Passions of the Flame

by Passions of the Flame (NCP) (lit)

  PASSIONS OF THE FLAME

  By

  Angel Lynn

  © copyright by Angel Lynn, April 2005

  Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright April 2005

  ISBN 1-58608-547-6

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  It’s May! It’s May!

  The lusty month of May!

  Those dreary vows that ev’ryone takes,

  Ev’ryone breaks.

  Ev’ryone makes divine mistakes!

  The lusty month of May!

  Lerner and Lowe

  Prologue

  Enter the lands of Scottish Dalriada before the settlement of Scotland’s Argyll, an ancient era of mystic beliefs. It is the season called no time when the shrouds between the world of the others and the human world, grows very thin.

  One might spy the faerie seeking mischief or amusements.

  Magic abounds!

  They are upon the threshold of summer. And the fertility celebration begins. What has lain dormant beneath the Earth’s frigid soils rears their precious heads. The weary are coming to life, emerging from the dark time season casting off the mundane which has tamped their spirits and taunted their souls. The lands will now grow vibrant and warm. Seeds will come to bloom. Hungry bellies deprived because of diminished food stores, will soon be filled.

  Be merry and cheer!

  ‘Tis the eve of Bealtuinn, a time that all souls long for, the mark of winter’s lackluster end. The sacred fires will be lit. Union with the nature spirits will begin.

  All will feast and dance and sing around the flames. Their voices will rise up beseeching the spirits to bring down the nourishing rains and the sunlight to spur growth. And they will cry out for blessings, for a harvest aplenty, fertility to all beasts and human creatures alike, and give hallows of good health for all.

  Good fortune, good friendships, good marriages. All will be asked for.

  All will honor life, as they come to celebrate!

  All will be fire struck, for no being, whether he be mortal or descendent of the otherworld, is immune to enchantments brought forth by the Bealtuinn flames.

  Lust seeks love, and passion burns the heart.

  Garments are optional.

  Chapter One

  Scottish Dalriada 495 A.D.

  Pre-Christian era

  The eve of Bealtuinn

  It was early in the morn, and the activity in the Gaelic village was already full of merriment as the clans prepared to herald the growing season. The sacred woods were being gathered to pile the pyres high. And children weaved among the market stalls frolicking in their youthful playfulness and taking advantage of their youthful delights. Others gathered flowers with which to bedeck themselves, their families, and their hearths. The sounds of mallets performing their seasonal mendings could be heard throughout the village. The clashing of metal by men in swordplay and the clinking of sticks as many play precision games resonated through the market square. But best of all, the mouth-watering smells of simmering foods wafted through the air.

  “Nevin!” Perched atop his mighty destrier, the warhorse at a lazy walk, the stranger who had just entered the village shouted to his friend.

  Pausing with his wood-cutting task, Nevin Selby turned toward the caller and smiled broadly. He would recognize that strong, mighty form, that sturdy, leather chest shield he wore—scratched and battle worn—even if he were a blind man. “Why look who it be!”

  Two seasons had passed since he had laid eyes on his friend. It was the warrior who saved his life during Nevin’s last battle, when his leg was nearly torn off by the sword of the painted ones—the Picts. “Kane Siosal, I see yer sorry arse still be movin’”

  Using a long stick for support, Nevin limped closer.

  The warrior dismounted from his beast and straightened the brat he wore draped thrice around his chest. Pushing the hood of his leine from his head, a deep chuckle emerged from his throat, causing passing females to turn their heads to the rich sound and the handsome stranger that had just entered their village.

  “Me arse is a sturdy thin’, but a bit of luck helps.”

  Giggles emerged from three nearby women who overheard Kane and he tipped his head toward them in greeting. Again they giggled, their bodies closing, their heads tipping tightly together to whisper secrets, occasionally glancing Kane’s way.

  “Who might this handsome warrior be?” Another woman approached and slid into Nevin’s arms, her gaze grazing along Kane’s shoulders before snapping up to his face.

  “‘Tis Kane Siosal, wife.” Nevin gave her a squeeze.

  “Ah, so ye be the man who saved me husband’s life.” Moving toward Kane the woman grasped his shoulders to keep her balance as she rose on her tiptoes to give him a thankful kiss on each cheek. “Cead Mile Failte.” A hundred thousand welcomes.

  Kane dipped his head to accommodate her or else she would not have reached, for he stood more than a head above her tiny frame. “And this be the woman whose name Nevin called from his restless sleep ev’ry eve.”

  “I be Glenna Selby.” She smiled broadly. “Where did ye learn such a talent, mendin’ a torn leg?”

  “Kane has talents aplenty, wife.”

  The eavesdropping ladies nearby, murmured and giggled once more.

  “Hmm.” Glenna scanned the village, observing the women who beamed a lustful eye at Kane Siosal. Her expression became amused. “Ye will be joinin’ us for the celebrations I gather? It seems there will be females in abundance who will wish to make yer acquaintance if ye know my meanin’.”

  “Aye, of course he will,” Nevin answered in Kane’s place. He leaned in closer to Glenna. “But perhaps he will catch yer fancy this eve, woman.”

  Nevin grinned at his wife.

  “Oh ye old fool,” Glenna gave Nevin a gentle slap on his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Ye know I only have eyes fer ye, husband.”

  Unseen by Glenna, Nevin’s gaze rolled upward, and Kane crooked a brow, understanding exactly what his friend meant. It was the eve of Bealtuinn, when the marriage vow could be ignored and a man could bed another’s wench. He and Nevin had talked about this deed. Though Nevin loved his wife dearly, he lusted after a neighbor’s woman, but he would only bed her if Glenna too desired to taste another’s passions.

  It was only proper in Nevin’s mind.

  Kane’s sight meandered up and down Glenna’s body. With skin so fair and brownish-red hair she was a pretty lass, but bedding his dear friend’s woman seemed like an awkward thing.

  He would find another willing woman this eve.

  “Ye must stay in our dwellin’, Kane Siosal,” Glenna offered. “We have room aplenty.”

  Nodding vigorously, Nevin agreed. His eyes alighted with another kind of invitation.

  “Room aplenty,” he said waggling his eyebrows.

  “Come, Nevin. We have preparations to make for the festivities.” Glenna grabbed her husband’s hand and began leading him away. “Our house is beyond the knoll, Kane Siosal. Look fer the blue shutters. And despite me husband’s keenness, I will tell ye now that seekin’ me body is forbidden by me.”

  With that, Glenna grinned as she and Nevin walked off.

  “I will be snatched by a faerie!” a man yelled.

  Kane turned, his lips curling into a deep smirk. Cullen Agar called his name, another acquaintance in arms. They fought side by side in many a battle and he was gladdened to see yet another o
f his friends had survived.

  “Ah Cullen!” Kane chuckled.

  The man approached and dropped the sack of oats he carried. He embraced Kane with a hearty hug.

  “I see ye have come ta take us up on our proffered hospitality, Kane Siosal.”

  “Well, I had none the place better to go.” Returning the hug, Kane slapped Cullen twice on the back before the two men released each other, laughing as they did so.

  Cullen hooked an arm around Kane’s shoulder and waved his hand through the air. “Alanna, ale for me friend!”

  A woman, who was just across the village market, lifted her head from the water well she peered into as she pulled up her now filled bucket. Setting her pail on a nearby horse cart, she swiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

  “Aye!” She waved to them, her gaze lingering overlong on the man who stood by her papa’s side.

  Smiling in return Kane tipped his head toward Cullen. “Yer daughter?”

  “‘Tis me eldest, Alanna, and still unwed.” Cullen sighed. But then his expression brightened. “Perhaps ye might leap the flames with her?”

  Casting a glance toward Alanna, Kane studied her briefly. She was certainly desirable enough, but he had no wish to remain for a season, or least of all be bound to the lass.

  As was the rite on the eve of the fertility celebrations, couples could consummate in trial marriages lasting a year and a day. Though they were not legally binding, it allowed a man and woman time to taste the waters, one might say, before deciding to take a further step into a permanent situation.

  “Nay, Cullen. I be a man of a warrin’ nature, and a wife is no’ what I seek.”

  After all he served under Fergus Mor mac Eirc—who most claimed would become the king—and Kane was needed on the battlefield. Though he would not mind slaking his lust on the lass, it would not be a fitting thing, for Kane would turn her aside when it was time for him to leave. He also doubted he could be faithful to her, as he was a man who enjoyed assortment in his female company.

  Shaking is head in the negative, Kane looked at his friend. “She might find herself with a babe in her belly and me far off in another land.”

  “Ye might grow to love her, Kane, and return with haste. She be a bonnie and biddable lass. Aside from that, there are few men I would trust with me daughter save ye.”

  “Ye have much faith in a man who teems with lusty need at the moment.” Kane gave Cullen a cordial pat on his shoulder.

  To prove his point, he turned a libidinous eye on Alanna as she approached them.

  Noting the expression on Kane’s face, Cullen tossed his head back and laughed uproariously. “Aye, ye see. I be correct in me assumption. Ye be an honest man, Kane Siosal, to admit to yer manly need. But in that regard, I will tell ye then to keep yer hands from me daughter.”

  Kane responded with a snort.

  Indeed.

  He had much respect for the man who taught him many of the battle skills he now possessed and would not put their friendship at risk for one night of pleasure.

  “A good morn to ye.” Alanna dropped the reins of the horse and cart she led. She placed her hands akimbo, glancing at Kane before casting a suspicious gaze at her father. “What plot might ye be up ta papa?”

  “Do no’ interfere in the dealings of men, child.” Cullen tipped his head in warning. “Now fetch us our drink.”

  To that comment, Alanna squared her shoulders. “I be hardly a child.”

  Her eyes flicked to Kane as if her words were meant for his ears and not her father’s. She then put her back to the two men. Reaching into her cart, Alanna retrieved two mugs and a decanter, and poured the ale. With the mugs in her hands, she turned back toward the two men, offering one each to Kane and her father.

  “And who might ye be, warrior?” she asked Kane.

  “‘Tis Kane Siosal in the flesh,” Cullen answered. “Come to celebrate with us.”

  Taking the cup from Alanna, Kane tipped his head toward her and smiled. He drained the ale with three large swallows.

  “I have heard much of yer bravery.” Alanna inspected Kane’s brat, noting it was thrice wrapped. He was man of high standing. It, in like, had a trio of colors—lavender and blue, most likely his clan colors and the third was green. He must be an honored man to have the liberty of wearing the sign of the would-be king. “Ye are famed warrior.”

  A smirked touched Kane’s lips at her words. Famed was not a word he would use to describe himself, but if it would gain him favor with the other lasses in the village so be it.

  “I give no more of me service to Mor mac Eirc than any other honorable man,” Kane returned, hoping he appeared humble, though he was mighty proud of his close alignment to the respected warrior royal.

  Alanna smiled brightly, and Kane noticed she had all of her teeth. It was a desirable quality in a woman. Pity she was forbidden, least of all by him.

  “Well then,” Alanna took Kane’s empty mug and refilled it. “Ye deserve another cup of ale.”

  Nodding his thanks, Kane smiled. “‘Tis much appreciated, lass.”

  His hand closed around the mug, unintentionally around her fingers and he noticed she was slow to remove them. Looking up he saw the interested sparkle in her eyes as she fixed an overlong gaze upon him. There was no mistaking the amorous intent in her expression. He would need to find a wench quickly to avoid the pretty lass this eve, lest he find himself witless with drink and between her thighs.

  “Tell me, Kane Siosal.” Alanna’s eyes roamed downward along Kane’s body. “‘Tis true the Picts stain their naked flesh blue with the woad flower to make themselves look fierce in battle?”

  “Enough, Alanna,” Cullen interceded, watching with dismay at his daughter’s wanton behavior. “There be no talk of war with ye!”

  But Alanna protested. “Papa!”

  “Yer mother needs ye to prepare the supper,” Cullen persisted, slashing a hand through the air. “Now off with ye!”

  Huffing, Alanna reached for her horse’s reins, grasping them with a single hand. She glared at her father defiantly, but said nothing more as she led the horse and cart away.

  “Ye see, Kane.” Cullen smirked. “A biddable lass.”

  Biddable, but not beddable, Kane thought, despite the lusty look she gave him.

  “Marry her off quickly, Cullen,” Kane advised. “Else ye will have a daughter with a bastard by her side.”

  “Aye.” Cullen rubbed his chin. “Would ye reconsider taking her fer yerself?”

  “Nay.” Kane shook his head. “Ye would be sorely disappointed in my ability to husband her properly.”

  Sighing, Cullen patted Kane on the back. “Come then, me friend, let us prepare for the festival and perhaps discover which female might be willing to let ye satiate yer lust on her this eve.”

  Chapter Two

  “I want my daughter home, Armond.”

  “Impossible!” The king of the fae swung about, his translucent, glimmering cloak fanning his royal essence of gold and blue through the air. “She’s human.”

  “She is half-fae.” Gwyndolen stood rigid, squarely facing King Armond, a determined look on her perfectly symmetrical, faerie face.

  Armond studied her for a moment, taking in her pristine beauty, pleased she was his mate. “Is it my fault you chose to conceive a child with a mortal?”

  Tipping her head into a nonchalant tilt, the queen cast her glance upward and askew, as if in pensive thought. A sensual smile creased her mouth. “The mortal caught my eye.”

  “And caught it well from what I’ve seen and heard.”

  “Yes,” the queen moaned an amorous sound as she mused over her human lover. “He was quite … stimulating.”

  Armond crooked a brow. “Indeed.”

  Not that he was jealous.

  Those of the otherworld took many lovers when it pleased them to do so. The resulting offspring was a matter of fact, and nothing more. But the child had been sired by a human and the k
ing would not consider having a mortal living freely amongst his kind, even if she was a half-breed fae.

  “Your daughter is a skilled, druid healer,” Armond tried to reason with the queen. He moved closer to Gwyndolen, shrinking the gap until there was just a wisp of space between them. Taking advantage of her aroused state he smoothed his hands up the side of her ribcage and then fondled her breasts, admiring their perfect roundness and perfect weight. “The humans need her.”

  Gwyndolen allowed the king’s hands to linger a bit, enjoying his caress, before forcing them off of her with a quick yank. “Fallon has lived in the mortal world for twenty and two years, learning their ways. It is time she is educated in her otherworld breeding. She should refine her magical flairs.”

  Stepping back, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Aside from that, I miss her.”

  Armond regarded her comment for a moment before speaking. “You are fae. Your quintessence would never ache with such tenderness.”

  Gwyndolen winced at the straining in her chest and the king’s indifference to her feelings. “It does.”

  “It will pass, Gwyndolen. Such responses always do with our kind.”

  Armond’s statement was truth, for the beings of the faerie otherworld rarely held strong sentiments overlong. Though emotions could be suddenly impressive at times, flaring with little warning, they in like, dispelled just as swiftly.

  Turning her back to the king, Gwyndolen gazed at the swirling, crystalline milieu that was the atmosphere of their world—the veil to the mortal lands beyond. “Well, it hasn’t. And crossing the veils twice yearly to catch a glimpse of my daughter is no longer satisfying to me. I want her home!”

  She cared not that her outburst sounded more like a childish tantrum than a queen’s demand.

  “My queen, you must consider your thoughts with rational consultation.” Armond took a step, coming to stand at Gwyndolen’s side. Clasping his fingers behind his back, he too stared at the glittering mist. “Her fae essence may rejoice at being with our populace, but her human side shall weep. Without a fae lover to keep her by his side, misery would be her keeper. She would not appreciate being held captive for many here to exploit, those of our kind who lust after humans. Your thinking is illogical.”