I had engraved. She held the bowl I made up to the sun. It reflected the color of Beathan’s hair. I knew then she would help keep Beathan’s memory alive. My heart filled with peace. I paid my debt to him, and Beathan was a fair man and would forgive me my guilt. Now, I could forgive myself.

“Jahna. Jahna, are you well? We awoke before daybreak and found you gone already.” Finlay and Kenric knelt next to me on the ledge and spoke at the same time. Logan was slipping his way up the hillside. My fire was out, and the pigeon blood dry on my arms. My passage dream was gone.

“Yes, I am well. I pleased Beathan.” I smiled at them both. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. We can go home now.”

Logan clambered up to the ledge just then and touched the stone covering his grandfather’s grave. He turned, grinning at his accomplishment and was ready to go down, just as fast. His quick slide down was followed by our evenly measured footsteps. We spent another night with Rhona’s clan and continued on our way the next morning before daylight.

Arriving at our trail, I looked up at the gate of our hill fort. There stood a sentinel waiting for us. The sun was in my eyes and I could only see that he stood like a warrior, tall and straight. The hot summer breeze wore the smell of crushed acorns and bees. My heart lurched in my chest. I gasped–I knew who the man was.

I could not go up the hill. I slid off my pony’s back. Kenric leaned over and scooped my pony’s reins and Logan. He and Finlay rode on. They stopped at the top of the hill for a moment. The tall man and Finlay exchanged words. Kenric nodded to him.

Mouth dry and moist hands, I waited. Lovern turned and walked to our home. I followed, limping up the hill with trembling legs.

I had forgiven myself for Beathan’s death, but could Lovern forgive me?.

C
HAPTER
14

AINE

May, 2005

I jerked awake, knowing I would have to fight my way out of here. I’d behaved and was a good patient for a week, but I’d decided to rebel and was itching to go. Marc had been restricting my movements but no more; I was vacating this inn today.

George had received a grant for us several days ago. It was enough for us to stay for the rest of the summer. Things were changing at the site, and I wanted to see it. I’d been cooped up here too long.

My room was littered with clothes; jeans and button up shirts were strewn across the floor and bed, all too hard to put on. I finally surrendered and, with great trouble, pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I couldn’t even get a bra on. It hurt too much to twist and reach behind yet.

Marc walked in just as I finished dressing, carrying a cup of steaming coffee.

“Aine. What are you doing?” His forehead creased with concern, his tone gentle, yet impatient. “You’re not supposed to be going anywhere. The doctor told you to rest. I think you should be inside at least a few more days.”

“Yeah, Marc, I know. But I have to go to the job site. I want to see it. It seems like weeks that I’ve been away. That coffee smells delicious. Can I have a sip?” I took the hot cup from his outstretched hand and sniffed the adrenaline-starting steam. “Mmmm. How can someone who doesn’t drink coffee make it so perfect?”

“Well,” said Marc, “you aren’t a coffee gourmet and she makes it strong, just like you want it. If you stay here one more day, I’ll have her make you coffee all day long.”

“No, even that isn’t enough to keep me here. If you make me stay, I’ll tunnel out. I really want to see what you all have done to my dig.”

He compromised. “Ah well, okay. But promise me, if you feel the least bit tired you’ll let us bring you back.”

I endeavored to finish dressing but couldn’t lift my arm over my head without pain. I tried to hide my grimacing face in the sweatshirt. I didn’t want him to see how much it still hurt to move. “Oh, damn it. Marc, can you help me, please?” I sighed and stopped struggling. “I’ll be careful. It’s been seven days, and I can’t stand the inside of this room or any room in the inn anymore. I promise not to do anything strenuous,” I said, sweatshirt piled in my lap.

“I hope not, even your feet were bruised. I don’t know how, the cave-in didn’t bury them. It must have happened when we pulled you out. You were complaining about them the first night in hospital so I slipped the sheet off and saw that they were bruised. Then I saw your toes. You know the super long second toe? I remembered teasing you about that when we were at university.”

I looked down at my bare feet and waved my toes in the air for him to see. “Yep. The MacRea toe. Pretty neat, huh? It’s in the family genes. Or should I say on our feet?”

Marc grabbed my sweatshirt and lifted it so I could get my hand inside. It slid on and I gently eased it over my sore shoulder.

“Thanks. Finally, real clothes. I’m surprised they still fit. Mrs. Dingleberry must think that to feed is to heal. I’ve probably gained 5 pounds.” I could see Marc’s keen, blue eyes peruse my body. Chills ran up and down my back and other places. I had to concentrate on getting outside, or we wouldn’t be going anywhere, even if I were still sore. My body wanted him and a debate was going on in my mind.

“Nope, I don’t see anything that shouldn’t be there. You look just as tempting as before,” he said as he kissed me gently on the tip of my nose and then my ear. I closed my eyes and wished he would continue, but after taking a deep breath my resolve strengthened.

I slipped on my loafers and ushered Marc to the door. “Have the results from the urn come back yet from Glasgow?” I gingerly followed Marc down the short hall.

George had called Jim Cowley, an osteoarchaeologist and friend, when he realized I was going to be okay. He paid for a helicopter to pick up the bronze bowl and what we hoped were human remains while I was in the hospital in Fort William. They were flown to the Scottish Universities Research & Reactor Centre in Glasgow for Jim to analyze.

“No. We put in a rush order. The lab’s been running some recalibrating tests. They haven’t started any new work and won’t for the next week. I called yesterday. Jimmy told me the remains would be tested as soon as they’re done.”

“A week? Another week? Oh, bloody hell. I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait that long. God,” I said, shaking my head, “am I glad I wrote down my impressions after the awake dream I had when we were together. I reread them yesterday. I had forgotten so many details since the accident.”

“That shouldn’t be a surprise, Aine. Your injury was deadly serious.” Marc stopped on the landing of the narrow staircase and turned to me. “I would have been just sick if you had been critically injured, or worse, Aine. You have to promise me to be more careful. I don’t ever want to feel so helpless again.”

I slipped my arms through his and hugged as well as I could with the still-bruised ribs. “I know, Marc. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to put you in that position again. I like having you here. This week would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been here to play Gin Rummy with me and tuck me in.” I pecked his cheek with a kiss.

“You know, I’m glad you talked me into staying. And I’m glad you found the bowl, even if you say you had help from a ghost. I’m happy to be here, with you.”

My heart raced at his comments. He was happy to be here with me. But bringing up Jahna, even in that teasing mode, gave me chills. She was waiting for me and getting impatient. That was one reason I had to go today. She had something else for me to see.