Fey Born Read online

  A feeling of disquiet settled inside him. He sensed her weakness, something inside, but could not name it. He briefly contemplated sleeping, but then decided to remain awake for the reminder of the night and guard her. He would take his rest on another night. Sighing, he buried his unwanted feelings for her deep within.

  ———

  The days that followed remained uneventful, the endless hours, the endless walking north, Lana leading, guided by instinct, and, he suspected, misgivings.

  On the seventh night of their journey and under the radiance of a crescent moon, she sat on her blanket staring at him in defiance.

  “Do you ever sleep?” she inquired indignantly.

  “Aye,” he answered, feeling the impatient undercurrents of her tone. He suspected this inquiry spoke more of a mating between them than of sleeping.

  “When?” she demanded in a rush, aware of his every move.

  “Tonight,” he replied meaningfully.

  “Now?” she responded in exclamation, feminine interest showing plainly on her face.

  Considering he only wanted to sleep this eve, he looked away from the temptation of moist lips. He did not intend to touch her, ever. Ever. “Lie down,” he mumbled, removing his scabbard.

  “Should I remove my clothes?”

  He blinked at her, caught off guard. “Nay. We are sleeping,” he replied, slightly dazed from his own lack of rest.

  “Do you…?” she started. “What I mean to say is, do fey guardians…?”

  He inclined his head for her to continue.

  She straightened her spine and ploughed ahead. “Derina said guardians do not behave in the same ways that we, mortals, expect them to.”

  He sighed. “I thought we agreed not to believe everything a white-haired druidess said.”

  “Aye, but what I wish to know is, if you are shaped the same as…”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “If I am shaped the same as?” He was very certain she could not turn a deeper shade of red.

  He held up his hand to stop her tumble into utter embarrassment. “If you are asking me about my man root, I am shaped as any other mortal male in this.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Why?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I overhead one of the maidens in the village say the man root of a fey guardian is as large as that of a male horse.”

  He snorted. “How idiotic.”

  “And then Derina said guardians doona behave in the same way as mortal males, and well, I thought since you doona appear to sleep, mayhap mating is different as well.”

  “You thought wrong. I take my rest when and where I need it, which is tonight. I mate when and where I desire, which is not now. So please lie down, be quiet, and go to sleep.” A guardian could go for long days and nights without sleeping, but after a time, rest must be taken to reclaim strength.

  She responded to his request without argument. Lying down on her side, she shifted to the edge of the blanket, making way for him, and patted the spot in front of her.

  Not thinking clearly, he accepted her invitation and lay down on his back beside her. Immediately, she snuggled close, and he recognized his error. Her head rested easily on his shoulder, her small breasts pressed into his side, and a slender arm lay across his chest. He reclined there, mindless and tense as an untried boy.

  “Keegan?”

  “Now is the time for sleeping, not talking.”

  She shifted in closer, if that were possible. “I just wanted to say that I like sleeping next to you.”

  He grunted noncommittally while she pressed her nose against his neck. After a time, she fell into slumber and moments later, thankfully, so did he.

  The next morning, Keegan awoke with a start. The scent of female was strong in his lungs. Lifting his head, he looked down his chest. She had shifted in her sleep and now lay face down atop him at a most odd and crosslike angle. Somehow, she found a way inside his laced tunic. Her face hidden, golden waves cascaded over the top of him. He felt her breath against his flesh and bit back a groan. One slender arm was flung over his chest, fingers twisted in the brown hair lying across his shoulder. The other arm lay across his thigh, an elbow grazing a part of him that it should not. He looked to his right. His own hand cupped a curvy bottom.

  He jerked it away as if burned. With a bone deep unease, he laid his head back on the ground and took a deep breath. She was drooling on him, in his navel, of all places.

  “Claíomh host,” he called, staring up at the pale gray sky, feeling his body’s unwanted response. He could not remember the last time he awoke with a mortal female draped all over him. Never did he remain once his lust had been sated.

  “Lana.”

  “Mmm.” She shifted, a knee came up, and an arm went down.

  “By the white moon,” Keegan choked as a pointy elbow jabbed him in his man parts.

  Lana jerked awake, her hair caught in the laces of a male’s tunic. Immediately she tried to scramble off him, only to be pulled up short by her hair.

  “Stop,” her guardian mate croaked, a leg drawn up and one hand cupping his man parts protectively.

  She stopped her attempts at freeing and waited, breathing heavily in the damp morning mist, a chunk of hair good and caught on his tunic.

  Slowly, he lifted his head. From beneath dark brows, he glared his anger.

  She smiled in return, for what else could she do? “Are you hurt?”

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion, the reason for which she could find no cause.

  “I doona move,” she said, holding on to the piece of hair which was entwined.

  He looked down his chest and then with a flick of his wrist, her hair came free as if dancing in a breeze.

  She sat back, pushing the offending strands away from her face.

  Grimacing, her guardian mate rolled away and then climbed to his feet, taking a long time to straighten to his full height. With hands on his hips, he took a slow, recovering breath.

  “Keegan? What is wrong?”

  “Give me a moment. ‘Tis not every morn I have the wind knocked out of me.”

  “What wind? There be only a mild breeze this morn.”

  He scowled at her. “I am not talking about the wind.”

  “What are you talking about then?”

  “You drooled on me,” he accused.

  She covered her mouth in dismay. She occasionally drooled in her sleep, especially when sleeping on her belly.

  “If that were not bad enough, you jabbed me in my…” He winced and pointed to his man parts.

  She tried not to show her shock. “I dinna jab you there.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits of annoyance.

  “If I did jab you there in your man parts, I dinna mean to. I doona remember doing it.”

  He said not a word.

  “Anyway, it must have been a light jab, not a hard whack.”

  His head tilted.

  She decided now would be a good time to excuse herself and take care of her body’s needs. Rolling to her hip, she climbed to her feet.

  “For a farmer’s daughter, you are sadly inexperienced, claíomh host. It seems I must instruct you on this.”

  She froze. “No need.” She was not sure she wanted to learn his lesson right now and besides, she had to find…

  “I disagree.”

  In the next moment, he sat on his heels in front of her, pulling her back down with a firm grip on her arm and then suddenly releasing her.

  Scooting back, she stared suspiciously at him.

  He did not move, did not give her cause to flee further.

  “Come closer to me.”

  There was a fey command in his voice, a smooth compulsion of liquid velvet. She fought it, stiffening her back.

  A smile slowly curved his lips.

  She glared back, which only seemed to amuse him further.

  “Forgive me. I forgot I have promised not to compel you.” He patted the ground in front of him. “Closer to me.”
>
  His tone changed to ease, the coercion in it gone, so she complied.

  Now practically nose-to-nose with him, the heat and scent of him cocooned her.

  “Give me your right hand,” he urged softly.

  “Why?”

  “Give me your right hand, Lana.”

  She extended it warily.

  His large hands felt warm and strangely smooth for a warrior, but he was fey born, she reminded herself.

  “A small hand,” he said, holding onto her when she tried to pull away.

  He cupped her right hand in his much larger one and then with the other, wrapped long fingers around her wrist, holding her so she could not pull away.

  She tugged once, a reflexive action at his overpowering proximity.

  He smiled tolerantly, ready for her lesson.

  “Last night you were curious about my male root. All males have a weakness, Lana. Mortal and fey born are all the same in this.”

  Slowly, he pulled her forward, so that the bridge of her nose touched him in the jaw.

  “Keegan, what are you doing?”

  “Learn.”

  He guided her hand forward and down, showing her how to cup him.

  “Feel the shape of me?” he asked huskily.

  She bowed her head, her face hot, and nodded.

  “Am I shaped in size like a horse?”

  “Nay,” she mumbled in reply, the scent of rain and desire thickening the air.

  His chin dropped close. “I am made for a female’s pleasure.”

  She could not deny that.

  His hand tightened around hers. “Here, where the seed of life grows, there is strength and weakness. A kick, punch, or jab here,” his fingers curved more closely against hers, “will steal a male’s breath and strength.”

  Within her hand, Lana felt the firm warm pulse of his man root. Her fingers explored his shape, feeling, and forming his length instinctively.

  He released her and stood up.

  Lana scooted backward, caught in rolling waves of mortification.

  He looked down at her. “Remember, ‘tis always better to experience knowledge rather than to listen to it.”

  He walked away, leaving her flustered. Lana stared at her right hand. He was not as huge as the stallions in the field, but he felt large enough to her. She glanced in the direction he disappeared. Had he just taught her how to hurt him?

  CHAPTER 7

  THEY HAD TRAVELED FOR MANY days with her leading the way north, although Lana knew not the destination.

  Keegan had been strangely quiet, which she considered a mixed blessing. Her right hand still tingled from the intimate feel of him several mornings before. The lesson ignited a profound curiosity to feel the shape and contours of his muscular body against hers. She supposed he knew this and that is why he kept his distance.

  Lana returned her attention to the winding path they followed. They walked through a small valley of tall willow trees, leaving a green ridge of rolling hills behind them. The blue sky above smiled warmth upon them and she took joy in that. She knew her pace was slow, knew her guardian mate must suspect something. She would, if their roles were reversed. Yet not a complaint or accusation did he make.

  Adjusting the strap of the small food bag, she looked over her shoulder. As usual, he bowed his head in acknowledgement of her glance and gave her nothing more. Lana turned back to the gently rising path before her. The rain stopped hours before, yet underfoot the ground was still wet and soggy. The air smelled of earth and woods. They were common scents, reminders of home.

  Off to their right, in front of an old hawthorn, stood an odd assortment of white pillar stones. They rose in varying heights to the waist and shoulder. She stopped to admire them, for they stood in the shade of the black branches of the tree. She heard Keegan stop silently behind her. This was an olden place, she surmised.

  All in her tribe knew the hawthorn to be the resting place of the sidhe, and the faeries did not like to be disturbed. She glanced at Keegan and quickly determined since she traveled with a faery, she was probably safe. On impulse, she walked over for a closer look at the pillars.

  “Claíomh host?”

  “My name is Lana.”

  “I know. Where are you going?”

  “To look at the tall stones.” She stopped at a waist high stone and traced the smooth rounded top with her fingers. It seemed shaped from larger rocks. She had never seen anything like it before and ran her fingers down a carved edge. “Look at these notches, Keegan.”

  “I have seen such as they.”

  She continued her perusal and pointed to one of the inscriptions. “What are these?”

  “Rocks with notches.” He walked over and studied the indentation markings on the rocks. “Spriggans.”

  “The rock faeries with the big heads?” she asked.

  He straightened and rested his hand on the surface of the rock, right next to hers. “Aye, have you ever seen a druid carve a note or signal into a wooden post or tree?”

  “Aye, my father marks trees to show the boundary of his land.”

  “ ‘Tis the same thing.” Leaning over, he ran a finger along the first set of five notches. Each notch looked a little different to her. They had varying bends, almost like the figure of a hand, a very small hand.

  “These markings are spriggan,” he said, and knelt down on one knee for a closer look.

  “What do they say?” she asked, excited to learn something new, and knelt beside him.

  “Mystical oaths,” he answered, “and warnings not to trespass here.”

  He looked at her from beneath his lashes and Lana felt the world pause.

  She could taste his breath with hers, the scent of rain strong in her lungs. His smoky gray eyes had slashes of amethyst light in them, beautiful and terrifying all at once. Her father often said although the faeries were their fey brethren they could not be trusted. To trust one was to be foolhardy. She wondered if it held true with guardians. She wondered if she could trust Keegan.

  “Why do you go on this quest?” she inquired, seeking answers for this mysterious journey she found herself on. “What is this sword to you?”

  He went very still.

  “I think I have a right to know, Keegan.”

  “Valor will drown,” he answered, without further clarification.

  She studied his face. “Would that be the Faery Kings dark blade?”

  His head tilted in an equal study of her. “You are more informed than most.”

  “I have spent many hours listening to the druidess’s storytelling. She knows many things about the fey.”

  He did not respond.

  “How will Valor drown?” she asked.

  “In water,” came the reply.

  Lana fought to control her annoyance and climbed to her feet. “Do you think me dim-witted, guardian? I can assure you I am not.”

  His jaw clenched, but she was not going to be put off. “Please tell me what is going on. Has the dark sword been stolen?”

  He climbed to his feet, towering over her once again. “You have guessed correctly,” he replied. “Someone has stolen Valor. What you could not know is that the Great Fey King has dreamt of her drowning.”

  “Who took her?” she demanded, and realized the stupidity of her question.

  “If I knew who took her then I would not be here with you, would I?”

  She would give him that. “Who else is looking for the sword, Keegan? Should we not have a plan, other than traveling north?”

  “We travel north because that is the way you lead us and there are no others who look for the sword.”

  “Well, that is stupid.”

  His lips curved and Lana had the impression he agreed with her.

  “It is the king’s wish this quest be made in secret. We doona wish our enemies to know one of our fey defenders is missing. I am First Guardian of the Waters. I sense all things, which touch our sacred waters. I will find her.”

  Sanctimonious
faery, she thought and then asked, “Why do you need me then? Will you not sense Valor when the blade submerges?”

  “I may be too late.”

  How could he be too late? His answer made no sense to her. “Can you not just wink into the waters and save her?”

  He shook his head and raised a hand for silence.

  Lana frowned up at him.

  And then…

  With a quickness that startled her, he reached around the stone pillar and pulled out a small hissing creature with an enormous head and brown beard.

  Lana stepped back and dropped her food bag in surprise. She could not help but stare at the distraught individual.

  Dropping his food bag on the ground, Keegan held the creature high by the back of his thick neck. Spindly arms and feet waved back and forth in distress.

  “The sooner you stop fighting, the sooner I will set you down, Master Spriggan.”

  The spriggan stilled and muttered in a gravelly voice, “Down now.”

  “First, tell me why you were watching us,” Lana’s guardian mate insisted, wrinkling his nose as if offended by the creature’s smell.

  “My place, not walk here.”

  Keegan set the creature gently down on his feet.

  The spriggan adjusted his rock-crusted blue jacket and long pants. He gave the guardian a withering look and then turned beady black eyes upon her.

  Lana took a step back, the bearded faery’s inspection turning her blood cold. Dwellers of ruins and burial mounds, the spriggans were said to be the minders of the dolmans, sacred places of the Otherworld. Notorious child-snatchers, they also brought bad weather and general mischief wherever they went.

  They had enough to contend with, Lana thought, and did not need any bad weather or mischief, or whatever else this creature had in mind.

  The spriggan sniffed at her, his large hairy nostrils twitching rapidly. She glanced at Keegan. He nodded, understanding all too well. The rock faery had scented his mating bite upon her.

  “Pretty,” the ugly faery said.

  Keegan adjusted the strap of his scabbard, rolling his right shoulder to relieve the ache there.

  “Aye,” he replied, feigning non-interest.

  “I like sun-colored hair. Like white skin, too.”

  “Aye.”