Fey Born Read online

  Lana turned away, unable to answer.

  “You have no response?”

  “Why are you bleeding?” she asked in avoidance.

  “You cut me.” He sounded slightly amazed, his long fingers trailing blood along his cheek.

  “I slapped you,” she corrected fiercely. “Never would I cut you.”

  He reached over and took her right hand in his, the one that hurt him.

  “No rings on your fingers to accidentally cut flesh, just a small, lovely hand.” He frowned for several seconds, lashes hiding the shadows developing within him, and dropped her hand. “Your anger seems to cut fey born flesh.”

  “How can you say that? How do you know that? Never have I hit or slapped a faery.”

  His head tilted, blood dripping down his cheek. “Not only have I felt it, but I sense it as well, claíomh host.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  He nodded, but she had the vague feeling he would call her as he saw fit.

  A droplet of blood paused at his jaw line then fell to his collarbone. “Why is your blood not white, Keegan?”

  “Would it please you if it were?”

  “Faery blood is white,” she stated stubbornly.

  “Not all of us have white blood. Does this please you better?” he asked.

  Lana blinked. In a moment’s breath, his blood turned from crimson to the white color of snow.

  “How…?” She looked up at him in amazement.

  “Men anticipate colors, textures, and scents in a certain way, and I can influence to meet expectations. You see red blood because you expect to see red blood.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “So you have white blood then?”

  He nodded. “I am purebred. We have white blood.”

  She understood that at least. “Who in the fey has red blood?”

  “Why do you wish to know?” His tone turned cautious.

  “I am curious only.”

  “Crimson flows in the veins of some territorial goddesses. There are others, too.”

  He held up his hand to halt her next question. “It simply is. Why do fish swim and birds fly?”

  “Because that is the way of things.” Lana understood and exhaled. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

  “Your anger has ended, thus the bleeding will end.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but the gash looked like it hurt. She stared up at it, willing it to stop bleeding and then unexpectedly it did.

  He bowed his head. “My thanks.”

  “I dinna do that.”

  His mouth twisted. “As you wish.” He turned back to the table and that was the end of it, no more discussion.

  Lana sighed quietly. He might sense magic within her, but she did not. He looked young, this fey guardian of olden times, a graceful body, which was lean and sculpted with natural male perfection.

  “How old are you, Keegan?” she inquired in a strong study of him.

  “Old enough.” He slid the sword into its brown leather scabbard and flung it over his back. Lana watched the way his body moved as one strap slid over his right shoulder and the other went around his lean waist.

  “Where are your wings, guardian?”

  “Where they always are.”

  Lana looked at the emptiness beyond his shoulders. “I doona see them.”

  “In this form, they are invisible to the eye, yet they are there.”

  “Does the scabbard impede your invisible wings?” she asked.

  “Nay, it falls down the center of my back.” He rolled his shoulders, adjusting the strap of the scabbard, and Lana moved forward to help.

  He immediately stepped back, his eyes narrowed in wariness.

  “I was going to help,” she explained.

  “I doona need help.”

  She locked her hands behind her. “Why do you even need a sword?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I am curious.”

  “You said that.” It was obvious he was not going to answer this question.

  “My father asked me if you would stop by our home this evening. He wishes to pay you for the work you did in the fields.”

  “I need no payment.”

  “No payment?” His response amazed her. All in her tribe sought payment in some form or another for work performed.

  “Nay,” he affirmed.

  “Why do you plough fields? I mean, a creature such as you, sweating over soil.”

  “I like to sweat. I like my hands aiding the growing of things.”

  “You do?”

  His lips tilted in scorn. “Do you find that hard to believe? A creature such as I?”

  “You are fey born.”

  “I am, Lana. Never forget that,” he said with finality, and cupped her chin firmly, catching her by surprise.

  He sniffed at her as if she were some fragrant herb on a stalk. “You are free of your moon time. We can handfast.” In the next instant, he was gone.

  Lana stepped back, startled. She was going to have to get used to this winking out, she surmised. It took a moment for her to regain her balance then she turned and walked around the two muddy holes belonging to the druidess’s fattened pigs.

  The familiar pail of water caught her eye at the entrance of the roundhouse. A week before the arrival of Aibrean, April, the primrose month, the druidess placed a pail of water outside her door at night to catch the reflection of the first warm rays of the sun. It was now the beginning of Meitheamh, June, and the pail of water would remain where it was, refilled often, until the chill of winter returned.

  Holding onto the door frame, she called inside, “Derina?”

  “Come in, Lana,” the druidess replied from within. “I be over here.”

  She entered. The druidess stood near her long table, dressed in a gray robe. Twigs of dried, fragrant herbs hung on the walls filling the air with a calming fragrance.

  “Have you seen the guardian outside?” The druidess turned toward her.

  “Aye, we have spoken.”

  “Doona let his thick-headedness dictate to you. Listen to your heart and instincts and all will be well.”

  Lana’s lips curved. “I will. You have always been a dear friend to me, Derina, and I value your counsel.”

  “A wise child you be.” The druidess laughed smoothly and turned back to the table. “You will stay here for the night.”

  “I thought I would prepare for the ceremony at home.”

  “Nay, you will spend the night with me. Your mother allowed my request, fine woman that she be. We must talk of your new mate, Lana, and I doona want to feel rushed by those meddling women in the morning when we prepare you for the sacred bathing.”

  A faint sensation of longing and dread welled up inside her at the mere thought of handfasting with Keegan. “As you wish.”

  “Lana, bring me three white candles. They be in the large basket by the door. Three this night I need, all the same size, one for the maiden, one for the mother, and one for the wise crone. All these you will be.”

  Lana walked over and knelt by the basket. She knew the color of candles to be very important. White symbolized peace, protection, and strength through the moon goddess. Reaching into the basket, she picked the three closest in size, carefully lit the wicks from the center fire, and placed them in the center of the table.

  “Good,” the druidess said with pleasure, and carried plates of cheese and bread to the table. “Sit now and we eat.”

  With the wall comfortably at her back, Lana took her seat on the bench opposite. The scent of the dried fragrant herbs behind her and the cheese and bread in front should have made her mouth water. It did not.

  “Let us eat now and give thanks to the Gods and Goddesses for all they have given to us. We talk more of your guardian after food fills our bellies.”

  “He is not my guardian,” Lana protested.

  “He be yours,” the druidess argued kindly, and pushed a goblet of hazelnut flavored mead in fro
nt of her. Next came a small bowl of drisheen, common blood pudding.

  “Derina, I mean no disrespect to you, but I am not hungry.”

  The druidess pushed her plate aside. “In truth, neither am I. Shall we talk then of tomorrow’s happenings?” she asked warmly.

  Lana felt a wee bit reassured by her tone, and nodded.

  “You will sleep late until the sun be high. Your mother and our head simpler, Rose, will attend your first meal of the day. Then we join the women of the tribe for your sacred bathing.”

  Lana folded her hands in her lap. “What of my birthmark? The women will see it.”

  “They will not notice it.”

  She tilted her head in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

  “You be handfasting to a magical guardian. He will do a conjuring so no one notices the mark upon your flesh. Now, be your moon time near, Lana?”

  “It comes but rarely.”

  The druidess scratched her white eyebrow.

  “The simpler says I am too fragile to carry a child and this be my body’s way of protecting me.”

  The ancient huffed in disagreement. “I am not arguing with that foolish notion now.”

  “Why is my moon time important, ancient? Keegan spoke of this to me as well.”

  “In your misgivings, you forget a handfasting be not allowed during the time of a bride’s bleeding. Brings ill luck to a marriage.”

  “Oh, I had forgotten.”

  “It weakens a male’s root to take a woman during her moon time.” The druidess shifted and pushed up from the table. “Come with me outside. I wish to gaze upon the stars while we talk.”

  Gaze? It always astounded her that a druidess with no eyes could see. She rose from the table and followed the smaller woman toward the door. The druidess grabbed her walking stick and Lana trailed her outside into the cool, beckoning embrace of blue tinted darkness.

  The stars were out, sharing a white luminosity across the land. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the slight chill of the springtime night.

  “You wed fey born, Lana. A powerful guardian he be, knower of secrets and long ago ways, a dark conjurer of magic and defender of the waters.”

  Lana wished it were not so. She wished Keegan were merely a man, but then, would he have wanted her?

  “Doona worry, young Lana. You have your own magic to tame him.”

  “Tame him?” She stared at the druidess. “I canna even look at him without trembling inside.”

  “An excellent beginning. Your body wants him.”

  “Ancient!” she admonished in a hushed tone of forcefulness.

  The druidess laughed. “Patience, young Lana, ‘tis just the musing of an old woman. Shall we talk then of secretive and important things? You must listen carefully to all I have to say now.”

  She nodded, exhaling. “I listen.”

  The ancient looked up at the stars. “ ‘Tis a clear night for such a talk as this; the moon goddess gives us her blessing.” She held up a bony finger to make her point. “There be three rules you must always follow when dealing with a fey guardian, Lana.”

  “Three rules?” Lana waited anxiously.

  “Rule one, never challenge a fey guardian or dire things will happen. Do you understand?”

  Lana nodded that she did.

  “Rule two; never lie to a fey guardian.”

  She paled slightly. “I doona lie.”

  “Or dire things will happen,” the druidess said meaningfully with a quick turn of her head.

  Lana wondered what dire things would happen to her when the powerful guardian found out she had a weak heart.

  “Rule three…” The druidess held up three fingers. “This be the most important rule. Never touch the magical part of a fey guardian.”

  She had a good idea as to what part of him was magical.

  “ ‘Tis his wings I speak of, not the other parts,” the druidess murmured with mirth.

  “Why may I not touch his wings?”

  “Doona touch them, that be all. The guardian will not respond in the ways you expect him to. He be different, Lana. Heed my warning in this. He be fey born and you know they follow different rules than men.”

  “Our tribe’s chieftain wed a territorial goddess,” Lana argued. “She be fey born and most wise and sweet.”

  “That be different. Long ago the Dark Chieftain line of the Tuatha Dé Danann be predestined to take a fey mate to return bounty and loyalty to the lands.”

  Lana looked down at her hands and gave a quick nod. “And I am not predestined to mate with a fey guardian,” she added, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

  “I will not lie to you. This handfasting be unlike any other that has come before. He be a male guardian, a creature of great cruelty, and also great gentleness. You be a mortal born female. Let us see what happens before we say destined and fated. Now, think no more of it. ‘Tis time to take our rest. You have a long day of preparation tomorrow before the twilight handfasting. Come, I have made a soft bed for you.”

  Lana started to follow the druidess back into the candle glow of the cottage, but paused at the shifting of a shadow to her left. “Keegan?” she murmured.

  The guardian stepped from the shade of night and her heart quickened with a mixture of pleasure and fear. She wondered how much of her conversation with the old druidess he overhead.

  “Good eve, Lana.” He bowed his head in a formal greeting.

  “Good eve, Keegan,” she replied in kind.

  He held out his right hand. “For you.”

  Lana took a hesitant step in his direction. A lovely brooch rested in his open palm. The gilded pin glittered with amber and golden granules.

  “A small token from the fey.” He placed the brooch in her hands. “ ‘Tis formed from the upland mists of Tara.”

  With her fingertip, she traced the round filigree surface and felt the weight of fine craftsmanship, felt the warmth of his flesh resonating still within the pin.

  “Do you not like it?” he asked.

  “‘Tis the most beautiful adornment I have ever seen, Keegan.” She dipped her head in appreciation. “My thanks.”

  “What then bothers you?”

  Besides handfasting to a fey born… She shrugged.

  “Tell me.”

  “Tomorrow I bathe in the sacred Bridal Pool in the woodlands. The women of my tribe will see my birthmark.” She shook her head. “Many among them continue to believe birthmarks are wicked.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you wicked?”

  “Nay,” she declared indignantly.

  “And has the druidess not told you I will take care of it?”

  “Aye, she has.”

  “Then doona concern yourself. They will not notice the birthmark.”

  Lana searched his face. “You can do this?”

  He arched a sardonic brow at her and she immediately remembered their previous conversation about the color of blood.

  “Men anticipate things and you can influence to meet expectations,” she said.

  He nodded. “The women will see what they expect to see — pale creamy flesh. Even your mother will not ponder upon it.” He gestured to the brooch. “I ask that you wear this to the handfasting ceremony tomorrow to honor the fey.”

  “I will wear it,” she promised quietly. No male had ever given her a gift before.

  “I will bring my other gifts later.”

  Lana looked up in surprise, but he disappeared once again, leaving behind a simple sparkling in the air.

  “Lana?” the druidess called impatiently from inside her home. “If that faery be gone, ‘tis time to come inside.”

  Lana held the brooch closely to her breast. Turning away from the star-filled night, she headed back to the cottage.

  CHAPTER 5

  LATE AFTERNOON SUN SPILLED WARMTH upon his back, relieving some of the tension formed there. It was the day of his handfasting.

  When twilight approached in a c
ouple of hours he would take a lovely golden-haired bride, a bride he dare not touch, he reminded himself. He rolled his shoulders, a subtle movement masking the ruthless resolve forming within. Keegan took a deep breath and knelt silently at the edge of the loch.

  “Tell me,” he commanded. Dipping his left hand into the cool waters, his long fingers spread easily, seeking what he needed.

  He donned a worn pair of green breeches, which rode comfortably low on his hips. Rarely did he wear tunics in the warm months, preferring nothing against his back. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head, listening carefully to the sounds of the waters, his thick brown hair falling over one powerful shoulder.

  No sense of Valor did he feel, only a thread of anger, a sliver of dread, and then nothing.

  It came as a small shock, that he, the great first guardian of the waters, a powerful and deadly faery, needed Lana… needed a mortal female to find the missing fey sword.

  Lana.

  A vision of slender beauty formed in his mind and his body immediately quickened in response.

  Yearning.

  Desire.

  Want.

  He remembered that long ago night, an unwelcome flash of memory, forever haunting him.

  An expanding night sky awash in brilliant star clusters…

  The black waters of a running stream, flowing in musical tones…

  A pile of manly clothes at the edge, he thought nothing of it until he caught the faint scent of woman and heather…

  A slender nymph knelt naked in the waters, washing the untamed mane of golden fire.

  He remained in stillness under the cover of tree canopies, watching…

  Moonlight spilling down upon her.

  The swell of her breasts quivered with her movements, her nipples surprisingly large and pink.

  She stood in graceful silence, her body full of slender womanly curves, her golden fleece far lovelier than any other he had ever seen.

  He had wanted her then.

  Brimming with lust, he took a step closer, wanting to ride between her shapely legs and thrust in her silken cave until the night ended, and still he knew it would never be enough.

  He bared his teeth.

  He had not taken her then.