With nowhere else to go, Aisling stood up and headed into the Weald in search of her secret alcove.
* * *
“I am looking for the young Faelorehn woman who drew this. Her name is Aisling, and I was told she lives in this house.”
Kiernan removed the folded piece of parchment from inside his vest and showed it to Deaghan and his sons. The townsfolk had been reluctant to give out information, but a troupe of young children had pointed him in the direction of this country manor perched just along the edge of the Weald. Now, he stood in a rather large but dark parlor, his impatience growing thin, as the renowned sculptor gave the sketch an assessing glare.
After some time, the Faelorehn man drew in a breath and said rather boorishly, “A girl by that name does not live here.”
Kiernan’s brow furrowed. The children had been so sure ...
Sighing, he tucked the paper back into his pocket. He had no choice but to ask around town some more.
As Kiernan turned to leave, a door from across the room swung open, and an elderly Lorehnin woman stepped through. Behind her trailed a young girl, half her face marred by an ugly bruise, and behind them a tall, dark-haired Lorehnin man.
“The lord of the house speaks truth,” the woman said, with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Aisling doesn’t live here any longer because that brute of a man,” she sent an evil look in Deaghan’s direction, “threw her out with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
Fierce, cold anger shot through Kiernan. He turned to regard Deaghan with as much malice as he possessed.
“Is this true?” he demanded.
Deaghan, unbothered by Kiernan’s fierce attention, shrugged. “She was a drain on my resources and outstayed her welcome.”
Kiernan exploded, his hand lashing out and clasping Deaghan around the throat. His glamour, so powerful and full of wild rage, crept forth with the desire to injure the one who had harmed the woman he loved.
The two young men cried out and moved to help their father, but with one swing of Kiernan’s other arm, they went crashing into the furniture.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
Deaghan couldn’t speak, what with the fingers tightening around his throat.
It was the Lorehnin woman who spoke. “Please, my lord, she has most likely found refuge in the woods.”
The blind rage brewing in Kiernan’s heart faded away, and he dropped the wretched man to the ground.
Kiernan ducked his head in thanks to Marta, then found his way to the back of the house. A small trail ran from the lawn through the overgrown fields. It was late twilight, but he could still see the narrow ribbon of worn earth as it disappeared into the trees.
Without hesitation, he left the manor house behind and started his trek into the edge of the Weald.
* * *
Aisling was cold. So very cold. But she didn’t have the energy to start a fire, and she was still afraid her evil cousins might use it to find her. She doubted Greagoire and Deiric would wait to see if she would come crawling back to the manor before making sport of her, should the inclination tempt them. Better to err on the side of caution.
Feeling defeated, Aisling tried to wrap the cloak more tightly about herself as hot tears dripped from her chin. How had she come to this place in her life? Would it not have been better to remain obedient to her uncle?
“No,” she murmured to no one but herself. “As miserable as you are now, you are finally free. You showed all of Arbeine what you were capable of, even if they didn’t know it was you. And, most importantly, you got to see Kiernan one last time.”
The sound of boots scraping against the roots of the beech jerked Aisling from her cloud of misery. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she had to cover her mouth to keep from crying out. Oh, no! Her cousins had found her after all.
A tall, dark figure landed in a crouch at the base of the beech tree, then straightened. He or she was mostly swallowed by the dark, but the silhouette of the intruder’s head stood out, black against the silvery bark of the beech. Aisling’s heart almost stopped. Two spindly shadows protruded from the stranger’s head. Antlers. Kiernan.
“W-what are you doing here?” she whimpered, drying her eyes with a dirty sleeve.
Kiernan stepped away from the tree, his footfalls soft and light. Carefully, he made his way through her gallery, aware of the chimes hanging from above. He had to duck a few times to avoid getting them tangled in his antlers.
“You kept away from me, Aisling.”
The moon was full, but the small dale was shadowed in most places. Only in the open space where she lay still was there enough moonlight to see by. And, he could see her eyes. Huge and shining with tears. For the first time since meeting this extraordinary young woman, she appeared beaten and down-trodden. He hated seeing her like that, but it was past the time for treading lightly.
“I saw you,” she whispered, tilting her head and letting the screen of her blond hair hide her face. “The night of the festival. I believed you to be an ordinary Faelorehn man. But, you aren’t. You are the son of Cernunnos, the prince of the Weald. A servant girl with no parents and an uncertain bloodline has no place in your life.”
Kiernan had come to a stop, only a few feet away from her.
Aisling looked up, her eyes painfully defiant.
“And now, I must say goodbye to you, for I must flee this place. I must seek out the Wildren of the Weald and beg them to take me in.”
“No, you do not,” Kiernan said, his voice rough.
Aisling nodded. “Yes, I do! I have angered my uncle beyond redemption, and he has cast me out of the house. If I return, he might just kill me, and he’s already promised to make it impossible for me to find employment in Arbeine. I have no other choice but to venture further into the Weald and try to make a life there. That is my only option.”
Kiernan closed the distance between them and pulled Aisling into his arms. She gasped, but did not resist him.
“You will not disappear further into the Weald, and your uncle and cousins will never touch you again!” he snarled softly, his lips pressed to her hair. “I don’t care that you were Deaghan’s servant. I do not care if you were not raised by the noble clans of Eile. I only care about you.”
He gently drew her away, holding her in front of him so that he might look into her eyes. “I don’t want some pretentious woman of high breeding or refined manners. I want you, Aisling. I want your beauty and your spirit and your passion for art. I will not let any more harm come to you. But, I do not want you to run away to the center of the Weald. I want you to stay here, with me, in this little corner of it. I love you, Aisling. Gods and goddesses of Eile, I can’t even begin to describe how much I love you. You own part of my spirit now, and wherever you go, that part of me will always be with you. Please, stay here with me and assist me in keeping watch over this arm of the forest. Help me pass my days in joy and happiness. Inspire me to become a better artist and work with me at the academy to help others like you who wish to create beautiful things.”
Aisling was crying now, the tears falling freely. Kiernan’s green eyes were dark, almost wild in the firelight, but within them she found the truth. He did love her. And, she loved him. She smiled, laughing a little.
“Yes, Kiernan, I will stay with you,” she finally managed. “I love you, too. Just as fiercely.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, then under each eye, then slowly, his lips found hers. The kiss was gentle at first, but soon grew more confident. Aisling gasped when Kiernan pressed one hand to her lower back, the other tangling in her hair. With a light chuckle, he took advantage of her parted lips and deepened the kiss.
As Kiernan’s love poured forth, it filled the dark corners of Aisling’s battered soul with light and joy and radiance. She matched his affections with all her heart, sharing with him all of her own dreams, wishes and hopes until the night glowed bright around them.
* * *
Author’s Note
The idea for Soot and Stone first came to me a few years ago during National Novel Writing Month. I was supposed to be focused on an entirely different project, but I took a small break to type up a quick outline for a faerie tale retelling set in the universe of my Otherworld series using characters well known in Celtic mythology. Although Cinderella isn’t my favorite of the classic faerie tales, I thought its plot would work best with these particular characters.
For the most part, Soot and Stone stays true to the rags-to-riches story we are all familiar with. I do take a few liberties, however. Instead of a wicked stepmother, my Cinderella character, Aisling, is oppressed by a terrible uncle and his two sons. My prince charming in this story (Kiernan) does not have wealth in a monetary sense, but he has strong magic and is the son of one of the Tuatha De Danann gods (Cernunnos, the god of the wild).
I also wanted to keep the ‘cinder girl’ aspect of Cinderella intact as well, and I did this by writing Aisling’s character as a young, aspiring artist who uses the old cinders and charred wood in the fireplaces to draw and sketch out her ideas. This has earned her the nickname ‘Smudge’ from her cruel uncle, for she is often getting soot stains on her face and clothes. And what is a good Cinderella story without the ball and the glass slipper? In my version, Aisling anonymously takes part in an art competition and leaves behind a sketch for the prince to trace back to her home.
Whether you are a Cinderella purist or not, I hope you enjoyed this tale as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, happy reading and may the spirits of Eile bless you!
The Huntsman’s Snow - Mandy M. Roth
Sometimes, a prince isn’t as charming as history would like you to believe. And sometimes, a princess needs an alpha male shifter to find her happily ever after.
Chapter 1
Huntsman stood silently off in the corner of the great hall, the smell of flowers nearly overpowering his keen shifter senses. Floral arrangements draped every possible area in the castle, and fabric was strung from one corner of the high ceiling to the other. Candles were set about, illuminating the decorations and festivities. No expense had been spared, and Huntsman wasn’t sure there was a woman in the great hall who wasn’t beaming with delight.
The kingdom had pulled together in celebration of both the return of their beloved Princess Snow White and the death of the Evil Queen, who had also been Snow’s stepmother. She was a wicked stepmother at that. Both occasions had been causes for jubilation in their own right but together meant the celebration would last several days—or more.
The Evil Queen had ruled with a dark heart, making a blanket of sorrow fall over the once happy lands. For years, Huntsman wasn’t sure the curse of the Evil Queen would ever lift. He had feared the kingdom he once knew and loved was no more and would never be again.
The Evil Queen’s death changed all of that. It should have been a time for Huntsman to rejoice as well. He had hated the queen and had been forced to do her evil bidding more than once. She’d held power over his wolf side, to a degree, magically pushing him into shifting forms on more than one occasion. She’d even forced him to remain in wolf form for nearly four straight months once because he’d dared to defy her orders. That had been his punishment when he’d refused to take Snow deep into the enchanted forest and kill her.
He’d been made to kill innocents, the blood of which he’d never wash clean from his hands or his conscience. His mood should have been lighter. The queen was dead, and he was no longer required to carry out horrid acts of violence.
Yet, his mood was not lighter.
Not in the least.
It was sour.
His chest tightened as he watched the raven-haired beauty that had stolen his heart with the very first breath of air she drew, stand hand-in-hand with a man he detested. The man, born into a line of royals, was unfit to be who stood by Snow’s side. She was all that was beautiful and right in the kingdom, and the man with her was a coward. A man who had his birthright been anything other than a throne, would not have been permitted within the castle walls. He was not fit to wear the crest of the great house they stood within, and in a matter of days, he would not only wear it, he would also rule the kingdom it represented.
The thought was sobering.
Should a war break out, there was a better than average chance the man ruling the kingdom would not only run but possibly surrender everything in the process.
Huntsman gritted his teeth, his mouth wanting to change shape into that of a wolf. His emotions were high, and the need to snap the prince’s neck was great.
The man had not saved the princess from certain death at the hands of her wicked stepmother, but in reality, had soiled himself when confronted with the Evil Queen’s power and sheer presence. The moment she’d drawn upon her dark magic the prince had run in the other direction, wetting himself in the process, leaving Snow laying on the ground, dying.
Huntsman wanted to strangle the man still for his cowardly actions.
Huntsman had been the one who had protected Snow. Been the one who had not only given her the cure for the poison her stepmother had given her but who had also killed the Evil Queen. He’d smashed the Queen’s beloved magic mirror into her when she’d tried to use her magic against Snow. Yet, that was not the tale told by the prince, who had the ear of many.
The kingdom believed what it wanted to believe, and loved the idea of their beloved princess marrying a prince. That tale was far more romantic than her running off into the sunset with him—the bastard shifter. The wolf-man with no roots to speak of and no lands to his name.
Even Snow did not know the full truth of the matter. The poison’s ill effects had held her in its grasp as Huntsman had battled her stepmother, fearing the Evil Queen’s magic would strike Snow dead before he could protect her. Snow believed her savior to be the ingratiating man next to her. The lecherous, spoiled boy—barely a man.
Could she not see past his silver tongue? See past his lies?
“You’re doing it again,” said Grump, a man of small stature, but large opinions. He was of the dwarves and a foreman of the mine, located deep in the enchanted forest. He was also one of the few who knew what events had truly transpired in the woods. He and six of his fellow friends had been there, trying their best to protect the princess as well. Huntsman owed Grump a great debt. It was Grump who had sought him out, alerting him that the queen had discovered Snow’s hiding place and had poisoned her.
“I am doing what again?” demanded Huntsman.
“Growling,” returned Grump. “I’m the one they call grumpy, and you’re making me look like I’m a barrel of roses. Why don’t you just tell Snow the truth? You have her ear.”
“But not her hand,” he said, before thinking better of it. He hated showing weakness. It was against everything he stood for. He was a proud man, who had made something of himself, despite being left as a babe in the woods. Snow’s father had been kind to him, taking him in and seeing he was raised within the castle walls.
Huntsman had Snow by nearly ten years, but it did not matter. When she was born, he had been there, in the castle, keeping the king company. The men had been banished from the chamber room as Snow’s mother delivered.
The very moment Snow had drawn in her first breath and cried only momentarily, Huntsman’s world had turned upside down. The fierce need to protect her had hit him hard in the gut, and it had never let up. Even his wolf, still just a pup back then, had known that it was his duty to protect her, and he had. He’d watched over her when they were young, and as she grew into the beautiful woman before him, he’d hidden his true feelings for her.
Hidden his love of her.
And now he was going to lose her forever to a pants-wetting coward.
Who is the real coward? I fear telling her that I love her.
He snorted, his wolf feeling a bit like it had its tail between its legs.
Grump lifted a dark, bushy brow. “Stop pouting and go
talk to her. You’ve barely said two words to her since it all happened.”
“How am I to get a word in edgewise with him around?” he asked, motioning with disgust to the prince.
Shrugging, Grump stared ahead. “I dunno. Cut his tongue from his mouth?”
The idea had merit.
Grump nudged him again. “I jest.”
“The plan is solid,” supplied Huntsman.
“Snow would never forgive you.”
It was true. Snow detested violence. She had made an exception with the death of her stepmother, because of how truly wicked the woman was, but she would not forgive him should he attack the prince.
He grunted and folded his arms over his chest, his body coiled with the need to hit something—preferably the prince’s pretty face. The wolf he carried within him wanted free. It wanted to show its dominance. Mostly, it wanted to eat the coward and teach the man a lesson for daring to touch his woman.
My woman.
The words felt right in his head and in his heart, yet he could not voice them. He was not of noble blood. He was head of game at the castle, nothing more. Snow was a princess. She was destined for a prince.
He growled again, the wolf in him nearing the surface.
Grump laughed and the sound of it coming from a man who rarely found humor in anything caught Huntsman by surprise. Grump grinned up at him, showing off his missing front tooth. “You are a stone’s throw from peeing on Snow’s leg to mark your territory.”
He was about to object when he realized the small man was right. He was close to doing just that. Squaring his shoulders, he stood, watching as one of the king’s head advisors spoke to the couple. The prince laughed loud and long, pulling Snow against his thin frame.
It took all of Huntsman’s will to remain in place, but he did so. It wasn’t until Snow cast a pleading look over her pale shoulder that he felt his feet moving. In a few short strides, he was to her, pulling her out of the prince’s grasp gently. The prince reached for her only to be met with Huntsman’s mouth shifting forms as he snapped at the man, wanting to draw blood.
Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Page 26