“I know. I can still see the Goddess’s hand upon you,” he said.

Brighid shivered, and then Epona’s presence vanished. “Why?” Brighid’s voice was husky with emotion. “Why did Epona use me and not Ciara to speak those words to you? I’m not a Shaman, Cu!”

“I don’t know, Brighid. I don’t pretend to understand the ways of Epona.”

But deep within the warrior something stirred. The small breath of a thought, more insubstantial than fog, whispered through his shattered soul. If I could, I would choose Brighid to speak Epona’s words to me.

Perhaps he was beginning to understand the ways of Epona…

Though it was wider and easier to navigate than the secret entrance Lochlan and his people had discovered, traversing Guardian Pass was far from easy. Entering the great scarlet-colored maw had been like walking into a cave, or, Brighid thought uneasily, a blood-drenched tomb. The pass varied in width, from a narrowness through which a single horse could barely pass, to wider more spacious areas that could hold several mounted warriors. But narrow or wide, the pass was a challenge. It snaked like a twisting gorge. Jagged rocks littered the ground, which was made of shale-slick and hard enough so Brighid had to concentrate to keep from misstepping. And she found concentration difficult. She was still struggling with her shock. It was unbelievable that Epona had spoken through her. But there was no mistaking it. The words Brighid had said to Cuchulainn had not been her own-and the power that had rippled through her body had been the result of Epona’s touch.

She wished Elphame had been with them. Her friend wielded the power of the Goddess easily, naturally. El could advise her-or, better yet-if El had been there then Epona would probably have used her as a conduit instead of a Huntress who had no desire to be the mouth of a Goddess.

Brighid frowned and looked quickly around her, worried that someone would overhear her blasphemous thoughts. She didn’t mean to be unfaithful to Epona. But she could barely manage the problems in her own life. She’d be a poor choice for the gift of the Goddess’s touch, she was too damned imperfect.

“The rocks are changing color. We must have crossed the halfway point,” Cuchulainn said.

The pass had widened and the two of them walked side by side. Brighid looked up at the steep walls that flanked them. The blood color was giving way to marbled fingers of gray.

“This time I haven’t been too busy arguing with you, so I actually noticed the color change,” he said with a faint smile. “When all the red is gone, we’ll have arrived at Guardian Castle.”

“I hadn’t realized the rocks changed colors again,” Brighid said, glad to have something harmless to talk about.

“It’s odd. There’s so much red in the Trier Mountains, except in the area surrounding Guardian Castle. There everything is gray. I trained there for four years, and during all that time I never got used to the starkness of the castle or of the area surrounding it.”

Brighid raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I know, warriors are supposed to thrive in the austere setting. The official line is that it’s conducive to honing concentration on the art of swordplay and the physical demands of battle.” Cuchulainn grunted. “I found it bland and miserable, conducive only to making me work hard so that I was rewarded with frequent visits home where there were more aesthetically pleasing benefits.” He barked a quick laugh. “I suppose I owe the foundation of my legendary abilities with the sword to my youthful distaste for dreary scenery.”

Brighid tilted her head and gave him an appraising look. “That sounds like something the old Cuchulainn would say.”

He blew out a breath. “I know. I’m…” He moved his shoulders. “After you told me about the dreams I’ve felt different.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “You made the idea of a shattered soul more tangible for me. And if I believe in it, then maybe I can fix it. I mean we, maybe we can fix it.” He paused again. “I would give almost anything to feel normal again. I had begun to believe that the only way to escape from this unending pain would be to give up my life. Today, for the first time since Brenna’s death, I think there might be a way for me to live again.”

Brighid’s face flushed with her rush of relief.

“I’m glad, Cu,” was all she could manage to choke out.

“Cuchulainn! Brighid!” Ciara called from behind them and they slowed, waiting for the winged woman to catch up with them. “I know that our time is short, but the children could use a break. They’re tired today.”

“One short break would be fine. But one is all we can afford. You can tell them that we’re past the halfway point, that should bolster their strength,” Cu said.

Ciara’s sharp-toothed smile glinted bright and happy. “You tell them, Cu. Coming from you I know it would revive them.”

“Go ahead,” Brighid said quickly. “I’ll scout ahead. I’ve noticed the spoor of wild goat. It would be nice if we could enter Guardian Castle with more than just hungry mouths to feed.”

“Good idea,” Cu said. As the Huntress turned to go, he touched her arm. “Be careful. The rocks are slick. My gelding has almost fallen several times today.”

Brighid covered her surprise at his touch and his words with a delicately raised eyebrow and a frown. “I am not your fat, empty-headed gelding.” She flipped her hair and trotted away.

“He is not fat!” Cu called after her, but the warrior was smiling.

“You are protective of her, Cuchulainn,” Ciara said softly.

His gaze swung back to the lithe woman at his side. She was simply one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen. And he hadn’t even really noticed her loveliness until she danced for them last night. Then his mind processed her words, and his reaction was automatic.

“Yes, I’m protective of her. She’s part of MacCallan Clan. But that doesn’t mean that the Huntress can’t take care of herself. She’s a fine warrior, too.”

Ciara’s smile widened. “And you respect that about her.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Good. I’m glad she has you for a friend. In the future, she will need her friends close about her.”

Cuchulainn’s eyes narrowed. “What are you telling me, Shaman? Have you seen danger for the Huntress?”

“My gift is not one of premonition. From what I understand when you were touched by the spirit realm, your premonition gift was strong. Many times you knew of events before they unfolded.”

Cuchulainn grunted a rough yes. If her words about Brighid hadn’t been so troubling he would have cut this conversation short. Beautiful or not, Ciara was a Shaman. And Cuchulainn wanted no traffic with the spirit world or its emissaries. It was difficult enough for him to cope with Brighid and the whole shattered-soul issue. But that was different. Brighid was like him. She wasn’t comfortable meddling in the spirit realm, either.

Ciara was nonplussed by his gruff response and his instantly defensive demeanor. “My premonitions have never been as clear as yours have been. I only get vague Feelings, and sometimes instinct leads me to say or do things, the reasons for which only become clear in the future. I have had a Feeling about the Huntress-that the devotion of her friends will play an important part in the shifting sands of her life.”

“So she’s in trouble?”

“I cannot tell. I can only Feel that she will need friends, or at least one special friend, close beside her.”

Cuchulainn nodded in a tight, controlled jerk. “I’ll remember that, Shaman.”

“I’m glad.” Ciara’s infectious smile was back. “I’ve come to care a great deal for your Huntress. She is an honorable centaur.”

Cuchulainn grunted again.

“Come, let’s return to the children. They will be overjoyed to hear that we are almost within the borders of Partholon.”