Fey Born Page 7

  He would not now.

  In the shadow of a waning moon and lust, he had not noticed the birthmark upon her flesh. A failing, he admonished himself, before refocusing back on the present.

  His hand fisted in the waters, hunger and tension spilling into his blood, his man parts thickening in response. Muttering an oath, he focused by strength of will alone, a sheen of sexual frustration coating his body.

  If Lana guided him to Valor, he had no doubt the great sword spirit would reject her should the current host die. What then? he pondered. And why had the sword spirit chosen only Lana and not her older sister, Rianon? Both daughters were born of the same bloodline, were they not? He locked onto that one thought. Were they? Had Cara, Lana’s mother, taken another male’s seed into her womb? That would answer why only the fragile Lana bore the magical birthmark.

  His thoughts returned to Valor. If the sword spirit did lose her current host, and did reject Lana, would she, a sacred feminine spirit, accept his male body as a host offering instead?

  “RAIN, WHAT BE THIS I HEAR?”

  Slowly, Keegan looked toward the sweeping female voice of derision, his body reacting as if he had dove into a loch of icy water.

  “Blodenwedd,” he greeted the goddess evenly, and stood.

  Dressed in a white cloak of webs and fanciful scrolls, the golden goddess bestowed him with a brilliant smile. “WHO BE LANA?” she asked silkily.

  He smiled in return. “My mate.”

  “TAKE HER OVER ME?” she demanded in a sudden scolding, her expression turning cold and deadly. “GAVE HER A BROOCH OF TARA?”

  Ignoring her spoiled outburst, he walked around her and replied, “The brooch was mine to give.” Stopping, he looked over his shoulder and tried to explain without giving away the secret. “Blodenwedd, I want this female.”

  “LIAR. YOU WANT ME.”

  In the late afternoon light of the day, he drew in a patient breath. “I doona lie, goddess.”

  “TRICKERY THEN.”

  “You have seen the Tara brooch. You know of its high honor when given to an intended bride, yet you question me?”

  Her gaze narrowed in response and he took that as an affirmation.

  “THIS MATING FORBIDDEN, RAIN. YOU BE GUARDIAN.”

  “I know what I am,” he said in a lowered voice, “but I will have her nonetheless.”

  She frowned, searching inward, finding a cause for his breech and choice of a mortal bride. “WHY DID NUADA SUMMON YOU? WHAT DID HE WANT?”

  “The why and want be none of your business, great goddess.”

  “BE THIS ABOUT A MISSING SWORD?”

  He did not respond.

  “I KNOW OF VALOR, RAIN.”

  He chose to end the conversation and bowed his head respectfully. “If you will excuse me, great goddess. I must make ready to receive my bride.” He walked back to the edge of the loch and dove into the cool, blue waters, seeking relief from the turbulence of feminine influences.

  ———

  Keegan was true to his word. None of the women noticed her birthmark at the late morning cleansing in the woodland’s Bridal Pool. She disrobed quietly in the shade of the brown-black boughs of the large oak. The tree stood at the edge of the pool, branches extending outward across water and shore. While maidens in white robes chanted softly, she waded naked into the cool waters. Three respected women of her tribe followed her in and then cleaned her with fragrant soap. Afterward, the blessings were given and she was brought to the druidess’s home for her bride’s preparation.

  Now, it was time.

  As she walked across the green meadow accompanied by her mother and the druidess, her legs suddenly refused to carry her forward another step. The food she had eaten in the afternoon settled like a rock in her slightly queasy stomach.

  “Alana?” her mother questioned.

  Lana adjusted the blue hooded cloak and gave her mother a reassuring smile. The delicate bracelets on her wrists chimed lightly and somewhere in the trees a bird chirped in response. She felt vulnerable, a willing sacrifice to the needs of the handsome guardian, and nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

  She looked down at the bracelets. She wore all of Keegan’s gifts, gifts he said were given to him by the faeries to honor their handfasting.

  Sea green combs, embellished with wispy golden waves were at her temples, pulling her hair up and away from her face. On her body, a sheer aquamarine gown glided upon her skin in a clinging dance ending at her ankles. She touched the soft bodice beneath her blue cloak. It felt like nothing she ever touched before. A thick gold strand held the gown in place, gliding from her back over her bare right shoulder and ending in a faceted stone of seashore hues above her left breast.

  “Alana, you canna delay any longer. Twilight comes soon and Keegan awaits, as do the elders.” Her mother touched her arm to hurry her while the druidess waited quietly to her right.

  “I know.” Lana looked to where the tribe gathered. Her gaze settled on the tall warrior standing apart from all the rest. Swallowing her unease, she strode forward on bare feet, the bracelets on her ankles ringing softly.

  ———

  At the east end of the ancient oaks, Keegan waited, anxious to have the ceremony done with and begin the quest for the enchanted sword. Behind him the handfasting circle of gray stones and crystal rocks stood beneath a sky of fading clouds. He supposed he should have just taken her and not dithered with ceremony, but it was too late now. His decision had been made.

  He walked to the northern end of the circle where the tribal elders stood in their long white robes. The leader, a man by the name of Dafyd, tapped the blunt end of his hazel-wood walking stick to the ground with impatience. Keegan knew the dark-eyed elder with the limping gait would be the one to perform the handfasting ceremony. He nodded to Lana’s father, and turned back to wait.

  In the distance, three women approached. Framed by the twilight sky, one wore brown druidess robes, the second wore colors the subdued quality of a mother’s trepidation, and the third was cloaked in the moving colors of the sea.

  Keegan quickly checked his clothes. The blue long sleeved woolen tunic fitted him well enough, he thought. The stringed placket opened down the center of his chest from collarbone to waist. Earlier, he cut slits in the back for his own comfort, his long hair covering the minor alterations. He shifted his weight. The form-fitted blue breeches were snug on his legs, but not overly so. He adjusted his silver cuff, his fingers subconsciously tracing the interlacing sea wave design. While he preferred to walk on his own bare feet, he had developed a tolerance for the foot coverings. The leather boots, a gift from the druidess, were acceptable if one liked their feet so encumbered.

  His bride stopped at the opposite end of the stone circle while the druidess and mother faded into the background. He was pleased that she wore his gifts.

  A hush came to the land and sky and to his innermost being.

  Behind him, the elder Dafyd said, “Twilight has arrived and so we begin the joining.”

  The tuneful sounds of three bells tolled, only slightly hurtful to his highly sensitive ears. His bride gave him a gentle smile meant to reassure.

  He tilted his head slowly, a feral movement not lost on his fair one. Her smile dissolved instantly and she turned away.

  He continued his strong inspection of her while four maidens tossed red rose petals along the perimeter of the stone circle. He could feel her presence, the uncertainty of her heartbeat, the small intake of her breath fueling his need for possession.

  She took an involuntary step back and then walked once around the circle, lighting torches the maidens held for the four cardinal directions, East, West, North, and South.

  She is brave, he thought, and licked his lips in anticipation.

  Lana felt her stomach drop out from under her. She could not keep her eyes from him. The druidess said the guardian might need guidance in the handfasting ceremony and that she should watch him for hesitancy, but there d
id not seem to be any hesitancy in his manner. In fact, he seemed to be transforming into his true shape.

  She moved to stand in front of him. Gray eyes shifted into amethyst radiances, tilting at the ends as if he were having trouble maintaining his mortal form.

  “Keegan,” she warned softly, and he blinked, there was a sudden focusing, and the faery light within him faded once more to light gray.

  White teeth flashed in a grin at her, and for a moment, she had an overwhelming image of a stalking hunter. With her heart fluttering in her throat, she reached and pulled back her hood. He remained in quiet observation, his features set in an unreadable mask.

  With shaky fingers, Lana unclasped the Tara brooch, his first gift to her, and shrugged out of the cloak. The druidess stepped forward and took the brooch and cloak out of her hands.

  Lana turned back to Keegan. His lashes swept low, hiding the iridescent glimmering in his eyes, but there was a stirring in his body, a rippling of danger and supremacy thickening the air she breathed.

  One of the elders rang the handfasting bell, unaware of the sudden change in him. A clanging melody rose three times in the air and she caught him flinching slightly. He looked fey born, a cruel and untamed creature of ancient power and beauty, the Daoine Sidhe, the faery folk.

  Lana moved a little away from him, feeling a bit like a sacrificial animal.

  Then his head tilted again, showing his curiosity.

  She indicated the handfasting circle. “Twilight has come,” she said, struggling for calm.

  He nodded.

  Taking her hand, he led her once around the circle, with a domineering and imposing stride. Then, stopping and moving aside, he placed a hand on her lower back, a gentle force propelling her forward. They entered the circle from the east and came to stand in front of a small wooden altar in the center.

  Upon the altar rested a silver knife, a single red cord, a small silver box, and a trowel. Lana saw her guardian eyeing the trowel questioningly.

  The handfasting bell rang three times once more to mark the beginning of the ceremony and the elder Dafyd entered the circle. He faced them from the other side of the altar. Holding up both hands, he began the blessing.

  ~o/o~

  “Let us begin in the east. Here we ask for

  the blessings of the element of Air, which brings truth,

  wisdom, and vision. May East and Air bless

  Keegan and Lana throughout their lives.”

  ~o/o~

  “Now, we turn to the south. Here we ask for the

  blessings of the element of Fire, home of passion,

  pleasure, joy, and happiness. May South and Fire

  bless Keegan and Lana throughout their lives.”

  ~o/o~

  “Now, let us turn to the west. Here we ask for the

  blessings of the element of Water, bringing tranquility,

  peace, emotion, and serenity. May West and Water

  bless Keegan and Lana throughout their lives.”

  ~o/o~

  “Now, we turn to the north, where the element

  of Earth resides, deeply grounded in strength,

  comfort, and support. May North and Earth bless

  Keegan and Lana throughout their lives.”

  ~o/o~

  “And in the Center and all around us, above and below,

  resides the Spirit who brings blessings of love, magic, friendship,

  and community. May the Spirit of all things divine

  join us and bless Keegan and Lana on this sacred day.”

  ~o/o~

  Lana turned and faced Keegan.

  “Take my hands,” she whispered, slipping her hands in his. “Do any here challenge this joining?” the elder leader asked, looking around.

  Keegan’s features hardened, his focus on the men.

  No one responded, and Lana breathed a small sigh.

  “Then let us begin the joining,” the elder said, and turned to them once more.

  “Keegan, do you come of your own free will?”

  He nodded.

  “You must say ‘I do’,” the elder directed.

  “I do.”

  “Lana, do you come of your own free will?”

  “I do,” she replied softly.

  “Then state your vows.”

  She tugged on his hands. “Say these words with me.”

  He shook his head and something fearful tugged at her heart.

  “Nay, my fair one. You say these words after me.” His voice sounded almost tender.

  Lana nodded, wondering what words he would use.

  “We commit ourselves to be with each other in joy and in adversity,” he began; his grip on her hands gentle but controlling.

  Lana echoed the words, immediately recognizing the olden vows.

  “In wholeness and brokenness,” her guardian mate said, in a deep dark cadence.

  “In wholeness and brokeness,” she said, staring up at him in wonder.

  “In peace and turmoil.”

  “In peace and turmoil,” she continued, feeling a sense of permanency washing over her.

  “Living together faithfully all our days,” he said. “May the Gods and Goddesses give us the strength to keep these vows. So be it,” he ended.

  She repeated the final phrase.

  The elder stepped forward and placed a red cord over and around their right hands.

  “Red symbolizes life and a handfasting commitment for one year and a day,” the elder said. “If our faery brethren approve and your bodies join in a child, you may return and repeat the vows with the cord tightly knotted to show a permanent joining. If not, the trial-marriage ends and you may go your separate ways if you so choose.”

  The elder bowed over the red cord, said a brief blessing, and then removed it, returning it to the altar. Picking up the small knife, he handed it to Keegan.

  Her guardian immediately reached for a blond curl lying on her breast and cut it cleanly. He placed the curl in the silver box the elder held.

  He then held the knife out to her, his large palm open. Lana took the knife. She cut a lock of Keegan’s brown hair and placed it in the silver box over her own curl.

  The elder closed the silver box. “For the future,” he said, and returned the box to the altar.

  Keegan took both her hands in his again.

  “Be understanding and patient with each other,” the elder murmured, backing away. “Be free in the giving of your affection and your warmth. Have no fear inside your hearts and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the Gods and Goddesses be with you always.” He stepped out of the circle.

  Lana turned to her guardian mate.

  “Together we must bury the silver box in the center of the circle to safeguard our future.”

  He picked up the trowel and Lana placed her right hand over his.

  He stilled and looked at her skeptically.

  “Together, Keegan.”

  He nodded and she leaned forward with him.

  They dug a small hole, her new guardian mate doing all the work.

  Together they placed the silver box in the hole and covered it beneath a lumpy mound of dirt.

  From outside the circle, the elder called out, “The circle remains open but unbroken. May the peace of the Old Ones go in our hearts. Keegan and Lana are handfasted.”

  The handfasting bell rang three times.

  “For a year and a day, we are handfasted,” Lana whispered.

  “ ‘Tis more than enough time,” her guardian mate replied without merriment. He took her arm and led her out of the circle.

  “‘Tis time to feast and celebrate!” Dafyd raised his walking stick high. A loud, joyous roar rose in the twilight air, but it did little to lighten Lana’s heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  SHE BELONGED TO HIM NOW, every delicate eyelash, every blond curl, every soft breath, his. The scent of his mating bite on her sweet flesh made him sweat. Some primordial influence, he suspected
, the teastaigh, the madness and want, a forgotten taint in his ancient bloodline, blazing now like an unexpected fever because of the handfasting.

  He was Báisteach, Rain.

  He was Daoine Sidhe, of the faery folk.

  He was olden and powerful.

  A deadly, fey born guardian.

  Meant to be feared…

  He found he could not move.

  “Are you thirsty, Keegan?” With two hands, his lovely, fair-haired mate held a large goblet of bronze out to him. “ ‘Tis my father’s mead,” she explained, seeing his hesitation.

  He was not thirsty for mead. Reaching out with one hand, he took the fine goblet from her anyway. Hefty and crafted with the metalworking swirls of a devouring whirlpool, it seemed to intend the drinker to be sucked into the very depths of its contents. A cauldron for a male’s hand, he thought admiringly, and brought the smooth edge to his lips. He finished the contents in one long swallow, enjoying the sweet burning sensation streaming down his throat. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked down at his beaming bride and nearly flinched at the happiness he saw there.

  The clinging bodice showed the swells of small breasts. He frowned, deeply regretting having given her the fey gown as a gift.

  She touched the gown’s fluttery webs above her left breast self-consciously. “My thanks for your gift.”

  He looked away and nodded, wondering when he could toss her over his shoulder and leave the infernal celebration.

  “ ‘Tis lovely, Keegan.”

  He nodded a second time. Lovely would not be how he would describe the sea-hued gown, more like enticing, an alluring weave meant to destroy a male’s willpower. What had he been thinking? She was not fey born, not water faery, never was she meant for the sheerness of webs his fey brethren wore. He looked back at her again, his focus moving downward in a slow perusal. Through the fey weave, he could make out the shape and color of her nipples. They were large, especially for breasts so perfectly small and shaped. He could fit his mouth over…

  “Would you like some food?” She regarded him curiously, unaware of his growing displeasure, looking up at him with those night-hued eyes that would forever torment him.

  He thrust the goblet back in her hands and said icily, “I still thirst.”