“What?”
Cernowain shrugged, a thoughtful frown twisting his mouth. “There’s only one reason you would hesitate.”
Emotion.
“Emotion.” Cernowain almost spat the word.
Was that why his chest tightened when she was near? Why his brain fogged with what he guessed were desire and joy?
“Something is wrong with you, Camulos. As the other gods discover it, they’ll do what they can to replace you. Barring that, they’ll punish you.” He pointed to Andrasta. “Through her. Kill her, Camulos. Give her eternity in Otherworld. Don’t leave her alive, at the mercy of the gods when they finally figure out why you’re hesitating to do your duty.”
Camulos’ hand tightened on the bow. There was no question he had to kill her, but how in fate was he going to be able to do it?
“Do it, Camulos. You’re running out of time.” Cernowain disappeared, aetherwalking back to Otherworld.
Camulos swallowed hard and raised the bow again, sighting Andrasta at the other end of the arrow.
“Are you there again?” Her voice carried through the clearing.
His heart thudded and he jerked his gaze up to meet hers. He lowered the bow, unable to fire, and stepped forward, pulled to her by a force he couldn’t fight. She hesitated, her eyes wary, then approached to stand a few feet from him.
Her presence hit him in the chest again. He rubbed his sternum. Why the hell did she make him feel so odd?
Whatever it was, he wanted more of it. His gaze swept her slim form and his breath grew tight.
“Walk with me,” he said, hoping for a distraction from his body’s reaction to her and from the threat of the gods hanging over their heads.
She nodded and set off on a path around the clearing. He matched his stride to hers.
“Why do you work so hard to be skilled with the bow?” he asked, unable to get the question out of his mind.
“My brothers won’t let me use a sword. I can make the bow and arrows myself. They used to take them away, but I’d make another. They don’t try anymore, and the bow I have is perfect. I love it.” Pride laced her voice, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“But why go to so much effort?”
She shrugged, her golden hair glinting in the sun. “I want to be like them. Anyway, what else is there to do? Marry? Tend the home? Not I. I’d rather be like my brothers. They’re brave and strong and nothing can get past them. They’re a team.”
“How many are there?”
“Seven brothers. Seven warriors. I want to be the eighth.”
He could hear the need in her voice. Her hands were fisted at her sides, one gripping her bow as if it were her way in.
“You want it badly,” he said.
“Yes. Other Celtic women are warriors, why not me? I’ve been on the outside my whole life, ever since my mother died. But I can prove myself if they’d just give me the chance.”
“So you practice alone, hoping to prove your worth.”
“It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?” Her morose gaze met his.
“On the contrary. I find it admirable.” More than that. Since he’d met her, he’d felt that he recognized her, though he’d never seen her before. Perhaps he recognized himself in her. And perhaps the gods were right. With her talent and her thirst to prove herself, she could be strong enough to take his place. At the very least, she was strong enough to cause problems, should she choose.
He scowled. He’d been avoiding thinking about his duty where she was concerned. It didn’t matter that he found her to be intriguing. He had to kill her or the other gods would come for him.
But perhaps he could steal a few more moments with her, though it was stupid and dangerous.
She broke the silence by asking, “Why do you use the bow for war?”