TWELVE
She was a woman trapped in a deer’s form, of that Finn had no doubt. Had he not seen it before? His own aunt Tuiren had been changed to a hound by a jealous woman of the Sidhe. Or perhaps she was like the puppies Tuiren had whelped at that time, his own Bran and Sceolan. They were born and would remain hounds, but with a human sensibility. Either way, the strange doe must be kept safe.
It would not be easy, he mused, with a deer. Bran and Sceolan were renowned for their prowess on the hunt, leaders of the pack that traveled with the Fianna. No man would think of harming them. But a deer would be in constant peril from men and dogs alike. Would he have to pen her up like a sheep?
His own two would do their best to protect her. What an extraordinary sight that had been. After the long day’s chase he had climbed over that last ridge, wondering why his hounds had fallen silent, to find the little spotted doe nestled down in the bracken and Sceolan pressed snug against her, while Bran frisked about like a giddy pup.
Now Finn shrugged out of his tunic and breeches and slid under the heavy furs. It was cold, for he had put out the fires. Finn loved the early spring, despite the dampness and rain, despite the mud that could make the hunting trails nearly impassable. He loved the smell in the air, the heady sense of a world awakening, the way the lengthening days filled him with eager energy. And…he loved putting out the night fires, sleeping in clean air rather than a haze of peat smoke and waking with clear eyes and easy breath.
A good day, he thought, as he sank into sleep, a day filled with exertion and mystery. Had he ever run so far as after that doe? It was good to show the men his mettle now and then. But he was damned tired, no denying that. He would sleep well this night.
SIVE RESTED ON THE clean straw, soothed by the placid contentment of the horses sharing her little shelter. Her skin had finally stopped jumping at every yip from the restless dogs and shout from the men. The dogs could not reach her here. The human noises quieted as the men gathered in Finn’s house. Sive’s heart gave up its nervous race and settled into a steady rhythm; her legs rested gratefully on the earth. As the sun sank from the sky, Sive felt the blessing of a night without fear. The dark was peaceful, not threatening. She would sleep a bit, until the night was deep and silent.
She had never encountered hunters as determined as Finn’s men. It had been a long, hard run—much harder than she had expected—to lose them. And as her father had predicted, Finn and his dogs did not drop out of the race, but stayed on her heels until the others were far behind.
She was at the point of exhaustion herself, otherwise she might never have found the courage to turn and stand. Finn’s dogs were fierce and eager, their voices roaring through her head, and the deer in her was certain they would tear her apart.
“But how will they know me?” she had asked her father, but he had only shrugged helplessly.
“I cannot know for certain that they will. Manannan thinks that it is probable, for like recognizes like. It is a risk you must decide to take—or not.”
For nearly three years she had been exiled, not only from the comforts and company of the hearth but from her own true nature. If she remained a deer much longer, there would be no returning. Steeling herself, she overrode the instinct that commanded her to run—to run until her heart burst in its cage or her legs collapsed beneath her. For a moment she just stood, trembling with fatigue and fear, head down, lathered flanks heaving. The hounds’ voices swelled behind her.
Turning, she folded her legs beneath her and lay down on the grass. As the hounds scrambled over the rise and bore down upon her, she closed her eyes. She thought of the little fawn who had brought about her first change. It would be her neck, not his, that felt the ripping grip of teeth.
But it was not teeth, but Bran’s hot breath in her face and his dripping tongue washing her muzzle, that she felt. And she opened her eyes to a new life.
HER FIRST SIGHT OF FINN had made her heart quail. Backlit in the late afternoon sun, he was a featureless dark outline of a man. Huge, he seemed, so tall and powerfully built. Even if they had not been shadowed, Sive’s deer eyes could not make much sense out of human features. But she made herself gaze directly at him, pressing back the deer and willing her true self to speak to him through her animal eyes.
At first he did not move or speak. Sceolan pressed reassuringly against her. Bran gamboled about, sometimes scooting over to Finn and back. Still the great man stood silent. Sive held her breath. If he rushed at her, it would be all she could do not to bolt.
He did not rush or even take a step. In a voice softer than she had ever heard from a mortal man, he spoke to her. She did not need to know the words. She understood.
Slowly, Sive gathered her limbs and stood. The first hesitant step was the hardest. Once she started, she did not doubt her way. She followed the kind voice until she stood at Finn’s side.
Quiet as ever, his voice changed quality as wonder crept into it. His hand eased out toward her, just a few inches, and stopped. Sive stretched out her muzzle and laid it into his rough palm.
“Will you come home with me?” Finn asked. The dogs were already leading the way. Finn turned to follow. And Sive followed Finn.
FINN STIRRED IN HIS BED. What had awakened him? The soft noise repeated itself, and his eyes flew open, heart lurching into an alarmed gallop. Then his reason woke up: the dogs at his feet were silent and untroubled. In fact, he could feel a tail thumping in welcome against his shin. This was no enemy creeping, sword in hand, to Finn’s bedchamber. Brave enemy indeed, to enter a house where half the Fianna sheltered!
Sitting up, he peered across the small chamber at the shadowy figure in the entranceway. A single candle cast a tiny wavering light that showed little more than the hand holding it.
“Who is it?”
The figure came closer, holding the candlestick higher so that he could see.
She moved as though she were weightless, her feet barely denting the earth. Her gown shimmered over a body as graceful as a young willow. And her face…Finn had never laid eyes on a face so lovely, nor so troubled and full of entreaty.
“My lord.”
She did not seem to know what else to say. Finn rose and took her hand, and sat her down on the end of his bed. The dogs edged over to lie close beside her, and she seemed to take comfort in stroking their great heads. Finn took the candle from her and used it to light his lamps, and then he pulled a spare blanket from his chest to drape over her shoulders.
He sat down across from her.
“You are the deer.”
She nodded with relief. “They told me you were wise.” Her voice like the low flute, making him yearn for it to continue. She offered a fleeting tremulous smile, and Finn’s heart lurched painfully. “I couldn’t think how to say that part to a mortal. It is three winters I have been wandering Eire in the body of a deer, sleeping out in the weather and eating…” Her voice trailed off, and Finn saw tears glistening in her eyes. He wanted to kiss those tears away, to lift the sorrow from her lovely eyes and make them dance with joy.
But first he must help her to tell her tale.
“How did this happen to you, my lady?”
“Sive.” She blinked back the tears and straightened. “My name is Sive.”
The story took a long time to tell, and when it was done, Finn knew he would do anything for this woman. He understood now why the poets spoke of love as an enchantment, for he had fallen under Sive’s spell and had no wish to be freed of it.
Sive Remembers
I used to wonder at the women I heard of, women of the Sidhe, who gave their love to mortal men. Our own men, any number of them, are more handsome, more gracious, more accomplished. What would draw a woman to a son of the Gael?
That was before Finn looked at me. Has any man of the Sidhe ever looked at a woman that way? It is a look of wonder, adoration nearly, mingled with such naked, yearning desire…
But it was not Finn’s desire that brought me to his bed that night. Yes, I slept with him. Not, as the Dark Man assumed, in payment for his protection. That was given freely. He did not hesitate for one moment when I told him my plight, but said only, “You are welcome here for as long as you wish to stay, and will be safe as long as I draw breath to defend you.”
No, it was the urging of my own heart that led me to him. He was a handsome man, strong, open-handed and kind. His eyes told me that I was his most precious dream. And I was lonely, lonely near to madness. The weight of it, the crushing, utter exile that I carried without rest—I longed to put it down.
Finn opened his heart and his arms to me. And I laid down my loneliness and came home to him.