The Stag Lord (35 page)

“Downstairs, being smothered with attention.” She picked up a glass of
sláinte
nettle she had placed there earlier and plunked in a bendable drinking straw. She held it to Bann's lips while he drank a few sips. “How's the pain? Do you want something stronger? I have valerian if you need it.”

“Bearable, so no.” He paused, then continued. “Shay, I must tell you—”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I overheard you and Cor talking.”

“I see.”

Weary beyond death of pretending her heart wasn't drying into a lump of dead tissue, Shay changed the subject. “You did it. You killed that son of a bitch.”

Bann snorted, then winced. “It was Cor. And Max.” He stared into the distance, eyelids beginning to droop again. “For the last year, Cor and I have only thought about surviving day to day. It seems unreal to be able to think about a future.”

I wish that future could have included me
, Shay thought.

32

“L
ASS?
”

Shay blinked awake at her uncle's voice. Feeling every hour she had spent in the chair next to Bann's bed, she straightened with a groan and glanced around.

Hugh squatted next to her. In the dawn's light, she could just make out the tender expression on his face. The smell of wet earth clung to him. “'Tis time.” As she rose, he added. “Now, are you sure this is where you want him buried?”

“I am.” The same numbness that had invaded her when she found out Bann was leaving was back.
Good thing. Because saying good-bye to
—She shied away from the rest of the thought. “It's where he fell in battle. And, like I told Cor, Max was as much a Knight of the Tuatha Dé Danaan as any of us.”

“Aye, that he was. We're all assembled. When you're ready, come join us.”

“What about Cor?”

“He's downstairs already.”

As Hugh headed down the hall, Shay did a quick check on Bann, then swung by her room and grabbed a winter jacket. Steeling herself for the coming ordeal, she squared her shoulders as she walked downstairs and joined her family in the kitchen.

They were waiting by the back door, bundled against the cold. Ann carried Max's empty food and water bowls. Off to one side, Cor stood with his hands jammed in the pockets of the jacket Ann had given him. The misery on his face peeled off another piece of Shay's heart. Without a word, she held out a hand to him.

Keeping his hands in his jacket, he shook his head, shoulders hunched. Shay ignored the hurt that simple act caused her. It was healed somewhat when he fell in beside her as they followed the others across the yard, through the back gate, and into the woods. Snow crunched under their feet. An occasional snap, when a boot trod on a fallen branch, broke the silence of the dawn. To the east, the last of the storm clouds were slipping off the rim of the earth, backlit by the rising sun.

Reaching a mound of fresh earth piled next to a hole, they stopped and arrayed themselves around it. Next to the grave, a form lay under an emerald-green cloth; the symbol of Knighthood, the Celtic knot, was embroidered in gold thread in the center of it. Shay blinked back tears when she saw the burial cloth. Crouching down, she laid a hand on the covered head for a moment, then rose and stepped back. Without a word, James and Rory lifted Max, still wrapped in the shroud, and laid him in the grave.

Ann stepped forward. She knelt down, then leaned into the grave, placing his bowls next to his head. She pulled out a small bottle of water and a handful of doggy treats and filled both bowls. “To sustain you on your long journey to the Otherworld,” she murmured as she rose.

Rory followed. He produced a squeaky chew toy, one of many Shay had left at her uncle's house over the last six months, and dropped it in the grave. “To amuse you on your long journey to the Otherworld.”

Taking turns, Hugh, James, and Rory filled the hole, then began stacking rocks over the flattened mound of dirt. After the cairn was finished, Shay spoke to Cor. “Do you want to say anything before we leave?”

Lashes clumped with tears, Cor nodded with a sniff. “Thanks for saving my dad,” he whispered at the cairn. “I wish you could come back.”

A chill ran down Shay's neck at the boy's words and did a loop around her spine. She shook it off with a frown.

They returned to the house in silence, Hugh and Ann with arms wrapped around each other. Shay wondered how many friends and family members they had sent onward to the Otherworld in their long lives.
Certainly, Robbie's was the hardest
. She shuddered at the thought of losing a child, then glanced down at the dark head beside her.
This child in particular
.

“What are you doing?” A few days later, Shay walked into Bann's room to find him standing by the bed, dressed in jeans and buttoning his shirt. Cor bustled around the room, packing Bann's duffle bag. The morning sun blazed through the window, busy with melting the last of the snow.

“Dressing.”

“Guess you're sticking with your decision, then.” Shay wondered why she felt so drained.
Probably because I spent the last three days pretending I was hunkydory, okee-dokee, a-okay with all this
.

Leaving had become a forbidden subject between them. When Ann and Hugh had begged father and son to stay in High Springs, listing all the reasons they should, including how fond they were of Cor and how much they wanted to watch him grow up—an underhanded strategy Ann pulled without a trace of guilt—Shay had defended Bann's decision. “If it's what Cor wants, then I agree with Bann.” She remembered his look of surprise, and something else, when she had spoken.

Well, what did you expect? That I was going to get all weepy? Beg you to stay? Uh-uh. Not going to happen. So, fine. Go. Get out of here. Sorry I grew to love your son and…and…

“I'm well enough to travel, and I do not wish to be a future burden on you and your family.” Bann finished tucking in his shirt in the way only slim-hipped men could do. “Cor. Take my bag downstairs.”

Shay stepped to one side as Cor staggered past with the duffle. “How are you getting back to your truck?”
Because if you think I'm giving you a ride over there, you've got another…

“I was hoping you might give us a lift.”

“I can do that.” She could have pinched herself in annoyance.
At least
act
like it's a big ol' pain in the butt
. “I need to go over and start cleaning it up, anyway.”
Yeah. Just like that
.

The drive back to her house, which usually took ten minutes on a good day, took a thousand years. At least, that's what it felt like to Shay. Next to her, Bann sat granite-faced like he was going to his own execution, while Cor kept clicking his seat belt buckle until both Bann and Shay snarled at him at the same time, in the same words, to knock it off.

It made Shay's spirit tear a little more in half. As they neared her neighborhood, she looked back in the rearview mirror. Cor was holding one of Max's chew toys, the one shaped like a dead chicken, turning it around and around in his fingers. Sorrow made his boyish face look older.

“You want to keep that, kiddo?”

Cor nodded, his eyes shiny. “Yes, please.” He sat clutching it in his hand.

Bann glanced over a shoulder, wincing slightly from the movement. “Thank you,” he said in an undertone. He cleared his throat. “For everything.”

Shay nodded. “So. Will you keep in touch?” She kept her tone light. “I mean, you've got my cell number.”

“Certainly.”

They pulled into the driveway in silence. Bann eased out, Cor following. Standing by her vehicle, Shay watched as they unloaded their bags and threw them inside the camper, then Bann started up the truck. It kicked over after two tries. Letting it idle, he checked the hitch while Cor stood kicking at a clod of soil. Shay noticed he still held Max's toy in his hand.

Taking his son by the shoulder, Bann walked over. “Say your farewells.”

Keeping his eyes fixed somewhere around her elbow, Cor spoke. “Bye, Shay. Thank you for taking care of us and for letting us stay in your home,” he said in a practiced voice. He pulled something out of his pocket. It was a folded piece of paper. He handed it to her, then bolted for the truck.

Shay unfolded it. A drawing of a dog danced across the page, black and tan, and with a smiling muzzle and a jaunty tail. At the bottom, Cor had signed his name with a careful eight-year-old's print:
To Shay Doyle, from Cormac Boru. This is a picture of Max. He was the best dog in the world
.

She bit her lip, the lump in her throat almost choking her. She stomped down on her emotions as hard as she could. “Tell him I'll frame it and put it with all the other pictures of my family.”

“I will.” Bann took her free hand in both of his. He stood gazing at her, silent.

Well, get it over with
, she thought.
So I can start figuring out how to put my heart back together
. She forced herself not to look away.

In the end, Bann simply lifted her hand to his cheek and held it there. “
Mo chara
.”

She watched the tail end of their rig until it disappeared around the corner and rumbled away. Then she turned and walked into the empty house.

33

B
ANN MADE IT AS
far as the Kansas border, three hours of silent driving along a mostly empty state road, before he gave up and pulled into a deserted rest stop. Ignoring Cor's questioning look, he turned off the motor and climbed out, wincing slightly from wounds and bruises determined to remind him that one does not go hand-to-horn with a shapeshifter and stagger away unscathed.

He walked to the edge of the parking lot and stared westward across the plains. The mountains were long gone. A breeze pushed his hair off his forehead like a caress. Overhead, the sky mimicked the blue of Shay's eyes. And his son's eyes. The two people, he suddenly discovered, that he loved most in the world. “A rare one, ye are, Shay Doyle,” he whispered to the far horizon. “Friend and lover and warrior and healer.”

The sound of the truck door creaking open made him sigh.
Can he not give me a bleedin' moment to lament in peace
? Guilt immediately slapped him upside the head. Gravel crunched underfoot. Cor appeared, still holding Max's toy.

Standing side by side, they looked down the highway toward the west. The wind tugged at a tuft of prairie grass poking through a crack in the asphalt. It seemed to dance in celebration of overcoming the odds; Nature giving the finger to man.

“Dad?”

“Cor.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He'll be asking for a dog, I'll warrant. Well, we might look into getting one when we return to Pennsylvania
. The thought of the long drive back across the country made his entire being feel ancient. “To be sure.”

“Promise you won't get mad?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bann sighed. “What is it?” He waited while Cor shuffled from one foot to another, fiddled with the toy, dropping it once, then finally rubbed his hand over his head, making his hair look like it just went ten rounds with a blow-dryer.

Classic Cor stalling.

“Well?”

“I…um… You know how I said I wanted to go back to our home?”

“Aye. And if your question is about getting a dog when we return—”

“I don't want to anymore.”

“Get a dog?”

“Go back home.”

A long silence.

“Wait. What?” they said at the same time.

“We can get a dog?” Cor's face lit up.

“You don't wish to return to Pennsylvania?”

“We can get a dog? Really? Like, not just saying that, but
really
? Oooh, a puppy! Shay could help me train it. No, wait.
He
. I want to get a boy dog.” He glanced down at the toy in his hand. “I wonder if Max would want me to share this.”

Bann squatted down. Ignoring his stomach muscles' protest at the position, he held his son between his hands. “What about your mother? Do you think she would want to share
us
with Shay?”

“Yeah. I-I think so.”

That will come in time
. “And what about sharing
me
with Shay?” A part of him realized he was putting the proverbial cart before the horse, but he had to know. Before he could allow himself to hope for happiness. His and Cor's.

Cor blinked as the new thought entered his head. “What do you mean?” Confusion clouded his voice. “Aren't you going to marry her?”

Bann's mouth opened and closed a few times. “Marry. Her.”

“Yeah. I mean, you like her and she likes you. And
I
like her. So, you could marry her and we can live in her house. And she would be like my…” Cor couldn't finish the statement.

Bann knew why.
He does not want to betray his mother by loving another woman as a mother. Nor should he
. A voice whispered in his head.
Are you? Betraying Elizabeth's memory? In spite of your rock-strewn marriage, she
was
your wife and the mother of your child
. He couldn't answer truthfully. Not now. Perhaps later.
One step at a time
.