"Be careful," she warned. "He's terrified of strangers. I found him wandering, lost, badly hurt, half maddened with pain. My brother Hugh wanted to put him down, but there was something—a wildness inside him, as if he were lost, desperate. He was so beautiful, I just couldn't let him be killed."
Her explanation trailed off as the beast's nostrils flared, liquid dark eyes fixing on Ciaran, doubtless contemplating the best way to trample him into dust. Ciaran marveled that anyone had ever been able to mount the animal, let alone this young woman with her delicate body and small hands. But then, the horse looked as if he had an unbalanced mind. Perhaps he and the woman were kindred spirits.
Ciaran frowned, wondering if he had had much experience with horses. Was he a decent rider? Did he know what it felt like to meld his body with a beast bred to fly like the wind?
Driven by an impulse he didn't understand, Ciaran reached out a hand, holding it toward the amazingly beautiful horse.
"Don't touch him!" Fallon cried. "He'll bite off your fingers if—"
But instead of baring his equine teeth, Cuchulain sank his velvety muzzle into the cup of Ciaran's palm. Hot breath blew out as the animal snuffled against him, accustoming himself to Ciaran's scent.
Ever so slowly, the tremors of unease shaking the stallion smoothed out, like the calming of some inner storm. A soft whicker greeted him. Almost as if the animal had been waiting for him.
Ciaran leaned against one glossy shoulder, letting the warmth of the animal seep into his battered body.
"How did you do that?" Fallon marveled. "It took the head groom nearly six months before he could even open the stall door without Cuchulain snatching a bite out of him. Even I couldn't touch him for weeks after I brought him home."
"I don't know how, or why." Ciaran stroked the horse, gliding his hand into the secret, soft cove between silky mane and arched neck. Strange, but he knew only that this animal, so wary, so wounded in its proud soul, had offered him a precious fragment, a tiny piece of the puzzle that was his identity. There was something in him the stallion trusted.
"Climb on, and I'll try to mount behind you,” Ciaran said.
"It's too dangerous. Cuchulain doesn't... I mean it's a miracle, his even allowing you to touch him. The cliff path is treacherous. If he shies, we could both fall over the edge."
He could hardly risk an accident that might result in hurling a feeble-brained girl over a cliff.
"You're right. I'll walk." But how far away was the girl's home? What were the odds his battered body could make the trek?
No. There was another way. A pulse of something like excitement worked through him, a need to test this strange fragile bond with the magnificent creature before him. It would be dangerous. All the more so because his own balance was so uncertain. But a part of him craved that risk, answered to it as if it were the strains of a battle drum.
Ciaran caught hold of the animal's reins, paused a moment, eyeing stirrup and saddle. Head still throbbing, he grasped the horse's mane and dragged himself up onto its back.
He heard Fallon's cry of protest through a haze of motion and sound, the stallion's hooves striking stone as it sidestepped, a nervous whinny, Ciaran's own body scrabbling for purchase on the animal's back.
His stomach churned, his head swam as he fought for equilibrium, the stallion sidestepping, tossing its majestic head. Blast, I'm a fool, Ciaran thought scathingly. Had he thought he'd swing astride the stallion and discover he was the world's best horseman? More likely the animal would rear up and tear down the narrow path at a dead run. But after a moment, Cuchulain calmed again. He pawed the ground once, angling his head to gaze at Ciaran with questioning dark eyes.
What the hell did he do now? How did one guide the animal? He had to see if it would take the cliff road safely. He grasped the reins, tightened his knees. With a toss of his head, the stallion started to trot down the path. Every jarring movement thrust spikes into Ciaran’s brain.
"Stop! Wait—" The devil! He could end up at the bottom of the mountain, leaving the girl behind. How did you make the infernal beast stop?
"Pull back on the reins, gently!" He heard Fallon call. He braced himself, did as she directed. Miracle of miracles, the beast stopped. Ciaran didn't. The momentum flung him over the stallion's head.
So much for the idea that he was a great horseman.
The girl was beside him in an instant, helping him to his feet. "I told you not to try to ride him! He—"
"My own... clumsiness... fell off." Ciaran pressed a fist to his pounding head and struggled to catch his breath.
When he was able to straighten up, he looked into Fallon Delaney's face and managed a half-smile. "I suppose this dashes your theory that I'm a legendary hero. It seems that riding a horse would be the first requirement of a Ciaran of the Mist. I don't know the first thing about it."
"Of course you don't. It was stupid of me not to think of it, warn you, before you tried. Ciaran was no knight on a charger. He's something older, more primitive, from a time when the first legends were stirring in the most secret, most magical places in men's souls. Ciaran of the Mist would never have ridden astride. Warriors of his time rode in chariots driven by charioteers. They were incredible runners, and he was the swiftest of them all. Able to outrun an entire herd of red deer, so agile he could race through the forest and not break the tiniest twig."
The knowledge was oddly unsettling. "Fallon, I'm not this hero of yours. I may not be able to ride, but I can understand your language. Other things are strange, unfamiliar, but your clothes, the way you're dressed, is not."
She hesitated for an instant, and he thought he'd at last found a chink in her delusions, made her glimpse reality. But the light in her eyes flared again, more determined than ever. "You've come back other times, Ciaran. There's no way to understand the magic. You would have—"
"Never mind!" Ciaran dragged himself back to his feet. "Mercy. Please. I'm sorry I even brought the subject up. My head won't tolerate any more singing of his praises without bursting. As for the horse, he'll carry us down safe enough."
"H-How can you be so certain?"
