by Dawn Madigan
“Tell us where, then. We’ll split up,” Brighid offered in a light tone.
“We’ll find her.” Teague flashed Rowan a hesitant grin. “So, tonight’s the big night, eh, boyo?”
Rowan only growled something incoherent in response.
* * * * *
The horizon was a rainbow of green shades as it stretched to touch the early summer sky. Wild-tufted stubby trees made darker clumps against the bright mat of the meadows and an occasional patch of yellow. An isle of red and white houses was nestled within the green—when Dara reached her thumb forward she could hide a whole tiny house behind it.
Yeah, if she kept thinking this way, it would all seem like a huge board game, and she wouldn’t be too afraid to look down.
Boldly, Dara lowered her gaze, glimpsing grass and trees, and the Boyne’s dark, shimmering band…
Which felt waaay too high for someone suffering from acrophobia.
Her frantic gaze darted to the colorful assembly of tourists’ cars parked by the castle, which appeared more like toy cars set up for a child’s play.
That felt even worse!
Dara squeaked and her hands pressed harder against the clammy stone balustrade. She squeezed her eyes shut, attacked by a sudden wave of nausea, and her breath came too quick and too shallow. Goddess, she must be a pathetic sight right now, pale-faced and hyperventilating…
She could handle it.
Why else had she fled Rowan’s bed and climbed up the Castle of Trim, if not to prove to herself once and for all that she could do it?
Dara forced her wild panting to gradually ease. She swayed lightly, her fingers involuntarily twitching against the ancient stone. She lifted her head carefully and cracked her eyes open, looking straight ahead. She was staring at blue summer sky again, a fluff of white clouds stretched loosely just above the skyline. It looked almost like an ocean dappled with the froth of waves—almost, if she imagined it hard enough.
Dara let out a slow breath.
Yeah, that kind of view she could handle.
And there was another thing she’d wanted to do up here.
“Aidan?” Dara whispered, her gaze lost in the sky.
“Aidan, I think…I know that if you’re anywhere at all, then…you must be here.”
Her eyes were starting to burn. She didn’t know if it was because she’d forced them wide open, or because she was determined not to cry.
“’Cause, see…this is your home. Finally found it.”
Her whisper broke, but she took a painful swallow and tried again.
“You never told me much about your life, but…I bet you rode inner tubes down this river, too, even though Rowan never said you did…and, I just know you used to climb up this castle, maybe even stood right here.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a deep breath, an escaped tear streaking down her cheek. Damn the tears! She’d decided not to weep like a little girl. She thumped one fist against the stone and it did the trick, the brief pain helping her ignore the tight ache in her chest. The words kept pouring out in clipped sentences, squeezed between quick gasps of the balmy air.
“You know, I always thought we would be together, forever…and I want you to know that each moment we had—each second—felt like forever to me.”
She paused.
“When you took that arrow instead of me, I wanted to die with you. The thing is, Aidan, I didn’t.”
She shook her head. Another tear rolled down, hot and heavy.
“I didn’t…”
She swiped an angry hand at the flowing tears.
“I love you, Aidan, always will. Forever. But now I need to let you go…and please, please don’t hate me.”
She closed her eyes again and waited, not knowing exactly what she was waiting for. It wasn’t like she was really expecting Aidan to answer. Soft wind brushed the drying tears off her cheeks and gently tugged at tendrils of her hair.
“He doesn’t, you know,” a familiar voice sang behind her.
Dara jerked her eyes open in surprise and swiveled away from the stone balustrade. “How come you’re so sure?” she asked the banshee. Her words didn’t come out angry or biting anymore, just…tired.
“Aidan could never hate you, Dara.” Brighid strolled closer.
“Oh.” Dara was loosely hugging herself. “Well…” She let the word linger, not knowing what else to say.
“Mmmm, nice view!” Brighid called in a typical change of subject, her shoulder brushing Dara’s arm as she leaned against the stone. “You know, you threw Rowan into a fit this morning, vanishing like that.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“We played Scissors-Paper-Stone to decide who went where looking for you, and I got the Castle of Trim. I tricked them though—Rowan, Teague and Aislinn—I used a wee bit of Glamour ‘cause I wanted to get the Castle myself.”
“You don’t play fair, do you?”
“Not really.”
Brighid swung something shiny above the void. It caught the sun and sparkled, hurting Dara’s reddened eyes.
“Silver,” she gasped as she shaded her eyes. “Cut that out, it hurts!”
“Och, quit being such a babby, you can at least look. You have, before.”
Dara withdrew her hands from her face. “Why are you showing your raven birth charm to me again?”
“Why do you always think I have a reason for everything?” Brighid frowned. “Maybe I just think it beautiful?”
“Well?” Dara demanded.
“Well.” The banshee sighed. “’Tis because I want you to have it.”
“What!” Dara cried.
“Just for tonight,” Brighid went on with haste. “I’ll wrap it up in leather so it won’t hurt you. You’re going to need it, Dara, I swear to it!”
“Only if you tell me why.” Dara’s fascinated gaze clung to the glimmer coursing through the forbidden silver.
“Why? Right, that’s easy.” Brighid shrugged. “It’ll be a full moon night. And you’re going to have sex with Rowan…beneath the full moon…in public. See the problem?”
Dara suddenly did, and her face paled even more beneath the sun, her expression bordering on shock.
“Now Rowan, he’s a Guardian. He can control himself well enough. You, however… You need extra Power, unless you want to grow fur and claws. My charm will give you such Power. So, will you accept it, Dara?”
Dara gave a slow nod.
“Rest your mind.” Brighid’s tone softened. “I’ll be there, too, helping the others keep control as they change. All will be grand, you’ll see!”
“Sure, just grand,” Dara muttered.
Brighid grinned, snatching the silver amulet from the air and sliding it back over her head.
As the both of them made their way back to Niamh’s estate, a dazed shifter escorted by a cheerful redheaded banshee, they soon came across the colorful assembly of newly arrived travelers. Their whispers followed Dara and Brighid as they twined their way among their lines.
“May Queen,” someone murmured from behind.
“Bonny, she is,” another echoed.
A woman stepped gingerly into their path. She handed Dara a handwoven basket brimming with spring wildflowers, streamers wound through its wickerwork.
“’Tis a May Basket,” she told Dara. “These are all freshly picked. Wanted to put it in your hands myself, ‘stead of laying it on your doorstep and runnin’ off.”
“Just say thank you,” Brighid advised Dara in a whisper.
“Thank you.” Dara’s flush deepened. She pulled the loaded basket against her breasts.
“’Tis nothing.” The woman stepped back, a wide smile splitting her face. “You just bring us Samon.”
“Summer,” Brighid told Dara with a slight grin. “She wants you to bring her Summer.”
“I fear I’m under qualified for that particular mission,” Dara mumbled quietly, her face still hot.
“What’s that?” Dara looked at the mansion’s
door with wide eyes as she stepped up to the front porch. A flowering branch of hawthorn had been affixed against the dark wood.
“It means somebody fancies you.” Brighid reached forward, stroking over the white blossoms. “’Tis an ancient custom called ‘May Birching’. On the day of Beltaine, before the fires were lit, young lads used to fasten a garland or a bough to the doors or windows of the lasses they fancied.”
“Hawthorn.” A smile curved Dara’s lips, as she recalled her Lower Realm romp with Rowan beneath the white blossoms.
“Aye, hawthorn is a fine sign, ‘tis! If you get thorn hooked to your door though, you aren’t that lucky.”
Soon after, Dara discovered a wreath of red roses slung over the attic room’s doorknob. She bent down to rest her laden basket against the floor and disentangled the blazing garland from its tethering string. Her hands trembled as she lifted it for a closer inspection, and a stab of guilt pierced her insides. Rowan must have assembled all this wild beauty for her while he was searching for her around the gardens, finding her gone from his bed. With sudden resolve Dara raised the intensely fragrant wreath and planted it in her hair. Accepting Rowan’s gift was the least she could do to show him how sorry she was. She turned away from her room, leaving her basket where it lay, not wishing to go inside and tackle the rumpled bed.
Not when she knew it was empty.
Her legs walked her dazed body around the house, and, as if waking from a dream, she startled to find herself facing the closed door of Niamh’s study. She gingerly touched the gleaming doorknob, then turned it on an impulse.
The door wasn’t locked.
Dara stepped inside and flicked the light switch on, shutting the door behind her with an unpleasant stir in her stomach. She felt like a thief, an intruder upon a forbidden territory. The soft light hadn’t utterly banished the room’s shadows. They lurked among the burdened bookshelves and lingered against the walls, and she shuddered. A square of daylight beckoned behind the drawn curtains and she rushed to it, pulling the curtains aside and struggling to wrench the windows open. They swung heavily to the outside and she leaned out with them, taking a long breath of fresh air.
She gasped. A familiar tall figure was making its way towards the house, the sun sparking flames in his wild hair.
Rowan lifted his eyes, sensing the weight of a human gaze. He slowed down at the sight of his willful mate in the second-story window—apparently someone’s search had turned out successful. She had a funny look on her face, like a child caught with a hand in the candy jar. The fiery coronet he’d made for her was nestled within the rich blackness of her hair.
Thank Danu for that sweet sight!
Rowan roared with relief, storming through the hawthorn-bedecked front door and charging up the stairway.
Dara froze at the window. Goddess, that roar! He must be angry at her rude trespassing on Niamh’s private property. She spun sharply as the study door burst open. Oh Great Goddess, he was even faster than she had remembered!
For a brief instant, Rowan stood framed by the doorway, a hulking shadow darker than the corridor’s gloom. And then he took a few strides in her direction, caging her waist in the circle of his arms.
“So you’re not mad at—” she managed, the air almost squeezed out of her lungs by his powerful embrace.
He loosened his hold considerably. Withdrawing a bit, he bowed his head to hers, planting his mouth over her lips. Dara moaned with surprise, her hands fumbling up Rowan’s back. His lips demanded hers to yield. When she surrendered and opened up for him, he plunged inside with a hard kiss. It didn’t feel angry, just loving and desperate, and then he ended it with the same abruptness, struggling to contain his heavy breathing.
“Did I hurt you?” he inquired softly, running his hands up and down her back.
All she could do was shake her head to tell him that no, he hadn’t. Ever.
He sighed and turned her back to the view in the window, their bodies completing each other again. For long minutes they stood in silence, bathing in each other’s warmth.
“I wish I could show you Tara from here,” Rowan finally whispered against Dara’s ear. Her crown of roses teased his cheek, and the intense fragrance was engulfing his senses. “But ‘tis more than six miles northeast from where we stand, and we’re facing the wrong direction.”
“It’s not so bad, you’ll show it to me tonight, won’t you?” She was looking out the window, watching the camped travelers.
“Aye, we’ll be there by sundown to light the Beltaine fire,” he told her. “In ancient times, sweetheart, the Ard-Rí—the High King of Erin—always lit the first Beltaine fire on the Hill of Tara. ‘Twas forbidden to light any other fire before the High King lit his.”
She nodded, trailing her fingers along his forearm. “What else can you tell me about fire?” she asked in a soft, teasing tone, her voice a bit breathy.
“A few more things, in fact,” he said, smiling. He’d taken the bait, walking his fingers to the tiny round buttons at the front of her dress. “In early March, you go to the woods and start gathering the nine sacred woods used to kindle the Beltaine fire…”
“I should have gone to the woods, then?” Her breath caught in her throat, and she stood very still as his hands played over her.
“’Tis customary that men, with not one piece of iron on their bodies, should gather the sacred woods. Three of each kind.” He undid the first button.
“Three,” she gasped.
“First you have to get…” He undid the second button. “Birch.” He loosened the third button, and she let out another soft gasp.
“Then, oak…”
Dara moaned aloud as he popped the fourth button open.
“Then, there’s rowan.”
“That’s your name,” Dara squirmed beneath his hands.
“Aye, ‘tis also my name. But I’m not finished yet.” He grinned. “There’s also willow. Hawthorn. Hazel. Apple. Vine. And fir.”
With each name he loosened another tiny button. Dara trembled like a leaf.
“I’m out of trees,” he finally said and turned her around to face him. “But you’re not out of buttons.”
Dara gasped and arched back as Rowan tore the rest of the buttons open. He then slid his hands beneath the gaping sides of her dress, and pulled her naked body tightly against his clothed one.
“You’re not wearing useless undergarments today,” he pointed out smugly, moving his mouth against hers. One of his hands fondled the soft curves of her ass.
“I didn’t have time this morning. I was busy escaping.” Her heart was beating in her throat, she could barely form the words.
He laughed, making that soft rumble she liked feeling against her skin. Her fingers dug into his shirt as she tried to wrestle the obstinate cloth out of his jeans. To her confusion, his rough whisper stopped her.
“Dara, sweetheart. Not now…”
Rowan’s breath was labored. She could smell his sharp arousal, feel his hard cock pressing against her bare flesh. What was she doing wrong?
“The ancient Law,” he said hoarsely without her asking. “For couples joining at Lia Fáil, ‘tis forbidden to mate after the dawn of their Day of Joining.” His voice sounded painful. “They may mate only once that day, against the Stone.”
“Oh,” she said, letting out a hissing breath. Defiance boiled inside her, but she said nothing more.
Suddenly, it was dawn that mattered? Why, dammit, when everything else went by sundowns?
Rowan tried to soothe her with gentle caresses, but his touch only inflamed her more. She finally tore away from him with a wild growl and pulled her torn dress tightly about her body. Her rose garland lay slanted across her dark mane. Arduously, Dara regained her breath and composure. Rowan stood watching her, appearing more flustered than she.
“Thank you, Rowan,” she whispered at last, “for teaching me about fire.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Well, are you nervous?” Aisl
inn asked shyly. “Because of tonight?”
After replacing her ruined dress, Dara had fled from Rowan’s presence to one of the garden’s cool sheds, wishing to chill the fire searing her insides. She had quickly run into Aislinn, and was grateful to find her there.
“I’m trying not to think about tonight,” Dara admitted.
“Sorry,” Aislinn said, tilting her head, but she continued to smile.
“Oh, it’s okay, really,” Dara answered, smiling back. “It’s funny, you know…”
“What?”
“This picture suddenly popped up in my mind—an old memory that I haven’t thought of in years.”
“What was it?” Aislinn pleaded.
“It was just before my family left Ireland—the last memory I have from here.” Her voice softened. “I was standing in my mom’s kitchen—and my mom was holding this huge snail.”
“A snail!” Aislinn exclaimed, laughing, but something crossed her face.
“Yeah. I was up before sunrise, wreaking havoc in our garden, and I found this really big snail. It was the first of May.”
“Oh please, please go on,” Aislinn begged.
“Well, Mom was holding her palm flat, like this.” Dara demonstrated. “She was staring at the snail sliding across her palm, and suddenly she said, ‘Come, Dara, let’s do a wee bit of magic’.”
“Oooh grand! What did your mom do?”
“She sprinkled a plate with flour and put my snail on it—then placed a large leaf of cabbage atop the whole thing. She’d then told me to wait after sunrise and see what happened.”
“And what happened?” Aislinn was brimming with curiosity.
“Well, of course I could barely wait ‘til sunrise! I climbed up a chair and leaned over the kitchen table, staring at the cabbage leaf, and the tiny movements the snail was making beneath it as it slithered through the flour.”
“Ick. And what then?”
“Mom came and pinched the edge of the leaf aside. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘now you will see the first letters of your Chosen One’s name traced in the flour!’”
“And what did you see?” Aislinn gasped. “Did the snail draw Rowan’s name?”